the dragon-slayers by frank banta got any dragons to kill? here's the fastest--and wildest--way! [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from worlds of if science fiction, november 1962. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] in a gleaming chrome and glass federal building located at the center of venusport, division chief carl wattles wearily arose from his office couch. he had been taking his usual two-hour, after-lunch nap, but today it had brought him little refreshment. earlier he had received an unexpected report that made sleep impossible. "john?" he mumbled. john claxson, the generously padded assistant division chief, stopped drilling out his earwax but did not remove his feet from the blotter of his desk. "yeah, chief?" "i've heard from the kentons again." "i thought something was deviling you, the way you was carrying on in your sleep." he raised thick eyebrows. "is their production down again?" "worse than that, john. kenton has had the gall to request time off to build a new house!" "no! i can't believe it." "i can't either, john. they know it's not in the manual." "certainly it's not, chief. the nerve of those people wanting to do something that's not in the manual!" "people like us wrote the manual, john," the chief added with simple modesty. "that is why it is so good, good, good." "i know," said john, accepting the weight. then he complained bitterly, "wanting to build a new house! they are supposed to do personal stuff at night, or when it's raining." the chief allowed his rage to climb. "they've got nothing to do but go out into the jungle and pick a little old bale of pretzins every day, but do you think they are going to do it? no. they want _me_ to go and do it for them!" "you can't _do_ it, chief!" protested john. "you know i can't, john," agreed wattles as he stretched. "i got all i can manage right here. more." "what you got to do, chief?" john asked curiously, forgetting caution for a moment. "plenty!" retorted the chief. "i guess you have at that," john admitted, getting back aboard. "time was," brooded the chief, "when that kenton was a fair pretzin finder. but all he can think of to do now is to find excuses to goldbrick. wait until he sees the stiff memorandum i'm sending him...." * * * * * bliss kenton had not gone far from their venusian jungle cabin that morning before the vacuum snake hung one on her. the thick, two-foot-long pest lay very still on the ground, and she only got a glimpse of it before it jumped. out it whipped to its full, slim, six-foot length and wrapped around her throat. fangs struck, and in three seconds--with a loud _slurp_--it had withdrawn a quart of her blood. then it unwrapped just as swiftly as it had come, and leaped into the cover of the jungle. the hefty young matron wobbled back to the cabin. "pole!" she called as she hurried in. "i've been slurped!" "again?" her lanky husband asked, looking up from the reports on his desk. "i'm so sorry, pole," she said contritely. "well, sit down and start recovering, bliss," he said in a kindly manner. "you can't pick any pretzins today." "but i wanted to pick pretzins, pole. darn that vacuum snake and his fast draft." "i just hope the neighborhood dragon doesn't come around while you're in that weakened condition, bliss," pole worried as he totaled up the month's production on his reports. he decided, "i had better take time off from pretzin hunting today so i can be handy to help you with your getaway, if need arises." "oh, the dragon never bothers us," bliss said uneasily. "he has gotten close enough to burn up several of our pretzin patches, though. he may get to this cabin some day." "he doesn't mean any harm," defended bliss. "i'm sure he wouldn't want to eat us. they are known to be strictly vegetarians." "no, he won't eat us. he'll cook us, unless we can run away fast enough--but he'll never eat us." they heard a faraway sound. "what is that crisp crackling that sounds like a dank forest burning?" wondered bliss. pole scrambled to the door. "the dragon is coming! he's headed straight for this cabin!" "shall we be going?" asked bliss, grabbing her clothes. a few minutes later, at a distance of a thousand yards, pole and bliss, loaded with all their portable possessions, watched their cabin burst into flames as a roaring, forty-foot lizard, with fifty-foot flames gouting from his mouth, ambled through their clearing. "there, he's gone," said pole as the dragon passed on. "i'd better put out the fire." dipping water from a nearby pond with a bucket, pole had, after fifty-three fast buckets, a blackened ruin of what had formerly been their rude jungle cabin. pole moved a new, nearly finished split-pole settee he had been working on back in the jungle to their front porch. as they seated themselves, he complacently surveyed the slits burned between the charred boards of the walls and roof. "the roof will leak a mite when it rains, but it will let in lots of light," he observed optimistically. "there's nothing like lots of light," bliss agreed. "charcoal is healthful, too." "it absorbs poison like nobody's business!" "however, since it rains every day on venus we will have to have a new cabin." he sighed resignedly. "and you know what that means: lower production, fewer of the magical, antibiotic pretzins. i'd better radio the division chief." * * * * * as the jet plane flashed across their vision, the kentons saw a tiny bundle drop from it. pole ran out into the jungle and was under the parachute when it landed. he came back into the clearing unwrapping a package. "it sure was thoughtful of mr. wattles to answer so fast," said pole, as he opened the little package. "and will you look here in the middle! he even sent us a present!" "it's a beautiful, plain white, rectangular carton of approximately three by seven inches," she said breathlessly. "but we mustn't be selfish," pole reminded hastily. "let's see what mr. wattles has to say in his memorandum here first." they both read the green memorandum. to: napoleon b. kenton, special agent, pretzin division, venus from: chief, pretzin division, venusport, venus subject: personal problems of special agents in a radio message dated january 25, 1982 you related certain personal problems you were experiencing, and you stated that delays might be encountered in your harvesting of pretzins. we regret your difficulties. however, it is believed these misfortunes may be overcome during leisure hours and should be soon resolved without loss of a measurable part of your productive time. pole interrupted his reading to beam at his wife. "he's sorry for us, bliss, and he hopes things will be better for us soon." "isn't he the nicest man?" they read on. in your radio message you refer to difficulties you are having with a snake and a lizard (which you colloquially refer to as a dragon). it is believed that the enclosed package, serial number 93g-18, will cope with the matter, and that no further report will be necessary with respect to snakes and lizards. carl wattles chief, pretzin division eagerly bliss kenton opened the plain white carton bearing the serial number 93g-18. she slid out the two and three-quarter by six and one-half inch fumigation bomb can. bliss read the label. "'lizards and snakes go 'way and stay. only $1.19 f.o.b.u.s.a.' why, it rhymes!" she said, a wondering smile lighting her face. "does it say how long the lizards are that go 'way and stay?" pole asked anxiously, thinking of the neighborhood's forty-foot hellion. "_all_ lizards, it says. and only $1.19." "good! but how about snakes that can jump ten feet and wrap around your throat?" "i read that wrong," she amended. "all lizards _and snakes_. and only $1.19." "i'm glad," said pole, choking up. "the division chief has been thinking of us," said bliss, wiping away a tear. "he knows we field personnel have our problems." "he knew just what we needed," lauded bliss. pole looked up from the canister as he heard a sound. "and here comes the dragon back! our lizard repellent arrived just in the nick of time!" down the rain-forest aisle the roaring mammoth rapidly waddled. its flames--even longer than its body--withered into blackened ruin all that stood before it. this time, instead of snatching up their possessions and fleeing to safety, the kentons stood their ground with their pocket-size fumigation bomb that had been designed for pocket-sized lizards. when the dragon was within throwing distance, pole flipped on the spray jet of the tiny bomb and threw it as straight as he could. then both of them sped away, leaving all their possessions at the mercy of the advancing, ravening flames.... * * * * * "oh, pole! isn't our new home just the dandiest that a venusian pretzin-gathering couple ever had?" "it _is_ dandy," concurred pole. "who'd ever have thought we would have a cabin that was only an inch thick, and yet was absolutely water tight?" "the table makes a dandy smokestack too, when it's propped up. fireproof." "how about the mouth when it's propped open?" challenged pole. "who could beat a front porch like that?" "you can't. you just can't!" "correct." he ruminated, "we'd never have been able to cut the hide. not a tough, inch-thick one like this one." "i'll never get over the way you gutted the dragon. you cut him loose inside, just below the tonsils--" "and after i lassoed them, i gave a run--" "and all his guts came stringing out!" "had him cleaned to the bone within an hour!" said pole proudly. "we would never have had it so good if it hadn't been for mr. wattles' helpfulness," reminded bliss. "that fumigation bomb, besides making a horrible stink--" "--explodes when it enters a dragon's flaming mouth--and blows his methane tanks." _venus was the most miserable planet in the system, peopled by miserable excuses for human beings. and somewhere among this conglomeration of boiling protoplasm there was a being unlike the others, a being who walked and talked like the others but who was different--and afraid the difference would be discovered. you'll remember this short story._ foundling on venus _by ... john & dorothy de courcy_ the foundling could not have been more than three years old. yet he held a secret that was destined to bring joy to many unhappy people. unlike gaul, the north continent of venus is divided into _four_ parts. no caesar has set foot here either, nor shall one--for the dank, stinging, caustic air swallows up the lives of men and only venus may say, _i conquered_. this is colonized venus, where one may walk without the threat of sudden death--except from other men--the most bitterly fought for, the dearest, bloodiest, most worthless land in the solar system. separated by men into east and west at the center of the twilight zone, the division across the continent is the irregular, jagged line of mud river, springing from the great serpent range. the african republic holds one quarter which the negroes exploit as best they can, encumbered by filter masks and protective clothing. the asians still actually try to colonize their quarter, while the venusian primitives neither help nor hinder the bitter game of power-politics, secret murder, and misery--most of all, misery. the men from mars understand this better, for their quarter is a penal colony. sleepy-eyed, phlegmatic martians, self-condemned for minute violations of their incredible and complex mores--without guards save themselves--will return to the subterranean cities, complex philosophies, and cool, dry air of mars when they have declared their own sentences to be at an end. meanwhile, they labor to extract the wealth of venus without the bitterness and hate, without the savagery and fear of their neighbors. hence, they are regarded by all with the greatest suspicion. the federated states, after their fashion, plunder the land and send screaming ships to north america laden with booty and with men grown suddenly rich--and with men who will never care for riches or anything else again. these are the fortunate dead. the rest are received into the sloppy breast of venus where even a tombstone or marker is swallowed in a few, short weeks. and they die quickly on venus, and often. from the arbitrary point where the four territories met, new reno flung its sprawling, dirty carcass over the muddy soil and roared and hooted endlessly, laughed with the rough boisterousness of miners and spacemen, rang with the brittle, brassy laughter of women following a trade older than new reno. it clanged and shouted and bellowed so loudly that quiet sobbing was never heard. but a strange sound hung in the air, the crying of a child. a tiny child, a boy, he sat begrimed by mud at the edge of the street where an occasional ground car flung fresh contamination on his small form until he became almost indistinguishable from the muddy street. his whimpering changed to prolonged wailing sobs. he didn't turn to look at any of the giant passers-by nor did they even notice him. but finally one passer-by stopped. she was young and probably from the federated states. she was not painted nor was she well-dressed. she had nothing to distinguish her, except that she stopped. "oh, my!" she breathed, bending over the tiny form. "you poor thing. where's your mama?" the little figure rubbed its face, looked at her blankly and heaved a long, shuddering sigh. "i can't leave you sitting here in the mud!" she pulled out a handkerchief and tried to wipe away some of the mud and then helped him up. his clothes were rags, his feet bare. she took him by the hand and as they walked along she talked to him. but he seemed not to hear. soon they reached the dirty, plastic front of the elite cafe. once through the double portals, she pulled the respirator from her face. the air inside was dirty and smelly but it was breathable. people were eating noisily, boisterously, with all the lusty, unclean young life that was venus. they clamored, banged and threw things for no reason other than to throw them. she guided the little one past the tables filled with people and into the kitchen. the door closed with a bang, shutting out much of the noise from the big room. gingerly she sat him down on a stool, and with detergent and water she began removing the mud. his eyes were horribly red-rimmed. "it's a wonder you didn't die out there," she murmured. "poor little thing!" "hey! are you going to work or aren't you, jane?" a voice boomed. a large ruddy man in white had entered the kitchen and he stood frowning at the girl. women weren't rare on venus, and she was only a waitress ... "what in the blue blazes is that!" he pointed to the child. "he was outside," the girl explained, "sitting in the street. he didn't have a respirator." the ruddy man scowled at the boy speculatively. "his lungs all right?" "he isn't coughing much," she replied. "but what are you going to do with him?" the man asked jane. "i don't know," she said. "something. tell the patrol about him, i guess." the beefy man hesitated. "it's been a long time since i've seen a kid this young on venus. they always ship 'em home. could have been dumped. maybe his parents left him on purpose." the girl flinched. he grunted disgustedly, his face mirroring his thoughts. _stringy hair ... plain face ... and soft as venus slime clear through!_ he shrugged. "anyway, he's got to eat." he looked at the small figure. "want to eat, kid? would you like a glass of milk?" he opened a refrigerator, took out a plastic bottle and poured milk in a glass. chubby hands reached out for the glass. "there, that's better," the cook said. "pete will see that you get fed all right." he turned to the girl. "could he belong to someone around here?" jane shook her head. "i don't know. i've never seen him before." "well, he can stay in the kitchen while you work the shift. i'll watch him." she nodded, took an apron down from a hook and tied it around her waist. then she patted the sober-faced youngster on his tousled head and left. the beefy man studied the boy. "i think i'll put you over there," he said. he lifted him, stool and all, and carried him across the kitchen. "you can watch through that panel. see? that's jane in there. she'll come back and forth, pass right by here. is that all right?" the little one nodded. "oh?" pete raised his eyebrows. "so you _do_ know what i'm saying." he watched the child for a few minutes, then turned his attention to the range. the rush hour was on and he soon forgot the little boy on the stool ... whenever possible during the lunch-hour rush, jane stopped to smile and talk to the child. once she asked, "don't you know where your mama and daddy are?" he just stared at her, unblinking, his big eyes soft and sad-looking. the girl studied him for a moment, then she picked up a cookie and gave it to him. "can you tell me your name?" she asked hopefully. his lips parted. cookie crumbs fell off his chin and from the corners of his mouth, but he spoke no words. she sighed, turned, and went out to the clattering throng with laden plates of food. for a while jane was so busy she almost forgot the young one. but finally people began to linger more over their food, the clinking of dishes grew quieter and pete took time for a cup of coffee. his sweating face was haggard. he stared sullenly at the little boy and shook his head. "shouldn't be such things as kids," he muttered. "nothing but a pain in the neck!" jane came through the door. "it gets worse all the time," she groaned. she turned to the little boy. "did you have something to eat?" "i didn't know what to fix for him," pete said. "how about some beef stew? do you think he'd go for that?" jane hesitated. "i--i don't know. try it." pete ladled up a bowl of steaming stew. jane took it and put it on the table. she took a bit on a spoon, blew on it, then held it out. the child opened his mouth. she smiled and slowly fed him the stew. "how old do you think he is?" pete asked. the girl hesitated, opened her mouth, but said nothing. "about two and a half, i'd guess," pete answered himself. "maybe three." jane nodded and he turned back to cleaning the stove. "don't you want some more stew?" jane asked as she offered the small one another spoonful. the little mouth didn't open. "guess you've had enough," she said, smiling. pete glanced up. "why don't you leave now, jane. you're going to have to see the patrol about that kid. i can take care of things here." she stood thinking for a moment. "can i use an extra respirator?" "you can't take him out without one!" pete replied. he opened a locker and pulled out a transparent facepiece. "i think this'll tighten down enough to fit his face." she took it and walked over to the youngster. his large eyes had followed all her movements and he drew back slightly as she held out the respirator. "it won't hurt," she coaxed. "you have to wear it. the air outside stings." the little face remained steady but the eyes were fearful as jane slid the transparent mask over his head and tightened the elastic. it pulsed slightly with his breathing. "better wrap him in this," pete suggested, pulling a duroplast jacket out of the locker. "air's tough on skin." the girl nodded, pulling on her own respirator. she stepped quickly into her duroplast suit and tied it. "thanks a lot, pete," she said, her voice slightly muffled. "see you tomorrow." pete grunted as he watched her wrap the tiny form in the jacket, lift it gently in her arms, then push through the door. the girl walked swiftly up the street. it was quieter now, but in a short time the noise and stench and garishness of new reno would begin rising to another cacophonous climax. the strange pair reached a wretched metal structure with an askew sign reading, "el grande hotel." jane hurried through the double portals, the swish of air flapping her outer garments as the air conditioning unit fought savagely to keep out the rival atmosphere of the planet. there was no one at the desk and no one in the lobby. it was a forlorn place, musty and damp. venus humidity seemed to eat through everything, even metal, leaving it limp, faded, and stinking. she hesitated, looked at the visiphone, then impulsively pulled a chair over out of the line of sight of the viewing plate and gently set the little boy on it. she pulled the respirator from her face, pressed the button under the blank visiphone disk. the plate lit up and hummed faintly. "patrol office," jane said. there was a click and a middle-aged, square-faced man with blue-coated shoulders appeared. "patrol office," he repeated. "this is jane grant. i work at the elite cafe. has anyone lost a little boy?" the patrolman's eyebrows raised slightly. "little boy? did you find one?" "well--i--i saw one earlier this evening," she faltered. "he was sitting at the edge of the street and i took him into the cafe and fed him." "well, there aren't many children in town," he replied. "let's see." he glanced at a record sheet. "no, none's reported missing. he with you now?" "ah--no." he shook his head again, still looking downward. he said slowly, "his parents must have found him. if he was wandering we'd have picked him up. there is a family that live around there who have a ten-year-old kid who wanders off once in a while. blond, stutters a little. was it him?" "well, i--" she began. she paused, said firmly, "no." "well, we don't have any reports on lost children. haven't had for some time. if the boy was lost his parents must have found him. thank you for calling." he broke the connection. jane stood staring at the blank plate. no one had reported a little boy missing. in all the maddening confusion that was new reno, no one had missed a little boy. she looked at the small bundle, walked over and slipped off his respirator. "i should have told the truth," she murmured to him softly. "but you're so tiny and helpless. poor little thing!" he looked up at her, then around the lobby, his brown eyes resting on first one object, then another. his little chin began to quiver. the girl picked him up and stroked his hair. "don't cry," she soothed. "everything's going to be all right." she walked down a hall, fumbling inside her coveralls for a key. at the end of the hall she stopped, unlocked a door, and carried him inside. as an afterthought she locked the door, still holding the small bundle in her arms. then she placed him on a bed, removed the jacket and threw it on a chair. "i don't know why i should go to all this trouble," she said, removing her protective coveralls. "i'll probably get picked up by the patrol. but _somebody's_ got to look after you." she sat down beside him. "aren't you even a bit sleepy?" he smiled a little. "maybe now you can tell me your name," she said. "don't you know your name?" his expression didn't change. she pointed to herself. "jane." then she hesitated, looked downward for a moment. "jana, i was called before i came here." the little face looked up at her. the small mouth opened. "jana." it was half whisper, half whistle. "that's right," she replied, stroking his hair. "my, but your throat must be sore. i hope you won't be sick from breathing too much of that awful air." she regarded him quizzically. "you know, i've never seen many little boys. i don't quite know how to treat one. but i know you should get some sleep." she smiled and reached over to take off the rags. he pulled away suddenly. "don't be afraid," she said reassuringly. "i wouldn't hurt you." he clutched the little ragged shirt tightly. "don't be afraid," she repeated soothingly. "i'll tell you what. you lie down and i'll put this blanket over you," she said, rising. "will that be all right?" she laid him down and covered the small form with a blanket. he lay there watching her with his large eyes. "you don't look very sleepy," she said. "perhaps i had better turn the light down." she did so, slowly, so as not to alarm him. but he was silent, watchful, never taking his eyes from her. she smiled and sat down next to him. "now i'll tell you a story and then you must go to sleep," she said softly. he smiled--just a little smile--and she was pleased. "fine," she cried. "well--once upon a time there was a beautiful planet, not at all like this one. there were lovely flowers and cool-running streams and it only rained once in a while. you'd like it there for it's a very nice place. but there were people there who liked to travel--to see strange places and new things, and one day they left in a great big ship." she paused again, frowning in thought. "well, they traveled a long, long way and saw many things. then one day something went wrong." her voice was low and soft. it had the quality of a dream, the texture of a zephyr, but the little boy was still wide awake. "something went very, very wrong and they tried to land so they could fix it. but when they tried to land they found they couldn't--and they fell and just barely managed to save themselves. the big, beautiful ship was all broken. well, since they couldn't fix the ship at all now, they set out on foot to find out where they were and to see if they could get help. then they found that they were in a land of great big giants, and the people were very fierce." the little boy's dark eyes were watching her intently but she went on, hardly noticing. "so they went back to the broken ship and tried to decide what to do. they couldn't get in touch with their home because the radio part of the ship was all broken up. and the giants were horrible and wanted everything for themselves and were cruel and mean and probably would have hurt the poor ship-wrecked people if they had known they were there. "so--do you know what they did? they got some things from the ship and they went and built a giant. and they put little motors inside and things to make it run and talk so that the giants wouldn't be able to tell that it wasn't another giant just like themselves." she paused, straightening slightly. "and then they made a space inside the giant where somebody could sit and run this big giant and talk and move around--and the giants wouldn't ever know that she was there. they made it a _she_. in fact, she was the only person who could do it because she could learn to talk all sorts of languages--that's what she could do best. so she went out in the giant suit and mingled with the giants and worked just like they did. "but every once in a while she'd go back to the others, bringing them things they needed. and she would bring back news. that was their only hope--news of a ship which might be looking for them, which might take them home--" she broke off. "i wonder what the end of the story will be?" she murmured. for some time she had not been using english. she had been speaking in a soft, fluid language unlike anything ever heard on venus. but now she had stopped speaking entirely. after a slight pause--another voice spoke--in the same melodious, alien tongue! it said, "i think i know the end of the story. i think someone has come for you poor people and is going to take you home." she gasped--for she realized it had not been her voice. her artificial eyes watched, stunned, as the little boy began peeling off a skin-tight, flexible baby-faced mask, revealing underneath the face of a little man. transcriber's note: this etext was produced from _fantastic universe_ march 1954. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed. minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note. peace by norman arkawy and stanley henig _we bid you welcome, earthmen! take your rightful place beside us, share our peaceful existence. by your endless struggles you have earned it_. [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from worlds of if science fiction, october 1954. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] _peace communique no 1.--abilene--april 1, 2049_ the war is over. iverson is safely exiled on asteroid 14, and the other leaders of the aggressor forces--cartwright, briande, remberg, kiang and risofsky--are all in confinement on their respective space islands. peace has been restored to the system: on rios and on nwad. (signed) ser gulla sup. ac rios adm. * * * * * ac pamphlet pie rios no. 1-1-1 10 apr 49 rt report to the people of rios on march 29, 2049 (rios time), the rios-nwadian war ended. this report on the recent conflict has been prepared by the bureau of public information and education, rios branch, for the purpose of enlightening the inhabitants of rios about the war, its causes, and the proposed policy of the nwadian government concerning the administration of your planet. in order to provide for full understanding by the people of rios, riosic terminology shall be used wherever possible in this report. thus, rios shall be called 'earth', nwad shall be designated 'venus', and all dates, measurements and other data which are different on the two planets shall be indicated according to the riosic calculation. * * * * * the war ended on march 29, 2049 when the last earthian troops surrendered to the venusian peace forces. when did the war begin? the first battle was fought on december 18, 2048, but the first 'incident' that led directly to the conflict occurred in november, 2042. and even before that date, many years before, officials on venus knew that war between the two worlds was inevitable. space scientists of venus have been observing earth for hundreds of years. the first space ship to reach your planet and return to venus made its voyage in the earth year, 1891. from that time on, explorations were made sporadically until the 1950's, when revolutionary improvements in the design of our ships made possible more economical and faster trips. it is an interesting coincidence, incidentally, that atomic power was discovered on earth just as we on venus had made atomic driven spacecraft obsolete by the introduction of the magnetico-gravitational drive. this fact is mentioned because it was the evidence of atomic explosions on earth that increased our interest in your planet a century ago. in all our observations of earth, the most obvious fact we learned was that its dominant race was aggressive and war-like in nature. having no desire to introduce this war-mindedness to our peaceful world, we avoided all contact with earth. we realized, however, that in time the earth race would accomplish space travel and thus force a contact with us. therefore, we devised highly potent weapons for our defense in the event that the people of earth ever stopped quarreling among themselves and attempted an attack on our world. high officials in our government were appalled at the thought of war with its chaotic and indiscriminate killing. there were those who deemed it an actual act of aggression on our part to arm ourselves in preparation for a war. the opposition to our defense program was strong. yet, it was our preparedness which saved our civilization from destruction when your forces launched their invasion of our planet last year. * * * * * to understand the events which led to the war, it is best that we briefly review the history of space travel by earthians. in the year 2002, the six remaining nations of the earth formed the federation to abolish war and to enable the people of your planet to put forth a united effort to discover the secret of interplanetary travel. this endeavour, in itself, was considered by our leaders to be most creditable. but the entire pattern of your development, observed for many centuries, instilled seeds of doubt in our minds. you were conditioned to war and the mere establishment of a federation to monitor the future was not adequate insurance, we felt, against further conflict. in your concentration on conquering space, however, you did stop warring among yourselves. space travel from earth began thirty-eight years ago. the first successful trip to luna and back was made in 2011, and by 2020 the lunar space port was opened. it was in 2020, also, that the space ship, pioneer, left for mars. it was never heard from again. unsuccessful attempts to travel to the other planets were made during the years 2021-2027. the pioneer ii, bound for mars, the adventurer, bound for mars, and the enterprise, bound for venus, all disappeared without a trace. in september, 2028, the space king returned to earth after completing a voyage to mars. the ship landed safely, but the excited celebration that greeted it was short-lived when it was discovered that the entire crew was afflicted with a neurological disease that your earth scientists labeled 'space sickness'. this disease posed a new obstacle to interplanetary travel. it attacked indiscriminately and it proved fatal in almost every case. research and experimentation on the cause and cure of 'space sickness' was carried on continuously from the time the space king returned with its dying crew until the disease was conquered in 2041. during these years, the experimental ships enterprise ii, razorback, and space king ii were utilized as laboratories in orbital flights. in april, 2041, the space liner morning star was completed, incorporating technological improvements designed to prevent the occurrence of 'space sickness'. the morning star left the lunar station on july 17, 2042. its destination was venus. in government circles on venus, it was felt that no further delay could be permitted in establishing contact with the people of earth. they were already too close to space flight maturity to forego any opportunity for formulating an understanding. therefore, the morning star, whose flight had been observed constantly, was allowed to pass through our ionic barrier and land unharmed on our planet. emissaries of our _lora dannun_ (nearest translation: supreme council) were on hand to greet the earthmen when they left their ship. as a precautionary measure, two atomic scorchers were trained on the ship, but our officials approached the debarking earthmen without side arms and in a friendly manner. the earthmen, understandably apprehensive, came forward with their hand weapons drawn. although we on venus were already familiar with your international english language, our welcoming committee did not think it wise to further startle the men from earth by greeting them in their own tongue. therefore, our friendly intentions were made known by elaborate and unmistakable gestures. the aliens from earth, nevertheless, were startled enough by our appearance. they stared wide-eyed at what appeared to be four child-like specimens of human beings. this resemblance which venusians bear to humans, and which should have impressed the crew of the morning star with the possibilities of intelligent negotiations, did not deter them from jumping to irrational conclusions. our chief emissary, ser madi, heard their leader and his lieutenant in the following conversation (which is reproduced from the auto-tape recording made on the spot): _leader: what do you make of them, jensen? they look almost like human children, don't they? lieutenant: there doesn't seem to be anything to worry about here, sir. they seem friendly enough. but why children? you'd think they'd send some bigwigs out to welcome us. why did they send children? leader: i don't know.... maybe it's a trap! lieutenant: you're right, sir. we can't afford to take any chances. leader: take them back to the ship for the psych boys to work on. i don't like the looks of this._ at this point ser madi revealed his knowledge of the earth language. "i assure you, gentlemen," he said to the strangers, "that this is not a trap. please follow us peacefully." the invaders were stunned into silence, but it took the leader only a moment to recover. "i'll be damned!" he exclaimed. "the sly little devils understand english! jensen! have these creatures escorted onto the star. this is something we'll have to talk over on the ship." at a signal from the man called jensen, eight of your people advanced toward the four members of our welcoming committee. ser madi spoke again: "i warn you, sir, not to try to abduct us. order your men back." the leader of the earthmen laughed. "look at them!" he said to his lieutenant. "these things are threatening us!" the soldiers had paused at ser madi's words. "go on," the leader ordered them. "take them aboard the ship!" "you were warned," ser madi said sadly. he motioned to his companions and, in an instant of brilliant light, the space ship was reduced to smoldering ashes. the stunned earthians were easily taken into custody. they were completely awed by the destruction of their ship, which had been accomplished with "invisible" weapons. ser madi did not think it necessary to explain the compactness and efficiency of the atomic scorchers to them. they would not have been able to comprehend the principles behind the finger ring weapons. * * * * * captain daniels, the leader of the earth expedition, was interrogated at great length, but he remained hostile and uncooperative. the only information that he offered was his name, rank and serial number, which he repeated over and over again. jensen and the remaining crew members refused to answer our questions also, insisting that their captain was the spokesman for all of them. this action increased our fears that the intellectual and emotional make-up of earth was incompatible with that of venus. we accomplished nothing in four days of questioning. it seemed impossible to determine the means whereby we could arrive at some workable line of reasoning. it was equally impossible for us to ascertain whether the hostile actions of the morning star represented the attitude of the earth government or if they were merely the impulsive results of the emotional strain endured by captain daniels and his crew on their voyage. the supreme council decided it was necessary to visit earth now, make our presence known, and see if friendly relations could be established with that planet. we had hopes that this might be done, for there had been no war on earth for almost fifty years. it was hoped that the people had finally achieved a civilization capable of friendly interplanetary exchange. the council ordered a delegation to leave immediately on the first diplomatic mission from venus to earth. ser madi had justifiable doubts about the possibility of success, but the council overruled his objections. the delegation, led by the elder statesman, ser alaga, left for earth aboard the light cruiser, tunn. the date was december 9, 2042. returning to earth aboard the tunn, were the eleven survivors of the morning star, treated not as prisoners, but as survivors of a space wreck. * * * * * the tunn landed on earth two miles out of abilene, on december 15, 2042. a few hours after touching down, the venusian delegation arrived in the earth capital and presented themselves at the ministry of state. the office worker who stood between them and the secretary of the minister of foreign affairs was amused by the delegates' story. "why don't you kids go home and stop annoying us?" he said. "and stop watching those td shows!" ser buldi indignantly repeated his request to see the foreign minister. "get out of here!" the office worker said in a tone that indicated he was through talking to us. ser buldi began to reply but he was silenced by ser alaga, who wished to avoid any unnecessary incidents which could have proved embarrassing to the earthmen. instead, the elder statesman approached a young lady seated behind a desk. "what can i do for you, little boy?" the girl asked with a smile. ser alaga, with the aid of his hypno-tube, quickly convinced her to admit the delegates to the office of the sub-secretary for foreign affairs. then began a three day procession through the offices of many sub-secretaries, four under-secretaries and two deputy ministers. in each office our diplomats were received skeptically and passed on to the next. finally, in desperation, the delegation released the survivors of the morning star. although ser alaga realized that their account of the incident probably would be distorted, he knew that it would serve to verify the delegation's identity. * * * * * the abilene news of december 19, 2042, shouted at the top of its headline voice: space invaders here the bugle: earth attacked the times: "morning star" destroyed 11 survivors of space liner tell story of attack an immediate meeting was held between our delegation and the leaders of your government. after the formalities of greeting were over, the spokesman for the earth government reviewed the facts of the morning star incident as they had been related by captain daniels and his crew. venusian forces, they claimed, had been guilty of an unprovoked attack against the ship. we had barbarously murdered all of the ship's complement, save for the eleven "hostages" whom we had brought to earth aboard the tunn. the government of earth demanded an explanation. ser alaga spoke the truth. the earthians were not satisfied. (the following conversation is reproduced from the auto-tape recording of the meeting) earth spokesman: _we will grant that your act of aggression was not premeditated, but resulted from a misinterpretation, on your part, of the friendly intentions of our forces. nevertheless, our vessel was destroyed. twenty-three of our men were killed. the government of the world federation demands that your government make suitable reparations._ ser alaga: _mr. cartwright, we respectfully deny the allegation that our forces were guilty of any act of aggression._ cartwright: _the morning star was destroyed by your men, was it not?_ ser alaga: _in self-defense, yes. as we have explained, the captain of your ship threatened our welcoming committee with...._ cartwright: _none of your men were harmed!_ ser alaga: _they prevented their own imminent destruction by their action in self-defense. it was this action which resulted in the unfortunate...._ cartwright: _our ship and our men were attacked before they had fired a shot. therefore, your action cannot be deemed to have taken place in self-defense._ ser alaga: _your reasoning confounds me, sir. if the prevention of aggressive action is termed aggression, then we are guilty of it. i bow to your logic._ _naturally our government wishes to express its regrets over the impulsive act of its representatives. we want to meet with you in peace and friendship. we want to prevent any future incidents such as the one which has brought us here today._ cartwright: _on behalf of the world federation, i accept your apology. we, too, would like to prevent further strife between our worlds. there is much to be gained by a useful and cooperative alliance between earth and venus. but, to insure this, we feel that your government should make certain ... payments in reparation for our losses._ ser alaga: _although i am in sympathy with your views, our delegation has not been empowered to offer any reparations. however, if you will indicate what your government would consider a suitable payment for your losses, we shall convey your request to our council._ (end of auto-tape recording) yttrium was the reparation asked by earth--five thousand pounds of isolated and purified yttrium. this metal was essential for the construction of earth's space ships, the "alumiryten" alloy being used in the manufacture of the tough outer shell of these ships. the supply of yttrium ores on venus is almost unlimited, and the council had no trouble delivering the requested amount of the refined metal. the last shipment of ingots reached earth within three months. this conciliatory payment was intended to preserve the peace and build good will within the system. it was our intention that, if possible, the earth would assume a more responsible attitude toward the greater scope of friendly interplanetary relations. it was our hope that harmony would form a permanent bond between our two worlds. our efforts were wasted. yttrium shipments impure screamed the tabloid headlines. president iverson of the world federation sent a stiff note to the council on venus. he demanded apologies and immediate restitutions, claiming that sixty percent of the metal delivered was actually zirconium. we had cheated them, said iverson. in a terse reply to his note, our government branded the iverson accusation a lie. it was all too apparent what was intended. we refused to discuss the matter. we broke off all diplomatic relations with earth and simply ignored the numerous threats and accusations that were continuously being made. our vigilance increased, however, and we prepared for the attack that iverson promised when he said: "venus has not yet felt the force of earth.... they will!" several years passed, during which time the federation built a huge space armada, using to good advantage the five thousand pounds of pure yttrium they had received from venus. it was also during these years of preparation that venus and its people were forced to accept the hardships of a regimented economy. our citizens, however, long accustomed to personal sacrifice for the welfare of society, did not complain. on september 14, 2048, a fleet of four hundred federation war-ships took off for venus. the battle in defense of our planet was carried out exactly according to the strategy of the supreme council. the first wave of one hundred attacking ships was completely demolished in our ionic barrier. fifty percent of the second wave was accounted for in the same manner. those ships which did manage to pierce the discharging barrier were badly damaged and were easily destroyed by our cruising disintegrator teams. the third wave of invaders was met by our ascending task force of sixty scout ships, each equipped with twin cosmic blasters. in this engagement, three of our ships were lost ... all the invaders were destroyed. while this battle was being fought, our space patrol descended upon the fourth wave from outer space. the earth fleet was completely obliterated. on march 14, 2049, our invasion fleet attacked the earth. after two weeks of sporadic fighting, the occupation was completed. iverson, cartwright, briande, and the rest of the leaders of earth's war-like government are in exile on their various asteroids. we shall not kill them, nor shall we allow them to die. they are supplied with their needs by a ship that calls once a month. otherwise, they are left completely alone on their space islands, each a master of his own little world. we believe this to be a fitting punishment for men who try to conquer a world. peace has been restored to the system: on venus, and on earth. * * * * * _peace communique no. 2--abilene--may 1, 2049_ one month ago, the provisional venusian government on earth was established to administer the military occupation of your planet. during the past month, that government, assisted by the venusian administration corps, has instituted reforms whereby peace and security have been attained for all the earth. what of the future? citizens of earth, here is your future: you are welcomed as equals in a union with venus. for a time, until you have learned how to govern yourselves peacefully, your planet will be directed by venusian administrators. but even now--immediately--you shall be accorded the same rights and privileges that the citizens of venus enjoy. and you shall have peace! perhaps you should be thankful for the last terrible war which your leaders brought upon you, for as a result of it, you shall no longer know the meaning of war. of course, citizens have duties as well as rights. failure to comply with regulations is severely punished. therefore, it is advisable that you acquaint yourselves with the obligations of a peaceful citizen. the duties of a citizen vary, depending upon the individual's classification and the location in which he lives. in addition to his special duties, however, every citizen is required to know and observe the five general duties of a citizen, listed below. general duties of a citizen 1. every citizen will work at his appointed task one-third of each day. 2. every citizen will perform those duties necessary to maintain his sleeping area in such a manner as to comply with the directives posted in his barracks. 3. every citizen (male) will father/ (female) will bear a child once every alternate cycle. 4. every citizen will report promptly when notified of special duty (e.g. waste disposal detail, sewer maintenance crew, restorative squad). 5. every citizen will report to his extermination center immediately upon notification. (see note) (note: certain measures are necessary to prevent the over-population of a peaceful world. in addition to the obvious elimination of the incurably sick, the insane, the feeble-minded, the disabled, the dishonest, and the aged, periodic exterminations must be held among the general citizenry. citizens who have been selected will report promptly to the appointed center for speedy, painless extermination. failure to do so will result in a delayed and painful process.) * * * * * now we bid you welcome, earthmen. take your rightful place beside us and share our peaceful existence. by your endless struggles through a long heritage of war, you have earned it. (signed) ser gulla sup. ac rios adm. stranger from space by hannes bok she prayed that a god would come from the skies and carry her away to bright adventures. but when he came in a metal globe, she knew only disappointment--for his godliness was oddly strange! [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from planet stories march 1943. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] it was twilight on venus--the rusty red that the eyes notice when their closed lids are raised to light. against the glow, fantastically twisted trees spread claws of spiky leaves, and a group of clay huts thrust up sharp edges of shadow, like the abandoned toy blocks of a gigantic child. there was no sign of clear sky and stars--the heavens were roofed by a perpetual ceiling of dust-clouds. a light glimmered in one of the huts. feminine voices rippled across the clearing and into the jungle. there was laughter, then someone's faint and wistful sigh. one of the voices mourned, in the twittering venusian speech, "how i envy you, koroby! i wish i were being married tonight, like you!" koroby stared defiantly at the laughing faces of her bridesmaids. she shrugged hopelessly. "i don't care," she said slowly. "it will be nice to have yasak for a husband--yes. and perhaps i do love him. i don't know." she tightened her lips as she reflected on it. she left them, moving gracefully to the door. venus-girls were generally of truly elfin proportions, so delicately slim that they seemed incapable of the slightest exertion. but koroby's body was--compared to her friends'--voluptuous. she rested against the door-frame, watching the red of the afterglow deepen to purple. "i want romance," she said, so softly that the girls had to strain forward to hear her. "i wish that there were other worlds than this--and that someone would drop out of the skies and claim me ... and take me away from here, away from all this--this monotony!" she turned back to her friends, went to them, one of her hands, patting the head of the kneeling one. she eyed herself in the mirror. "well--heigh-ho! there don't seem to be any other worlds, and nobody is going to steal me away from yasak, so i might as well get on with my preparations. the men with the litter will be here soon to carry me to the stone city." she ran slim hands down her sides, smoothing the blue sarong; she fondled her dark braids. "trossa, how about some flowers at my ears--or do you think that it would look a little too much--?" her eyes sought the mirror, and her lips parted in an irreprehensible smile. she trilled softly to herself, "yes, i am beautiful tonight--the loveliest woman yasak will ever see!" and then, regretfully, sullenly, "but oh, if only _he_ would come ... the man of my dreams!" there was a rap at the doorway; they turned. one of the litter-bearers loomed darker than the gloomy sky. "are you ready?" he asked. koroby twirled before the mirror, criticizing her appearance. "yes, ready," she said. "ready!" the girls cried. then there was a little silence. "shall we go now?" koroby asked, and the litter-carrier nodded. koroby kissed the girls, one after another. "here, shonka--you can have this bracelet you've always liked. and this is for you, lolla. and here, trossa--and you, shia. goodbye, darlings, goodbye--come and see me whenever you can!" "goodbye, koroby!" "goodbye! goodbye!" they crowded around her, embracing, babbling farewells, shreds of advice. trossa began to cry. finally koroby broke away from them, went to the door. she took a last look at the interior of the little hut, dim in the lamplight--at the hard bed of laced _gnau_-hide strips, the crude but beautifully-carved charts and chests. then she turned and stepped out into the night. "this way," the litter-carrier announced, touching the girl's arm. they stumbled over the rutted clearing toward the twinkling sparks that were the lights of the other litter-bearers, colored sparks as befitted a wedding-conveyance. the winking lights were enclosed in shells of colored glass for another reason--the danger of their firing the papery jungle verdure. * * * * * it was not a new litter, built especially for the occasion--yasak was too practical a man to sanction any kind of waste. it was the same old litter that koroby had been watching come and go ever since she was a little girl, a canopied framework of gaudily-painted carvings. she had wondered, watching it pass, whether its cushioned floor was soft, and now, as she stepped into the litter, she patted the padding experimentally. yes, it was soft .... and fragrant, too--a shade too fragrant. it smelled stale, hinting of other occupants, other brides being borne to other weddings.... garlands of flowers occupied a good deal of space in it. settled among them, she felt like a bird in a strange nest. she leaned back among them; they rustled dryly. too bad--it had been such a dry year-"you're comfortable?" the litter bearer asked. koroby nodded, and the litter was lifted, was carried along the path. the procession filed into the jungle, into a tunnel of arched branches, of elephant-eared leaves. above the monotonous music came the hiss of the torches, the occasional startled cry of a wakened bird. the glow of the flames, in the dusty air, hung around the party, sharply defined, like a cloak of light. at times a breeze would shake the ceiling of foliage, producing the sound of rolling surf. koroby fingered the flowers around her throat, her eyes rapt on the passing trees. her lips moved in the barest murmur: "if only--!" and again, "oh, if only--!" but the music trickled on, and nothing happened; the litter seemed to float along--none of the bearers even stumbled. they came to a cleared space of waist-high grass. it was like a canyon steeply walled by cliffs of verdure. the litter jerked as it glided along, and koroby heard one of the bearers exclaim gruffly, "listen!" then the litter resumed its dream-like floating on the backs of the men. "what was it?" another bearer asked. "thought i heard something," the other replied. "shrill and high--like something screaming--" koroby peered out. "a _gnau_?" she asked. "i don't know," the bearer volunteered. koroby lifted a hand. "stop the litter," she said. * * * * * the conveyance halted. koroby leaning out, the men peering around them, they listened. one of the bearers shouted at the musicians; the music ceased. there was nothing to be heard except the whisper of the breeze in the grass. then the girl heard it--a shrill, distant whine, dying away, then growing louder--and louder--it seemed to be approaching--from the sky-all the faces were lifted up now, worriedly. the whine grew louder--koroby's hands clenched nervously on the wreaths at her throat-then, far ahead, a series of bright flashes, like the lightning of the dust-storms, but brilliantly green. a silence, then staccatto reports, certainly not thunder--unlike any sound that koroby had ever heard. there was a babble of voices as the musicians crowded together, asking what had it been, and where--just exactly--could one suppose it had happened, that thunder--was it going to storm! they waited, but nothing further happened--there were no more stabs of green light nor detonations. the bearers stooped to lift the litter's poles to their shoulders. "shall we go on?" one of them asked koroby. she waved a hand. "yes, go on." the litter resumed its gentle swaying, but the music did not start again. then, from the direction of the light-flashes, a glow appeared, shining steadily, green as the flashes had been. noticing it, koroby frowned. then the path bent, and the glow swung to one side. suddenly koroby reached out, tapped the shoulder of the closet bearer. "go toward the light." his face swung up to hers. "but--there's no path that way--" "i don't care," she said. "take me there." her order had reached the others' ears, and they slowed their pace. "lady--believe me--it's impossible. there's nothing but matted jungle in that direction--we'd have to hack our way as we go along. and who knows how far away that light is? besides, you're on your way to be married." "take me to that light!" she persisted. they set the litter down. "we can't do that," one man said to another. koroby stepped out to the path, straightened up, her eyes on the glow. "you'd better," she said ominously. "otherwise, i'll make a complaint to yasak--" the men eyed each other, mentally shrugging. "well--" one yielded. the girl whirled impatiently on the others. "hurry!" she cried. "if you won't take me, i'll go by myself. i must get to that fire, whatever it is!" she put a hand to her heart. "i must! i must!" then she faced the green glare again, smiling to herself. "you can't do that!" a carrier cried. "well, then, you take me," she said over her shoulder. grumbling, they bent to the conveyance's poles, and koroby lithely slipped to the cushions. they turned off the path, plodded through the deep grass toward the light. the litter lurched violently as their feet caught in the tangled grass, and clouds of fine dust arose from the disturbed blades. * * * * * by the time they reached the source of the light, they were quite demoralized. the musicians had not accompanied them, preferring to carry the message to yasak in the stone city that his prospective bride had gone off on a mad journey. the bearers were powdered grey with dust, striped with blood where the dry grass-stems had cut them. they were exhausted and panting. koroby was walking beside them, for they had abandoned the litter finally. her blue drapery was ripped and rumpled; her carefully-arranged braids had fallen loose; dust on her face had hid its youthful color, aging her. the expedition emerged from the jungle on a sandy stretch of barren land. a thousand feet away a gigantic metal object lay on the sand, crumpled as though it had dropped from a great distance. it had been globular before the crash, and was pierced with holes like windows. what could it possibly be? a house? but whoever heard of a metal house? why, who could forge such a thing! yasak's house in the city had iron doors, and they were considered one of the most wonderful things of the age. it would take a giant to make such a ponderous thing as this. a house, fallen from the sky? the green lights poured out of its crumpled part, and a strange bubbling and hissing filled the air. koroby stopped short, clasping her hands and involuntarily uttering a squeal of joyful excitement, for between her and the blaze, his eyes on the destruction, stood a man..... he was very tall, and his shoulders were very wide. oh, but he looked like a man, and stood like one--even though his hands were folded behind his back and he was probably dejected. a man in a house from the sky-koroby hastily grasped a corner of her gown, moistened it with saliva, and scrubbed her face. she rearranged her hair, and stepped forward. "don't go there--it's magic--he'll cast a spell--!" one of the bearers whispered urgently, reaching after her, but koroby pushed him away. the litter-carriers watched the girl go, unconsciously huddling together as if feeling the need for combined strength. they withdrew into the jungle's shadows, and waited there anxiously, ready at any moment to run away. but koroby, with supreme confidence, walked toward the stranger, her lovely body graceful as a cat's, her face radiant. the man did not hear her. she halted behind him, waited silent, expectant, excited--but he did not turn. the green fire sputtered upward. at last the girl stepped to the man's side and gently touched him again. he turned, and her heart faltered: she swayed with bliss. he was probably a god. not even handsome yasak looked like this. here was a face so finely-chiseled, so perfectly proportioned, that it was almost frightening, unhuman, mechanical. it was unlined and without expression, somehow unreal. mysterious, compelling. he was clothed very peculiarly. a wonderfully-made metallic garment enclosed his whole body--legs and all, unlike the venus-men's tunics. even his feet were covered. perhaps it was armor--though the venus-men usually wore only breastplate and greaves. and a helmet hid all of the man's head except his face. around his waist was a belt with many incomprehensible objects dangling from it. if he was so well armored, why was he not carrying a sword--a dagger at least! of what use were those things on his belt--for instance, that notched l-shaped thing? it would not even make a decent club! the stranger did not speak, merely gazed deeply into koroby's eyes. and she, returning the gaze, wondered if he was peering into her very soul. the words of a folk-ballad came to her: "--he'll smile and touch my cheek, and maybe more; and though we'll neither speak, we'll know the score--" * * * * * suddenly he put his hands to her cheeks and bent close to her, his eyes peering into hers as though he were searching for something he had lost in them. she spoke her thought: "what are you doing? you seem to be reading my mind!" without removing hands, he nodded. "reading--mind." he stared long into her eyes. his dispassionate, too-perfect face began to frighten her. she slipped back from him, her hand clutching her throat. he straightened up and spoke--haltingly at first, then with growing assurance. "don't be afraid. i mean you no harm." she trembled. it was such a wonderful voice--it was as she had always dreamed it! but she had never really believed in the dream.... he was looking at the wrecked globe of metal. "so there are people on venus!" he said slowly. koroby watched him, forgot her fear, and went eagerly to him, took his arm. "who are you?" she asked. "tell me your name!" he turned his mask of a face to her. "my name? i have none," he said. "no name? but who are you? where are you from? and what is that?" she pointed at the metal globe. "the vehicle by which i came here from a land beyond the sky," he said. she had no concept of stars or space, and he could not fully explain. "from a world known as terra." she was silent a moment, stunned. so there was another world! then she asked, "is it far? have you come to take me there?" here the similarity between her dream and actual experience ended. what was he thinking as he eyed her for a long moment? she had no way of guessing. he said, "no, i am not going to take you back there." her month gaped in surprise, and he continued, "as for the distance to terra--it is incredibly far away." the glare was beginning to die, the green flames' hissing fading to a whisper. they watched the melting globe sag on the sand. then koroby said, "but if it is so far away, how could you speak my language? there are some tribes beyond the jungle whose language is unlike ours--" "i read your mind," he explained indifferently. "i have a remarkable memory." "remarkable indeed!" she mocked. "no one here could do that." "but my race is infinitely superior to yours," he said blandly. "you little people--ah--" he gestured airily. her lips tightened and her eyes narrowed. "and i?" his voice sounded almost surprised. "what about you?" "you see nothing about me worthy of your respect? are you infinitely superior to me--_me_?" he looked her up and down. "of course!" her eyes jerked wide open and she took a deep breath. "and just who do you think you are? a god?" he shook his head. "no. just better informed, for one thing. and--" koroby cut him short. "what's your name?" "i have none." "what do you mean, you have none?" he seemed just a trifle bored. "we gave up names long ago on my world. we are concerned with more weighty things than our own selves. but i have a personal problem now," he said, making a peculiar sound that was not quite a sigh. "here i am stranded on venus, my ship utterly wrecked, and i'm due at the reisezek convention in two weeks. you"--he gripped koroby's shoulder, and his strength made her wince--"tell me, where is the nearest city? i must communicate with my people at once." she pointed. "the stone city's that way." "good," he said. "let's go there." they took another glance at the metal globe and the green fire, which by now had died to a fitful glimmer. then the stranger and the girl started toward the jungle, where the litter-bearers awaited them. * * * * * as the party was struggling through the prairie's tall grass, the man said to koroby, "i realize from the pictures in your mind that there is no means in your city of communicating directly with my people. but it seems that there are materials which i can utilize in building a signal--" he was walking along, head erect, apparently quite at ease, while the litter bearers and koroby could barely drag themselves with him. the girl's garment was a tattered ruin. her skin was gritty with dust, and she was bleeding from many scratches. she tripped over tangled roots and exclaimed in pain. then the man took one of the strange implements from his belt, pressed a knob on it, and light appeared as if by magic! he handed the stick to koroby, but she was afraid to touch it. this was a strange light that gave no heat, nor flickered in the breeze. finally she accepted it from him, but carried it gingerly at arm's length. she refused to believe that he had no name, and so he named himself. "call me robert. it is an ancient name on terra." "robert," she said, and, "robert." but at last she could go no farther. she had forced herself along because she wanted to impress this indifferent man that she was not as inferior as he might think--but now she could not go on. with a little cry almost of relief, she sank to the ground and lay semi-conscious, so weary that the very pain of it seemed on the point of pleasure. robert dipped down, scooped her up, and carried her. lights glimmered ahead; shouts reached them. it was a searching party, yasak in it. the litter-carriers who could still speak blurted out what had happened. "a green light--loud sounds--fire--this man there--" and then dropped into sleep. "someone carry these men," yasak ordered. to robert he said, "we're not very far from the path to the city now. shall i carry the girl?" "it makes no difference," robert said. "you will stay with me while you are in the city, of course," yasak said, as they walked. he eyed this handsome stranger speculatively, and then turned to shout an necessary order. "you, there, keep in line!" he glanced at robert furtively to see if this had impressed him at all. * * * * * it was day. koroby sat up in bed and scanned her surroundings. she was in yasak's house. the bed was very soft, the coverlets of the finest weave. the furniture was elegantly carved and painted; there were even paintings on the walls. a woman came to the bed. she was stocky and wore drab grey: the blue circles tattooed on her cheeks proclaimed her a slave. "how do you feel?" she asked. "fairly well. how long have i been ill?" koroby asked, sweetly weak. "you haven't been ill. they brought you in last night." "oh," koroby said disappointedly, and sat upright. "i feel as if i'd been lying here for weeks. where's yasak? where's the strange man in armor?" "yasak's out somewhere. the stranger man is in the room at the end of the hall." "fetch me something to wear--that's good enough," the girl accepted the mantle offered by the slave. "quick, some water--i must wash." in a few minutes she was lightly running down the hall; she knocked on the door of robert's room. "may i come in?" he did not answer. she waited a little and went in. he was seated on one of the carved chairs, fussing over some scraps of metal on the table. he did not look up. "thank you for carrying me, robert." he did not reply. "robert--i dreamed of you last night. i dreamed you built another round house and that we both flew away in it. yasak had to stay behind, and he was furious. robert! aren't you listening?" "i hear you." "don't you think it was an exciting dream?" he shook his head. "but why? robert"--she laid longing hands on his shoulders--"can't you see that i'm in love with you?" he shrugged. "i believe you don't know what love is!" "i had a faint idea of it when i looked into your mind," he said. "i'm afraid i haven't any use for it. where i come from there is no love, and there shouldn't be here, either. it's a waste of time." "robert--i'm mad about you! i've dreamed of your coming--all my life! don't be so cruel--so cold to me! you mock me, say that i'm nothing, that i'm not worthy of you--" she stepped back from him, clenching her hands. "oh, i hate you--hate you! you don't care the least bit about me--and i've shamed myself in front of you--i, supposed to be yasak's wife by now!" she began to cry, hid her face in suddenly lax fingers. she looked up fiercely. "i could kill you!" robert stood immobile, no trace of feeling marring the perfection of his face. "i could kill you, and i will kill you!" she sprang at him. "you'll hurt yourself," he admonished kindly, and after she had pummeled his chest, bruising her fingers on his armor, she turned away. "and now if you're through playing your incomprehensible little scene," robert said, "i hope you will excuse me. i regret that i have no emotions--i was never allowed them. but it is an esthetic regret.... i must go back to my wrecked ship now and arrange the signals there." he did not wait for her leave, but strode out of the room. koroby huddled on a chair, sobbing. then she dried her eyes on the backs of her hands. she went to the narrow slits that served as windows and unfastened the translucent shutter of one. down in the city street, robert was walking away. her eyes hardened, and her fingers spread into ugly claws. without bothering to pull the shutter in place she hurried out of the room, ran eagerly down the hall. she stopped at the armor-rack at the main hall on her way outside, and snatched up a _siatcha_--a firestone. then she slipped outside and down the street. * * * * * the city's wall was not far behind. robert was visible in the distance, striding toward his sky-ship, a widening cloud of dust rising behind him like the spreading wake of a boat. koroby stood on tip-toe, waving and calling after him, "robert! robert! come back!" but he did not seem to hear. she watched him a little longer. then she deliberately stooped and drew the firestone out of its sheath. she touched it to a blade of the tall grass. a little orange flame licked up, slowly quested along the blade, down to the ground and up another stem. it slipped over to another stem, and another, growing larger, hotter--koroby stepped back from the writhing fire, her hand protectively over her face. the flames crackled at first--like the crumpling of thin paper. then, as they widened and began climbing hand over hand up an invisible ladder, they roared. koroby was running back toward the city now, away from the heat. the fire spread in a long line over the prairie. above its roar came shouts from the city. the flames rose in a monstrous twisting pillar, brighter than even the dust-palled sky, lighting the buildings and the prairie. the heat was dreadful. koroby reached the city wall, panted through the gate into a shrieking crowd. someone grasped her roughly--she was too breathless to do more than gasp for air--and shook her violently. "you fool, you utter fool! what did you think you were doing?" others clamored around her, reaching for her. then she heard yasak's voice. face stern, he pushed through the crowd, pressed her to him. "let her alone--let her alone, i say!" they watched the conflagration, yasak and koroby, from a higher part of the wall than where the others were gathered. they could glimpse robert now and then. he was running, trying to outrace the flames. then they swept around him, circling him--his arms flailed frantically. * * * * * the fire had passed over the horizon. the air was blue with smoke, difficult to breathe, and ashes were drifting lightly down like dove-colored snow. yasak, watery eyed, a cloth pressed to his nose, was walking with several others over the smoking earth and still warm ashes up to his knees. in one hand he held a stick. he stopped and pointed. "he fell about here," he said, and began to probe the ashes with the stick. he struck something. "here he is!" he cried. the others hurried to the spot and scooped ashes away, dog-fashion, until robert's remains were laid clear. there were exclamations of amazement and perplexity from the people. it was a metal skeleton, and the fragments of complicated machinery, caked with soot. "he wasn't human at all!" yasak marvelled. "he was some kind of a toy made to look like a man--that's why he wore armor, and his face never changed expression--" "magic!" someone cried, and backed away. "magic!" the others repeated, and edged back ... and that was the end of one of those robots which had been fashioned as servants for terrestial men, made in man's likeness to appease man's vanity, then conquered him. assignment on venus by carl jacobi simms had the toughest assignment of his career. he must fight his way through venusian intrigue to deliver a sealed cylinder--a cylinder that held his dishonorable discharge from the service. [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from planet stories fall 1943. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] simms rested his paddle across the thwart and let the clumsy _jagua_ drift. ahead, where the indigo swamp growth thinned, an abuttment of white metal projected from the water, its near end forming a wafer-like conning tower. half-way jetty at last! two grueling weeks through venus' blue mold swamp were behind him. even if he knew that this station marked the half way point to his final disgrace and humiliation, he could at least rest here, free from the incredible dangers of the marsh. he swung the dugout to a landing, wearily stretched cramped legs and headed down the catwalk. before him the door of the jetty opened and three men appeared in the entrance. earthmen! "halleck! gately! sterns!" simms cried. "what the devil are you doing here?" the taller of the men held the door open wider. "come in, simms," he said. "we've been expecting you." inside the spherical room the air was warm and dry. simms unhooked his dehydration mask and surveyed the three quietly. they weren't a lovely trio. halleck was tall and swarthy with dark eyes and thin lips. he wore a stained rain-helmet and flexible swamp boots. gately undoubtedly had martian blood in his veins. and sterns, a typical space-rat from the slums of venus city, bore an old heat-gun scar across his face. "i thought the halleck development company was heading north," simms said. "that's what you told the commandante at post one." halleck smiled. "we told your commandante a lot of things that suited our purpose." simms stirred uneasily. "you also said you were geologists, looking for sedimentary deposits." "part of which is quite true." halleck lit a cigarette deliberately, then nodded to gately who drew from his pocket a small bag. the man jerked the draw string and permitted a dozen yellowish lumps to spill out on the table. "_deleon_ salts," halleck said shortly. ice touched simms' spine. he had of course seen these ochre crystals before, while on patrol duty in native kamali villages. but in the possession of earth men.... "_deleon_ salts," halleck said again, blowing a shaft of smoke ceilingward. "the stuff that holds the secret of rejuvenation for the kamalis. we're going to get a lot of it, ship it back to earth and sell it for a high price." "but ... but good lord, you can't do that...." "i know what you're going to say," interrupted halleck, "that although these salts enable the kamalis to maintain eternal life, they mean instant death to a person of earth. well, we've taken care of that. we've worked out a process that makes them harmless for a year." "and after that...?" simms persisted. halleck shrugged. "after that we'll have made our pile. we're simply selling a drug guaranteed to erase the ravages of time. it'll go like wildfire." * * * * * up on the wall a mercury clock pulsed rhythmically, and below the floor level sounded the faint drone of the dehydrators. motionless, simms sat there. like wildfire, halleck had said. and the words were only too true. the quest for perpetual youth was eternal. earth men still envied the two hundred year old martians, the three hundred year old jovians. tell them that these _deleon_ salts were both harmless and effective, and the results would be cataclysmic. every person on earth would demand some of the crystals. and in a year.... "where did you get these salts?" simms asked. for answer halleck reached forward and plucked something from the venusian service man's belt before the latter could restrain him. capped and sealed at both ends, it was an official mold-proof message cylinder. "three weeks ago," halleck said, tapping the cylinder with his finger, "you left post one with this tube bound for venusian headquarters at betaba. you were sent in person because any radio or visiscreen communication would of course be intercepted by the kamali oligarchs. "the tube contains two messages. one asks for reinforcements at the post because of a recent epidemic of mold fever. the other demands your resignation because of insubordination. insubordination--refusing to obey orders. right, isn't it?" a knife of bitterness cut through simms. yes, it was right, every word of it. he had come here to venus direct from the inner-planet military school on earth. at venus city he had waited six months before receiving his appointment to the venusian colonial service. and then, without preamble, he had been sent to the most remote garrison in the blue swamp mold country--post one. a week after his arrival the commandante had ordered him to ferret out a certain kamali native who had rebelled against the government, and disable him with a paralysis gun. somehow when simms had come face to face with the web-footed creature, his conscience had rebelled. shooting in self-defense was one thing, but crippling in cold blood didn't seem human. he had let the kamali go unharmed. and a week later that same kamali had sneaked through the impentration walls of the post and murdered two service men. "the point is," halleck continued, "we know where you stand, and we know we've got a good proposition ourselves. we've located a big _deleon_ mine near xenthar village. that's deep mold country. all we have to do is start a little rebellion among the kamali tribes, wait until they go on an expedition of war, then slip in and work the mine." the man's eyes gleamed sardonically. but it was gately who put the final offer into words. "now then, simms," he said huskily, "you're getting a lousy deal from the government anyway. if you deliver that message, you'll only lose your commission. string along with us, and we'll treat you right. what do you say?" simms' face masked the battle that was waging in his soul. "i'll think it over," he said at length. * * * * * three hours later simms lay in one of the wall bunks, wide awake. the jetty room was in semi-darkness, lit only by the soft glow that filtered through the ports. from the bunks opposite came the regular breathing of halleck and sterns. gately sat by the table, smoking a cigarette. the situation was quite clear to simms now. he was a prisoner. the slightest attempt on his part to escape would result in the space-rats taking action. for it was to their interest that his message did not get through. post one had asked for reinforcements. those reinforcements coming back through the swamp would interfere with their plans to get the rejuvenation salts. on the other hand halleck had spoken the truth when he said that simms was heading straight into disaster. delivery of that sealed message cylinder would mean his immediate dismissal from the venusian colonial service. his hands dug into the blankets. suppose he did throw in with these three. halleck would see that a tribal war of large proportion got under way among the kamalis at once. that would mean every garrison in blue swamp would be in danger of complete annihilation. post one with its flimsy impentration walls and its men weakened by mold fever would be wiped out. all because of a few crystals. for two generations those _deleon_ salts had been a mystery to earthmen who colonized venus. chemists only knew that the kamalis used the drug to rejuvenate their bodies and prolong life. once in ages past the kamalis had been a great race with a high culture. then through some great catastrophe their numbers had been decimated and made sterile. gradually they had migrated into blue swamp, and it was here no doubt that they had developed their webbed feet and their elongated ears. yet while the _deleon_ salts served to rejuvenate their bodies, their minds had gradually atrophied. only the ruling oligarchs knew the secret of using the drug without harm to their mental powers. abruptly simms tensed. across the room gately's head nodded in sleep. the venusian service man slid to his feet, stole noiselessly across to the three ports and closed them. from his pocket he took a small paralysis-fume pellet, lit it and tossed it under the table. back in his own bunk, he pulled on his dehydration mask and waited tensely. in sixty seconds a grey fog of vapor was swirling through the room. in sixty seconds more gately's body had become rigid, his right arm suspended in space over the table. simms made sure his message-tube was in its place in his belt holster. then he crossed unchallenged to the door. an instant later he was outside, advancing along the catwalk. he leaped into his _jagua_ and began to paddle madly, intent only on putting distance between himself and the jetty. he had two alternatives: to continue on to ghq at betaba, or to head into forbidden mold country and warn xenthar village. either way his own future was doomed. but without hesitation he chose the latter. * * * * * mile after mile simms fought his way along hidden channels, each of which resembled its predecessor. at first he had no idea where xenthar village lay. then, in his mind's eye, he saw again that relief-map of the blue country which all venusian service men must commit to memory. xenthar lay to the east in an unexplored district. huge blue priest trees bowed before him and sang their aeolian litanies as he passed. living serpent-kelp clutched at his dugout and tried to prevent his passage. he moved by his watch. overhead, at exact thirty minute intervals, successive hordes of poleidons--_ithiosyoria_--roared past in great blue clouds. as each migration came he ceased paddling and sat motionless. the slightest movement would have sent those flying lizard birds down to attack him. even his dehydration mask failed to keep out the odor of mold. mold balls, two feet across, floated through the air like great puffs of bluish cotton. simms kept a wary eye trained to see that none fell on the _jagua_. had one done so, the sacrophytic spores would have taken root and over-run the boat in a matter of seconds. on and on he went through the incessant rain. once a huge waterskipper came, leaped over the surface of the water, its huge center eye open, its mouth a slavering slit of orange. he dug his paddle deep and pushed into the blue rip grass until the monster had passed. and finally he saw it--a rectangular floating platform, constructed of mud and thatch, anchored by a network of vine cables. he made a landing at a small wharf and began to stride along a matting path. twenty feet forward, and he came face to face with a kamali. the little man stopped short on his webbed feet, and his huge ears flapped ludicrously. with a low cry he turned and ran. "i'm in for it now," simms muttered. "that devil will warn the whole village." his words were a prediction. before he had gone fifty yards more a squad of kamali guardsmen advanced upon him. they wore skins of _chabla_ cat and red headdresses formed of _patani_, the venusian swamp flower. but simms, though new to the service, had had experience with interior villages before. quietly he handed over his heat gun, let his wrists be bound, permitted himself to be escorted down the walk. the village opened before him. simms saw a double row of rectangular huts formed of white _carponium_. in the center a round hut marked the quarters of the oligarch and before this structure a taller kamali stood, wearing a headdress formed of some brownish plastic. simms bowed and held his message-tube in his bound hands before him in the formality expected. "lieutenant simms," he said, "sixth venusian colonials, bound post one to general headquarters at betaba. i bring you information, oh mighty one, which it will pay you to hear." the oligarch's eyes contracted. he motioned simms to continue. "three earth men," the lieutenant said, "are headed for your village. they...." his voice died off. behind the oligarch three familiar figures suddenly appeared in the doorway. in the foreground stood halleck, smoking a cigarette, eyes filled with triumph. behind him lounged gately and sterns. the heat-gun scar on the latter's face seemed deeper and redder than before. "i'm afraid you're too late, simms," halleck said. "i've already explained to his highness that you've come to this village to steal his _deleon_ salts. i think you know what that means." gately laughed harshly. "you were pretty smooth back at the jetty," he said. "but you forgot that the dehydrators would dispose of the fumes from your paralysis-pellet in a few moments. you forgot also that we travel by hydrocar." simms' fists clenched. suddenly an overpowering urge to smash halleck's sneering face blinded all his reason. before the kamali guards could restrain him, he threw himself forward and planted a driving blow into the space-rat's jaw with his two lashed fists. but that was as far as simms got. the oligarch spoke a quick command then, and a rush of webbed feet sounded. something heavy crashed down on the lieutenant's skull. he felt himself falling--into a pit of blackness. * * * * * curiously, he was aware of no lapse of time when he opened his eyes. he lay on the floor of the a low ceilinged room that was bare of furnishings. dizziness claimed him, and it was several minutes before he could gather sufficient strength to stand erect. he headed first for the door. it was locked, and the two circular windows were both grilled with stout metal bars. for the second time in a few hours simms was a prisoner. he turned, surveyed the room with eyes of growing despair. an antiquated paralysis gun hang from a peg on one wall. he tore it free and flipped open the charge chamber. but as he had expected, it was green with mold and quite useless. the circular windows opened out on the extreme end of the village. peering between the bars, simms saw an endless line of kamalis padding in from the other side of a vine screen, depositing the contents of baskets on a growing pile of black slag. a dozen kamalis squatted there, pounding pieces of the slag with little flat-nosed hammers. this then was the _deleon_ salt industry, the secret of which was so jealously guarded. abruptly simms found his gaze focused on a larger conical building he had not noticed before. even as he stared at its smooth windowless sides, a sound emerged from it. a low drone at first, it rapidly mounted the octaves until it became a high-pitched siren-like shriek. the sound pulsed through the walls of the hut, bludgeoned against the lieutenant's eardrums, seemed to eat into his very brain. higher and higher it mounted, until presently it had gone beyond the hearing range. but simms got the impression it was still climbing into the supersonic range. he saw then a native cross the square and head toward his hut, carrying a dish of food. the lieutenant glanced at the old-fashioned lock on the door, and a thought struck him. feverishly he searched his pockets, drew forth his watch. made for use on all planets, the timepiece had a magno-shielded case. quickly simms unscrewed the back cover. the door creaked open, and the kamali thrust the dish of food inside. but in the instant before the door clicked into position again, simms had slipped the watch cover between the latch and the magnetic face plate. the intervening hours until the light outside gradually faded seemed interminable. at length, however the square outside the hut was blanketed in deep gloom. simms boldly opened the door and emerged onto the street. * * * * * without a plan of any kind he headed instinctively toward the slag pile and the tower from which that strange vibration had come. he had reached the extreme end of the village when voices reached his ears. quickly simms darted into the doorway of a near hut. the men were halleck and gately! "why take chances?" gately was saying. "we've got all the time in the world, and we might as well give those salts a longer vibration exposure. that way the earth people who take the stuff won't feel any bad effects for maybe two years." halleck swore in reply. "you fool," he said. "don't you realize we're working on counted time. the i.p. men are after me now on mars and jupiter. we've got to work fast. have you convinced the oligarch?" gately grunted. "yes, the whole village sets out on an expedition of war tomorrow night." "you told the oligarch that neighboring tribes had been tampering with his _deleon_ mine?" there was growing satisfaction in halleck's voice. "sure, i told him. sterns told him, too, and the fool would be alive now if he'd taken precautions...." the voices became inaudible then as the men passed on. simms stood in his tracks undecidedly. then a glimmer of flare lightning in the sodden sky illuminated that strange tower just ahead. like a magnet it drew him forward with its power. crouching low, he reached its cylindrical sides. he was groping for the entrance when his hands touched something soft and yielding. chilled, he waited for a second lightning flare. it came, and it revealed the body of the third space-rat, sterns. the man was dead. his eyes were bulging and streams of blood were issuing from either ear. bewildered, yet careful not to disturb the body, simms completed his circle of the tower and found the entrance. inside he felt rather than saw a spiral staircase leading upward. with the utmost caution he began to climb. he was breathing hard when he reached the top. a door barred his way. simms pushed it open and stood staring on the threshold. a bluish _radite_ lamp was suspended from the ceiling. occupying a good half of the chamber was a huge parabolic horn, its small end converging on a platform upon which a circular disc slowly revolved. in the center of the disc was a rounded heap of yellow crystals. the left wall was taken up by a switchboard, with a series of dials staggered across a _corbite_ panel. at the right wall, facing the open end of the parabolic horn, was a large wire cage. simms strode forward. the crystals on the revolving disc were _deleon_ salts. but what was the meaning of this other apparatus? he peered inside the cage and stared, incredulously. _hudrites!_ the cage was filled with hundreds of the venusian swamp insects. and then abruptly something clicked in his brain like a puzzle piece fitting into a slot. this chamber housed the mechanism that made the rejuvenation salts adaptable to the kamalis. the secret was vibration, a bombardment of supersonic waves, causing a basic mutation of the crystals' molecular structure. the _hudrites_ were the venus equivalent of the earth cricket. but where a cricket gave off vibrations of 8,000 a second, the frequency of a _hudrite_ had never been measured. it was said to be more than two million cycles. the vibrations from these insects were picked up by the parabolic horn and a sensitive detector and stepped up by a cyclestat. when the sound waves struck the crystals, they responded to it at their frequency and by its vibrations gave rise to a varying voltage. the sound waves of the _hudrites_ were thereby converted into electrical vibrations and these electrical waves amplified with the aid of vacuum tubes. the two were then united, and this bombardment of supersonic and electrical waves changed the structure of the _deleon_ crystals. no doubt the kamali oligarchs had discovered through long experiment just how long a vibration exposure was necessary to make the salts potent and still not effect their mental powers. the process undoubtedly took months of venus time. but the space-rats, halleck and gately, had no intention of waiting that long. they planned to expose the crystals for the shortest possible time and then sell them to unsuspecting citizens of earth. another thought struck simms. sterns! what had killed him? * * * * * he had the answer an instant later. up on the wall a warning bell sounded and a red light flashed off and on. from a microtone speaker sounded that same deep-toned drone. again it began to mount swiftly up the octaves, rising steadily to a high-pitched shriek preparing the way for the supersonic vibrations of the _hudrites_. the lieutenant clapped his hands to his ears, fell to the floor in writhing agony. stabbing lancets of pain darted through his brain. he felt his eyes protruding; his head seemed ready to explode. with a mighty effort he managed to jerk on his dehydration mask, slide the protective ear-caps into place. even then the sensation was only partly relieved, and he stood, heart pounding, waiting for the mad vibration to stop. when at length it came to an end, a glance at the _deleon_ salts showed him they had colored from a light yellow to a deep orange. tiny facets of irridescent flame now played over their surfaces. whatever method of utilizing the supersonic field the kamalis used, it was a deadly one. as the body of sterns proved, the action of those piezo-electric crystals was fatal to the unprotected human organism. simms moved to the control panel. he had the secret of the _deleon_ salts now. but what good would it do him. in a short time his escape would be detected and.... but even as his gaze sped over the dials, a thought struck him. one of those dials must control the intervals of time between each supersonic bombardment. another must control the frequency of the vibrations. boldly simms seized a rheostat and shoved it over to its farthest marking. he found the time dial and pushed that upward too, guessing at the length of increase. then he was descending swiftly the spiral staircase to the ground level. he skirted the main street of the village and groped his way through inky blackness to the swamp shore. in the gloom he made out his _jagua_. but he didn't stop here. he ran blindly a hundred yards along the matting shore until a squat beetle-like shape materialized out of the darkness. the space-rats' hydrocar. in a half minute he had the mooring line unfastened. and then splitting the darkness about him came a shaft of white light. simultaneously halleck's voice yelled: "get him before he gets into the car!" there was a dull report like a melon striking, and something soft and fuzzy whizzed past simms' head to hit the water with a hollow plop. a mold gun! in the relentless light of halleck's search lamp, the lieutenant saw the living fungus erupt into a hundred wriggling spores that germinated in a matter of seconds. simms leaped into the cabin and fumbled for the starter switch. once a dozen years before he had driven a hydrocar on a pleasure cruise a short distance up the martian central canal. now his fingers touched the stud, and the motor roared into life. but before he could press the trigger out into the swamp, he saw halleck leap through the water and hurl himself onto the car's hood. the man broke the windscreen into a hundred glass fragments and thrust a mold gun through the aperture straight into simms' face. but before he could press the trigger something happened. back in xenthar village a mighty wailing scream pierced the air. like a frightened banshee the sound raced into the upper register, leaped to a grinding, ear-shattering shriek. halleck dropped the mold gun and clapped his hands to his ears. on shore the kamalis uttered cries of pain and fell groveling as the sound mounted into the supersonic range and the piezo-electric crystals began their action. with a jerk simms swung the wheel, throwing halleck off balance and plummeting him into the water. the hydrocar roared out into the swamp like a runaway comet. * * * * * all night simms drove, weaving through aisles of man-high rip grass, circling denser groves of blue priest trees and ardaleptic ferns. at dawn he drew up at a small island, built a fire and cooked some of the food he found packed away in a rear compartment of the hydrocar. he rested half an hour, reentered the car and drove on at a more leisurely speed. there remained now only to go to ghq at betaba, give his report and hand over his message-cylinder. and when the tube was opened, he would be through on venus. dismissed from the service for insubordination. wherever he went, that report would follow him. his lips compressed. there was a girl waiting for him back on earth--waiting until he had completed his hitch in the service and could graduate to the spaceways. abruptly his hand, reaching to his belt, stopped, and an electric shock ran through him. his message cylinder was gone! he must have lost it when he rested at the little island. for a moment he sat motionless, a cold numbness sweeping over him. he must have that cylinder when he reported at betaba. that part of the message pertaining to reenforcements for the garrison would be given orally, of course. but the section regarding himself was different. if he failed to deliver that letter, sooner or later he would be accused of throwing it away. it would mean another case of--insubordination. suddenly he threw over the wheel and sent the hydrocar racing back in the direction from which it had just come. the great swamp faded out of his vision now. he drove with his thoughts. and then as familiar landmarks began to rise up before him, he realized what he was doing. it was selfishness that had driven him along the back trail. he was returning for a kind of personal satisfaction. deliberately taking chances when the stakes were higher than himself or his own feelings. but the island lay just ahead. it would be mad to turn back now that he had come this far. he ran the hydrocar into a little inlet, switched off the motor and climbed out. the coals of his campfire were still glowing. carefully he began to search the trampled grass. a fern writhed in the sodden wind, and a glint of metal caught his eye. the official tube lay where it had fallen, close to the shore. but as simms strode forward, a footstep sounded behind him. he stiffened and turned. an earth man stood there on the little beach, hands resting triumphantly on hips, watching him. "halleck!" in the swamp back of the space-rat lay a long _akimla_ canoe, filled with kamali tribesmen, drawn by three waterskippers, their ugly beetle-like bodies lashed with an intricate network of harness. there was a mold gun in halleck's hands, and he had it leveled before him. out of the corner of his eye the lieutenant was searching desperately for a way of escape. above him his upraised hands touched the spreading branch of a priest tree, and he saw that its farther extremity hung within a foot of halleck's gun hand. simms seized the branch and gave it a powerful downward jerk. and in the instant that the space-rat's weapon was pushed out of aim, he threw himself forward in a flying tackle. he fought desperately, aware that he had seconds in which to act and no more. a heavy kick in the groin sent a wave of nausea surging through him. then his hands closed about the mold gun. he tore it free and pounded a hard blow into the space-rat's jaw. twice he stuck. then as halleck slumped backward, he stumbled erect and trained the weapon on the advancing kamalis, finger tight on trigger. "back!" he snapped. "one move, and i fire. get into that jitterbug chariot of yours and get going!" * * * * * two days later a mud-stained, mold-encrusted hydrocar swung up to the jetty at betaba, venusian colonial headquarters on the outer edge of blue swamp. two haggard earthmen climbed out, one still gripping a kamali mold gun, the other, his hands bound behind him. they paced down the catwalk, entered the lock, and a moment later stood before the post major. simms saluted and began a graphic description of all that had occurred. "post one needs help sir," he concluded. "there were twelve cases of mold fever when i left, and the impentration walls are badly in need of repair. the kamalis are on the verge of an intertribal war." the major looked the prisoner over and nodded. all the defiance was gone from halleck now. he stood there, lips twisted in a sullen snarl, eyes mirroring defeat. "the i.p. men have been after this rat for a long time," the major said. "and now, lieutenant, i'll have your official report." silently simms handed the message cylinder across the desk. the major opened the cylinder and glanced at the scroll inside. a moment passed in silence as he read the message. "lieutenant," he said at length, looking up, "how long have you been at post one?" "six weeks, sir." the major opened a humidor and took out a martian cheroot. "it so happens your commandante is a very shrewd person. lieutenant, take a look at this letter." slowly simms picked up the scroll and read: ... _and am sending this letter by lieutenant simms, a newcomer to post one. the boy had the usual case of nerves brought about by the damnable solitude, the rain and the constant dangers here at the post, and i'm taking the usual method of curing it. let him rest over at betaba for a month. then send him back. he has the makings_ ... and across the desk the major puffed his martian cheroot and smiled. amateur in chancery by george o. smith [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from galaxy magazine october 1961. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] the creature from venus didn't know right from left--and life and death hung in the balance! paul wallach came into my office. he looked distraught. by some trick of selection, paul wallach, the director of project tunnel, was one of the two men in the place who did not have a string of doctor's and scholar's degrees to tack behind their names. the other was i. "trouble, paul?" i asked. he nodded, saying, "the tunnel car is working." "it should. it's been tested enough." "holly carter drew the short straw." "er--" i started and then stopped short as the implication became clear. "she's--she's--not--?" "holly made it to venus all right," he said. "trouble is we can't get her back." "can't get her back?" he nodded again. "you know, we've never really known very much about the atmosphere of venus." "yes." "well, from what little came through just before holly blacked out, it seems that there must be one of the cyanogens in the atmosphere in a concentration high enough to effect nervous paralysis." "meaning?" "meaning," said paul wallach in a flat tone, "that holly carter stopped breathing shortly after she cracked the airlock. and her heart stopped beating a minute or so later." "holly--dead?" "not yet, tom," he said. "if we can get her back in the next fifteen or twenty minutes, modern medicine can bring her back." "but there'll be brain damage!" "oh, there may be some temporary impairment. nothing that retraining can't restore. the big problem is to bring her back." "we should have built two tunnel cars." "we should have done all sorts of things. but when the terminal rocket landed on venus, everybody in the place was too anxious to try it out. lord knows, i tried to proceed at a less headlong pace. but issuing orders to you people is a waste of time and paper." i looked at him. "doc," i asked, giving him the honorary title out of habit, "venus is umpty-million miles from here. we haven't another tunnel car, and no rocket could make it in time to do any good. so how can we hope to rescue holly?" "that's the point," said wallach. "venus, it appears, is inhabited." "oh?" "that's what got holly caught in the first place. she landed, then saw this creature approaching. believing that no life could exist in an atmosphere dangerous to life, she opened the airlock and discovered otherwise." "so?" "so now all we have to do is to devise some way of explaining to a venusian the difference between left and right. i thought you might help." "but i'm just a computer programmer." "that's the point. we all figured that you have developed a form of communication to that machine of yours. the rest of the crew, as you know, have a bit of difficulty in communicating among themselves in their own jargon, let alone getting through to normal civilians. when it comes to a venusian, they're licked." i said, "i'll try." * * * * * project tunnel is the hardware phase of a program started a number of years ago when somebody took a joke seriously. in a discussion of how the tunnel diode works, one of the scientists pointed out that if an electron could be brought to absolute rest, its position according to heisenberg uncertainty would be completely ambiguous. hence it had as high a possibility of being found on venus as it had of being found on earth or anywhere else. now, the tunnel diode makes use of this effect by a voltage bias across the diode junction. between narrow limits, the voltage bias is correct to upset the ambiguity of mr. heisenberg, making the electron nominally found on one side of the junction more likely to be found on the other. nobody could deny the operability of the tunnel diode. project tunnel was a serious attempt to employ the tunnel effect in gross matter. the terminal rocket mentioned by paul wallach carried the equipment needed to establish the voltage bias between venus and the earth. once established, project tunnel was in a state that caused it to maroon the most wonderful girl in the world. since the latter statement is my own personal opinion, my pace from the office to the laboratory was almost a dead run. the laboratory was a madhouse. people stood in little knots, arguing. those who weren't talking were shaking their heads in violent negation. the only one who appeared un-upset was teresa dwight, our psi-girl. and here i must confess an error. when i said that paul wallach and i were the only ones without a string of professorial degrees, i missed teresa dwight. i must be forgiven. teresa had a completely bland personality, zero drive, and a completely unstartling appearance. teresa was only fourteen. but she'd discovered that her psi-power could get her anything she really wanted. being human, therefore, she did not want much. so forgive me for passing her by. but now i had to notice her. as i came in, she looked up and said, "harla wants to know why can't he just try." * * * * * wallach went white. "tell that venusian thing 'no!' as loud as you can." teresa concentrated, then asked, "but why?" "does this harla understand the heisenberg effect?" she said after a moment, "harla says he has heard of it as a theory. but he is not quite prepared to believe that it does indeed exist as anything but an abstract physical concept." "tell harla that doctor carter's awkward position is a direct result of our ability to reduce the tunnel effect to operate on gross matter." "he realizes that. but now he wants to know why you didn't fire one of the lower animals as a test." "tell him that using animals for laboratory experiments is only possible in a police state where the anti-vivisection league can be exiled to siberia. mink coats and all. and let his venusian mind make what it can of that. now, teresa--" "yes?" "tell harla, very carefully, that pressing the left-hand button will flash the tunnel car back here as soon as he closes the airlock. but tell him that pushing the right-hand button will create another bias voltage--whereupon another mass of matter will cross the junction. in effect, it will rip a hole out of this laboratory near the terminal, over there, and try to make it occupy the same space as the tunnel car on venus. none of us can predict what might happen when two masses attempt to occupy the same space. but the chances are that some of the holocaust will backfire across the gap and be as violent at this end, too." "harla says that he will touch nothing until he has been assured that it is safe." "good. now, tom," he said, addressing me, "how can we tell right from left?" "didn't you label 'em?" "they're colored red on the right and green on the left." "is harla color-blind?" "no, but from what i gather harla sees with a different spectrum than we do. so far as he is concerned both buttons look alike." "you could have engraved 'em 'come' and 'go'." frank crandall snorted. "maybe you can deliver an 'english, self-taught' course through teresa to the venusian?" i looked at crandall. i didn't much care for him. it seemed that every time holly carter came down out of her fog of theoretical physics long enough to notice a simpleton who had to have a machine to perform routine calculations, we were joined by frank crandall who carted her off and away from me. if this be rank jealousy, make the most of it. i'm human. "crandall," i said, "even to a hottentot i could point out that the engraved legend 'go' contains two squiggly symbols, whereas the legend 'return' contains 'many'." * * * * * wallach stepped into the tension by saying, "so we didn't anticipate alien life. but now we've got the problem of communicating with it." crandall didn't appear to notice my stiff reply. he said, "confound it, what's missing?" "what's missing," i told him, "is some common point of reference." "meaning?" "meaning that i could define left from right to any semi-intelligent human being who was aware of the environment in which we live." "for example?" i groped for an example and said, lamely, "well, there's the weather rule, valid for the northern hemisphere. when the wind is blowing on your back, the left hand points to the low pressure center." "okay. but how about venus? astronomical information, i mean." i shook my head. "why not?" he demanded. "if we face north, the sun rises on our right, doesn't it?" "yes. even in the southern hemisphere." "well, then. so it doesn't make any difference which hemisphere they're in." "you're correct. but you're also making the assumptions that venus rotates on its axis, that the axis is aligned parallel to the earth's and that the direction of rotation is the same." "we know that venus rotates!" "we have every reason to believe so," i agreed. "but only because thermocouples measure a temperature on the darkside that is too high to support the theory that the diurnal period of venus is equal to the year. i think the latest figures say something between a couple of weeks and a few months. next, the axis needn't be parallel to anything. shucks, crandall, you know darned well that the solar system is a finely made clock with no two shafts aligned, and elliptical gears that change speed as they turn." * * * * * "practically everything in the solar system rotates in the same direction." i looked at him. "would you like to take a chance that venus agrees with that statement? you've got a fifty percent chance that you'll be right. guess wrong and we have a metric ton of hardware trying to occupy the same space as another metric ton of matter." "but--" "and furthermore," i went on, "we're just lucky that polaris happens to be a pole star right now. the poles of mars point to nothing that bright. even then, we can hardly expect the venusian to have divided the circumpolar sky into the same zoo full of mythical animals as our forebears--and if we use the commonplace expression, maybe the venusian never paused to take a long-handled dipper of water from a well. call them stewpots and the term is still insular. sure, there's lots of pointers, but they have to be identified. my mother always insisted that the pleiades were--er--was the little dipper." teresa dwight spoke up, possibly for the second or third time in her life without being spoken to first. she said, "harla has been listening to you through me. of astronomy he has but a rudimentary idea. he is gratified to learn from you that there is a 'sun' that provides the heat and light. this has been a theory based upon common sense; _something_ had to do it. but the light comes and goes so slowly that it is difficult to determine which direction the sun rises from. the existence of other celestial bodies than venus is also based on logic. if, they claim, they exist, and their planet exists, then there probably are other planets with people who cannot see them, either." "quoth pliny the elder," mumbled paul wallach. i looked at him. "pliny was lecturing about pythagoras' theory that the earth is round. a heckler asked him why the people on the other side didn't fall off. pliny replied that on the other side there were undoubtedly fools who were asking their wise men why we didn't fall off." "it's hardly germane," i said. "i'm sorry. yes. and time is running out." * * * * * the laboratory door opened to admit a newcomer, lou graham, head of the electronics crew. he said, "i've got it!" the chattering noise level died out about three decibels at a time. lou said, "when a steel magnet is etched in acid, the north pole shows selective etching!" i shook my head. "lou," i said, "we don't know whether venus has a magnetic field, whether it is aligned to agree with the earth's--nor even whether the venusians have discovered the magnetic compass." "oh, that isn't the reference point," said lou graham. "i'm quite aware of the ambiguity. the magnetic field does have a vector, but the arrow that goes on the end is strictly from human agreement." "so how do you tell which is the north pole?" "by making an electromagnet! then using ampere's right hand rule. you grasp the electromagnet in the right hand so that the fingers point along the winding in the direction of the current flow. the thumb then points to the north pole." "oh, fine! isn't that just the same confounded problem? now we've got to find out whether harla is equipped with a right hand complete with fingers and thumbs--so that we can tell him which his right hand is!" "no, no," he said. "you don't understand, tom. we don't need the right hand. let's wind our electromagnet like this: we place the steel bar horizontally in front of us. the wire from 'start' leaves us, passes over the top of the bar, drops below the bar on the far side, comes toward us on the under side, rises above the bar on the side toward us, and so on around and around until we've got our electromagnet wound. now if the 'start' is positive and the 'end' is negative, the north pole will be at the left. it will show the selective etching in acid." i looked at him. "lou," i said slowly, "if you can define positive and negative in un-ambiguous terms as well as you wound that electromagnet, we can get holly home. can you?" lou turned to teresa dwight. "has this harla fellow followed me so far?" she nodded. "can you speak for him?" "you talk, i hear, he reads me. i read him and i can speak." * * * * * "okay, then," said lou graham. "now we build a le clanche cell. ask harla does he recognize carbon. a black or light-absorbing element. carbon is extremely common, it is the basis of life chemistry. it is element number six in the periodic chart. does harla know carbon?" "harla knows carbon." "now we add zinc. zinc is a light metal easily extracted from the ore. it is fairly abundant, and it is used by early civilizations for making brass or bronze long before the culture has advanced enough to recognize zinc as an element. does harla know zinc?" "he may," said teresa very haltingly. "what happens if harla gets the wrong metal?" "not very much," said lou. "any of the light, fairly plentiful metals that are easily extracted from the ore will suffice. say tin, magnesium, sodium, cadmium, so on." "harla says go on." "now we make an electrolyte. preferably an alkaline salt." "be careful," i said. "or you'll be asking harla to identify stuff from a litmus paper." "no," said lou. he faced teresa and said, "an alkaline substance burns the flesh badly." "so do acids," i objected. "alkaline substances are found in nature," he reminded me. "acids aren't often natural. the point is that an acid will work. even salt water will work. but an alkaline salt works better. at any rate, tell harla that the stuff, like zinc, was known to civilized peoples many centuries before chemistry became a science. acids, on the other hand, are fairly recent." "harla understands." "now," said lou graham triumphantly, "we make our battery by immersing the carbon and the zinc in the electrolyte. the carbon is the positive electrode and should be connected to the start of our electromagnet, whereas the end of the winding must go to the zinc. this will place the north pole to the left hand." "harla understands," said teresa. "so far, harla can perform this experiment in his mind. but now we must identify which end of the steel bar is north-pole magnetic." "if we make the bar magnetic and then immerse it in acid, the north magnetic pole will be selectively etched." "harla says that this he does not know about. he has never heard of it, although he is quite familiar with electromagnets, batteries, and the like." i looked at lou graham. "did you cook this out of your head, or did you use a handbook?" he looked downcast. "i did use a handbook," he admitted. "but--" "lou," i said unhappily, "i've never said that we couldn't establish a common frame of reference. what we lack is one that can be established in minutes. something physical--" i stopped short as a shadowy thought began to form. * * * * * paul wallach looked at me as though he'd like to speak but didn't want to interrupt my train of thoughts. when he could contain himself no longer, he said, "out with it, tom." "maybe," i muttered. "surely there must be something physical." "how so?" "the tunnel car must be full of it," i said. "screws?" i turned to saul graben. saul is our mechanical genius; give him a sketch made on used kleenex with a blunt lipstick and he will bring you back a gleaming mechanism that runs like a hundred-dollar wrist watch. but not this time. saul shook his head. "what's permanent is welded and what's temporary is snapped in with plug buttons," he said. "good lord," i said. "there simply _must_ be something!" "there probably is," said saul. "but this harla chap would have to use an acetylene torch to get at it." i turned to teresa. "can this psi-man harla penetrate metal?" "can anyone?" she replied quietly. wallach touched my arm. "you're making the standard, erroneous assumption that a sense of perception will give its owner a blueprint-clear grasp of the mechanical details of some machinery. it doesn't. perception, as i understand it, is not even similar to eyesight." "but--" i fumbled on--"surely there must be some common reference there, even granting that perception isn't eyesight. so how does perception work?" "tom, if you were blind from birth, i could tell you that i have eyesight that permits me to see the details of things that you can determine only by feeling them. this you might understand basically. but you could never be made to understand the true definition of the word 'picture' nor grasp the mental impression that is generated by eyesight." "well," i persisted, "can he penetrate flesh?" "flesh?" "holly's heart has stopped," i said. "but it hasn't been removed. if harla can perceive through human flesh, he might be able to perceive the large, single organ in the chest cavity near the spine." teresa said, "harla's perception gives him a blurry, incomplete impression." she looked at me. "it is something like a badly out-of-focus, grossly under-exposed x-ray solid." "x-ray solid?" i asked. "it's the closest thing that you might be able to understand," she said lamely. i dropped it right there. teresa had probably been groping in the dark for some simile that would convey the nearest possible impression. i felt that this was going to be the nearest that i would ever get to understanding the sense of perception. "can't he get a clear view?" "he has not the right." "right!" i exploded. "why--" wallach held up his hand to stop me. "don't make teresa fumble for words, tom. harla has not the right to invade the person of holly carter. therefore he can not get a clearer perception of her insides." "hell!" i roared. "give harla the right." "no one has authority." "authority be dammed!" i bellowed angrily. "that girl's life is at stake!" * * * * * wallach nodded unhappily. "were this a medical emergency, a surgeon might close his eyes to the laws that require authorization to operate. but even if he saved the patient's life, he is laying himself open to a lawsuit. but this is different, tom. as you may know, the ability of any psi-person is measured by their welcome to the information. thus teresa and harla, both willing to communicate, are able." "but can't harla understand that the entire bunch of us are willing that he should take a peek?" "confound it, tom, it isn't a matter of our permission! it's a matter of fact. it would ease things if holly were married to one of us, but even so it wouldn't be entirely clear. it has to do with the invasion of privacy." "privacy? in this case the very idea is ridiculous." "maybe so," said paul wallach. "but i don't make the rules. they're _natural_ laws. as immutable as the laws of gravity or the refraction of light. and tom, even if i were making the laws i might not change things. not even to save holly carter's life. because, tom, if telepathy and perception were as free and unbounded as some of their early proponents claimed, life would be a sheer, naked hell on earth." "but what has privacy to do with it? this harla isn't at all humanoid. a cat can look at a king--" "sure, tom. but how long would the cat be permitted to read the king's mind?" i grunted. "has this harla any mental block about examining the outside?" he looked at me thoughtfully. "you're thinking about a scar or some sort of blemish?" "yes. birthmark, maybe. no one is perfect." "you know of any?" i thought. it was not hard for me to conjure up a picture of holly carter. unfortunately, i looked at holly carter through the eyes of love, which rendered her perfect. if she had bridgework, i hadn't found it out. her features were regular and her hair fell loose without a part. her complexion was flawless ... at least the complexion that could be examined whilst holly sunned herself on a deck chair beside the swimming pool. i shook my head. then i faced an unhappy fact. it hurt, because i wanted my goddess to be perfect, and if she were made of weak, mortal flesh, i did not want to find it out by asking the man who knew her better than i did. still, i wanted her alive. so i turned to frank crandall. "do you?" i asked. "do i what?" "know of any scars or birthmarks?" "such as?" "oh, hell," i snapped. "such as an appendix scar that might be used to tell left from right." "look, tom, i'm not her physician, you know. i can only give you the old answer: 'not until they wear briefer swim suits.'" my heart bounced lightly. that holly was still in mortal danger was not enough to stop my elation at hearing frank crandall admit that he was not holly's lover, nor even on much better terms than i. it might have been better to face the knowledge that holly was all woman and all human even though the information had to come from someone who knew her well enough to get her home. then i came back to earth. i had my perfect goddess--in deadly peril--instead of a human woman who really did not belong to any man. * * * * * i hadn't seen saul graben leave, but he must have been gone because now he opened the door and came back. he was carrying a heavy rim gyroscope that was spinning in a set of frictionless gymbals. he looked most confused. he said, "i've spent what seems like an hour. you can't tell me that this gizmo is inseparable from the selfish, insular intellect of terrestrial so-called homo sapiens." he turned the base and we all watched the gymbal rings rotate to keep the gyro wheel in the same plane. "it should be cosmic," he said. "but every time i start, i find myself biting myself on the back of the neck. look. if you make the axle horizontal in front of you and rotate the gyro with the top edge going away from you, you can define a common reference. but motion beyond that cannot be explained. if the axle is depressed on the right side, the gyro will turn so the far edge looks to the right. but that's defining a in terms of a. so i'm licked." frank crandall shook his head. "there's probably an absolute to that thing somewhere, but i'm sure none of us know it. we haven't time to find it. in fact, i think the cause is lost. maybe we'd better spend our time figuring out a plausible explanation." "explanation?" blurted wallach. "let's face it," said crandall. "holly carter's life is slipping away. no one has yet come close to finding a common reference to describe right from left to this harla creature." "so what's your point?" "death is for the dying," crandall said in a monotone. "let them have their hour in peace and dignity. life is for the living, and for the living there is no peace. we who remain must make the best of it. so now in about five minutes holly will be at peace. the rest of us have got to answer for her." "how do you mean?" "how do you propose to explain this unfortunate incident?" asked crandall. "someone will want to know what happened to the remains of holly carter. i can see hell breaking loose. and i can see the whole lot of us getting laughed right off the earth because we couldn't tell right from left. and i can see us all clobbered for letting the affair take place." "you seem to be more worried about your professional reputation than about holly carter's life!" "i have a future," he said. "holly doesn't seem to. hell," he groaned, "we can't even gamble on it." "gamble?" "how successful do you think you'd be in getting this venusian to risk his life by closing his eyes and making a fifty-fifty stab in the dark at one of those buttons?" "well--" started wallach--"we'd be gambling too, you know. but--" * * * * * "wait a moment," i said. "i've got a sort of half-cracked theory. may i try?" "of course." "not 'of course.' i'll have to have quiet, with just teresa to communicate through." "if you have any ideas, try them," said wallach. "do you really know what you're doing?" demanded frank crandall. "i think so," i replied. "if it works, it'll be because i happen to feel close to holly." "could be," he said with a shrug. i almost flipped. duels have been fought over less. but instead of taking offense, crandall topped it off by adding, "you could have been a lot closer if you'd tried. she always said you had the alert, pixie-type mind that was pure relaxation instead of a dead let-down after a period of deep concentration. but you were always scuttling off somewhere. well, go ahead and try, tom. and good luck!" i took a deep breath. "teresa?" i asked. "yes, mr. lincoln?" "tell harla to concentrate on the buttons." "he is." "there is a subtle difference between them." "this he knows, but he does not know what it is." "there is a delicate difference in warmth. one button will be faintly warmer than the other." "harla has felt them." i dropped the third-person address and spoke to teresa as if she were but one end of a telephone line. "harla," i said, "only part of the difference lies in the warmth to physical touch. there should be another kind of warmth. are you not affected by a _feeling_ that one is better than the other?" harla's reply came direct through teresa: "why yes, i am indeed drawn to the warmer of the two. were this a game i would wager on it. but that is emotion and hardly suitable as a guide." "ah, but it is!" i replied quickly. "this is our frame of reference. press the warmer of the but--" i was violently interrupted. wallach shook me violently and hurled me away from teresa. frank crandall was facing the girl, shouting, "no! no! the warm one will be the red one! you must press the green--" and then he, too, was interrupted. displaced air made a near-explosive _woosh!_ and the tunnel car was there on its pad. in it was a nightmare horror holding a limp holly carter across its snakelike tentacles. a free tentacle opened the door. "take her while i hold my breath," said harla, still talking through teresa. "i'll return the tunnel car empty. i can, now that i know that warmth is where the hearth is." harla dropped the unconscious girl in my arms and snapped back into the car. it disappeared, then returned empty just as the doctor was bending over holly. * * * * * so now i have my holly, but every now and then i lie awake beside her in a cold sweat. harla could have guessed wrong. just as wallach and crandall had been wrong in assuming the red button would be warmer than the green. their reaction was as emotional as harla's. i hope harla either forgives me or never finds out that i had to sound sure of myself, and that i had to play on his emotions simply to get him to take the fifty-fifty chance on his--hers--_our_ lives. and i get to sleep only after i've convinced myself that it was more than chance ... that somehow our feelings and emotions guided harla where logic and definition fail. for right and left do not exist until terrestrial man defines them. the merchants of venus by a. h. phelps, jr. illustrated by freas [transcriber note: this etext was produced from galaxy science fiction march 1954. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] [sidenote: _a pioneer movement is like a building--the foundation is never built for beauty!_] the telephone rang. reluctantly, rod workham picked it up. nothing good had come from that phone in six years, and his sour expression was almost an automatic reflex. "workham here," he said. he held the phone an inch away from his ear, but the tirade exceeded his expectations--it would have been audible a foot away: "workham! how long do you think we're going to stand for this! at the rate you're going, there won't be a man left on venus or a dollar in the budget! what kind of a personnel director are you? don't you know this project is vital to every person on earth? thirty more resignations came in on this last mail flight." rod put the receiver gently on his desk. general carlson raved and ranted this way every time a colonist quit, and rod knew he was not expected to answer, even if given the chance. the general would carry on for about five minutes and then would slam down the phone himself. he dialed another number on the other phone. "this is rod, dave," he said when he got an answer. "carlson is on the other phone, yelling at my desk blotter. he says thirty more resignations came in just now. that right?" "close enough, rod--twenty-three pulled out. that makes seventy-eight per cent resigned in less than--" "spare me the statistics--carlson's probably blatting them right now. how do they break down? are they mostly farmers or technicians?" "there were only nine technicians left, and all of them quit with this bunch. the rest were farmers." dave newson must be smoking his pipe, rod decided--grinding sounds were coming over the phone. "that doesn't leave very much on venus to start a colony with--a few farmers, some trappers. and the scientific personnel--damn it, they seem to stick it out all right--" "their contracts are different," rod reminded him. "they go on a two year hitch and then come back to earth if they want to. the ones who are there are the ones who can take it and are signed up again." * * * * * there was a speculative pause on the other end of the line. "say, rod," newson said slowly. "why not leave this last batch of quitters right where they are? every one of them. they signed up for the project with their eyes open. why don't you just refuse to bring them home? ... they'd have to make a go of the colony to save their filthy necks!" rod grinned nastily. "i'd like to do it--but even general carlson wouldn't dare. we'd never get another colonist off earth, once it got out. they wouldn't trust us. our first problem is to get a self-supporting society on venus--and that might do it, all right. but our main job is to relieve the crowding on earth, and that means large numbers of people will have to go willingly later on. if we get tough with these babies, who will take a chance later on that we won't repeat the trick?" "but we lose a hundred potential colonists every time one of these quitters starts talking about why he left! more harm is done by letting them come back than would result from leaving them where they are." again the speculative pause. "maybe you could shoot them on arrival?" "i'll suggest it to the general when i see him," rod said, "if he doesn't shoot me first. now, can you get me the files on this latest group? and i'd like to see the staff psychologist here, along with all the interviewers who handled and passed the group. we'll see what we can salvage out of this. and if you see jaimie, send him along too, will you? maybe our gambling historian can find us something useful in the project record." "the files are already on the way. and i told biddington you'd probably want to see him--he said he'd be along in about ten minutes. i haven't located all the interviewers yet. jaimie's been right here, trying to talk me into a game of nim and protesting he never heard of binary numbers. i'll send him up, but keep your hand on your wallet. if you need anything else, i'll be right here." * * * * * rod thanked him and hung up, shaking his head. dave newsom was too good a man to be stuck on a government project--he ought to get out before the trouble started. anyone who worked for rod workham on project venus was likely to end up with a bad name. they lived under the ax. the only person who could be sure of his job was rod himself. he'd been recommended by a committee of top men in his field, and no other personnel man would accept the job if he were removed. also, most of his men would leave the project if general carlson bounced him, for they had been telling him so ever since the job had gotten hot. but there was the danger that the general might decide to bypass personnel in selecting colonists--or, what was more probable, might try to tame the planet with a military outpost. rod could hardly blame the man for his feelings. the job was vital, and everyone was intensely interested in making a go of it. scientific agriculture had gone about as far as it could; hydroponics had already begun to shoulder the load required by an overpopulated planet. but the fact known to most intelligent people on earth was that either new room was found in this kind of emergency, some place where people could go and live under nearly the same standards, or else some drastic changes in living standards would be required of all. and absolute and rigidly enforced birth control would have to go into effect. and all the attendant causes for race wars, nationalist wars, and have-not wars would crop up. but the majority of the people wouldn't move to an undeveloped planet. you couldn't send ordinary citizens as pioneers. for one thing, they wouldn't want to go. for another, the new community wouldn't last long if you forced them to go--the average person had neither the attitudes nor the physique needed to make over a wilderness. the problem was to find people who would create a community on a new planet and develop an integrated society there. this had meant rigid selection, careful psychological preparation and a terrifically expensive transportation system to get the people there and keep them supplied. and the job had to be done soon. economists predicted that thirty years were left on earth under present standards, maybe fifty. if the population couldn't be thinned out one way by then, it would have to be done by another. * * * * * for six years, now, rod had worked on the job of establishing a self-supporting colony on venus. three different colonies had been started, and each had died out in less than two years. resignations would come in slowly at first, and then in a rush, until only twenty or thirty people would be left, of which the majority would be short-term scientific teams. by the terms of the colonists' contracts no man could be left on venus more than a month after his resignation; so the bulk of two colonies had simply had to be shipped back to earth, and plans made for another try. and now the third colony was quitting, rushing home, leaving nothing on the jungle planet but a few small clearings soon to be taken over by the vegetation. several times in the last year rod had thought of volunteering himself; but he knew it for a futile gesture. he wasn't five hundred men. he didn't even have the special skills or physique that were needed. his gloomy thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the men. biddington was first. then in twos and threes came the interviewers, all looking like the home team at the half, three touchdowns behind and just waiting for their coach. if psychologists made good colonists, rod thought, here would be a dozen more volunteers. the arrival of homer jaimison brought the only cheerful face in the group. the project historian was a young man, just over thirty, and considerably over six feet. he wore the expression of a man who is itching to do something. jaimie had never really been busy yet on the project--the colonies had died out so quickly that his work had been mostly clerical, and he'd had to fill in time as best he could. so far he had done it making up improbable contests of skill for drinks, with such a weird assortment of shifting rules and scoring that he hadn't paid for a drink since his arrival. he made a valuable contribution to the project, however, since he helped to keep the group's minds off their troubles a part of the time. rod genuinely liked jaimie, and expected to miss him strongly when venus became self-supporting to the point where the historian would have to complete his work in residence. * * * * * when they were all seated, rod leaned against his desk and said, "i can see you all know why we're here. to begin with, i'm not going to accuse anyone of mistakes. each of you is the best possible man in the country for his job. if you weren't, you wouldn't be here. i wouldn't have asked for you; and general carlson wouldn't have kept you. so there's nothing to feel bad about. if you can't do this work, no one can. self-recrimination is foolish when you've been put on an impossible problem. i didn't call you in to bawl you out, but to ask you if we should continue spending project funds for nothing." jaimie raised his eyebrows at this speech, but said nothing. "what do you mean, impossible problem?" one of the interviewers objected. "we know what we need--it's just that we're still making some mistake in selection that we haven't corrected." "that's right, rod." biddington, the project psychologist, took up the dissension. "we know something is wrong with the selection techniques, or in the personality patterns we consider necessary. but it's only a problem of finding out what it is. the problem is by no means insoluble." "as long as you're not ready to give us up," another interviewer said, "we aren't going to quit." "you can't afford to get defeatist about this, rod," biddington went on. "this project is too important to fail. whether you like it or not, your experience is too valuable for you to back out." rod grinned and held up his hands. "all right. that's the reaction i wanted. if you all still think we can get somewhere, we may as well try to analyze this last group." he sat down at his desk. "i have the files here, along with the tapes of the interviews. let's see what difference we can find between those who hung on this long, and the ones that quit after the first three months." * * * * * the group settled down to trying to differentiate between a man who couldn't do a job but could try for six months longer than the next. they took the colonists carefully apart, trait by trait, and put them all back. they reviewed the colonists' records from birth, and compared them in endless combinations. jaimie came into the discussion to show what the status of the colonies had been at the time each colonist had resigned: what diseases had been encountered when one man quit; how much jungle had been cleared before another did. files came and went in a continuous flux; coffee and sandwiches came and grew cold and stale. the air became gray with smoke. nothing. the same results had come out of every investigation: you needed a man who was unstable to get him to leave earth. you needed a man who was stable to have him stay on venus. you needed initiative and resourcefulness to survive on a new planet. you needed a man who had so little initiative and resourcefulness that the competition on earth wouldn't be profitable. you needed a young, healthy, vigorous specimen. you needed an older, experienced, more mature person. you needed a and you needed non-a. and even if you found people with the factors balanced just right, assuming you knew what the balance should be, where did you find five hundred of them? the discussion went on. the solutions got wilder and more absurd. take whole orphan asylums and bring them up on venus under military guard. build a development in the steamiest, nastiest jungle, and test recruits for the colony there. send african natives. the men were beginning to make the whole thing look impossible again, so rod decided to call a halt until they could get a better perspective. tired himself, he dismissed them. they left quietly, not arguing in little groups or mumbling half-formed ideas to themselves, the way a team that has been progressing will do. * * * * * only jaimie stayed. he remained sitting hunched up near the desk, in the same position he'd held for the last hour. when the others had all left, he grinned at rod. "you know, for a group of practicing psychologists, this is the softest bunch of suckers i've seen." "you've proved that to your own profit several times so far," rod answered, rubbing his face as though smoothing the wrinkles could remove the tension. "who have you robbed lately?" "i'm talking about your performance just now. here comes the whole crew, walking in with their heads hanging to the floor. every last man was ready to tell you he was quitting--that the problem was insoluble. and before anyone can say a word, you tell them that the whole thing is impossible and imply that _you_ want to quit. even biddington fell for it. you can't back out now, rod, they say. let's not have defeatist talk out of you, of all people--" "i did feel that way," rod said. "i'm just about ready to quit. i think that whatever our mistake has been, we can't do any better than we have. we just don't know enough." jaimie wasn't grinning now. "what will happen if you quit?" "my guess is that carlson will set up a military outpost there. make a clearing, build a fort, maybe a town. then he'll try to get people to come and live in it." rod sighed. "it won't work. they'll want to know why the planet had to be colonized that way--why wouldn't the _first_ colonists stay?" "i agree. the military outpost is a fine method for spreading a culture to an existing civilization. rome did much for europe that way; the most powerful cities sprang up near the roman forts and roads. but as a method for inducing the populace to a new place, it doesn't work. a free people will not willingly move into a military township." jaimie looked sharply at rod. "so what do you intend to do--run out and turn it all over to carlson?" "i don't know, jaimie. i just don't know. six years is a long time." "damn it, rod, you had much worse jobs than this one in industry! how did you select a computer man, a communications man, an engineering physicist, out of a group of men with similar backgrounds? it seems to me a harder problem than this." "we don't really know much, as i said," rod said. "ours has often been an imitation science. when we had to select a computer man, we just gave a battery of tests to successful computer men--structural vision, vocabulary, tri-dimensional memory, ink-blots, syllogisms, practically everything. then we weeded out the tests whose scores appeared to have no statistical relevance. any future computer man had to duplicate those results, whatever they were. if we had a recently pioneered civilization around, jaimie, you'd find this whole staff running through it like pollsters before an election." "what was all this talk about balance, instability, initiative and all the rest?" asked jamie. "that's what we do when we don't know, jaimie. we try to predict what we need; then we try to find ways of finding it in people." * * * * * jaimie made an explosive sound. "but i thought you _must_ have progressed from empirical methods! i would have said something long ago, if i hadn't thought you knew what you were doing all the time!" the historian was on his feet, stalking about the room. "why didn't you tell me about this before?" "why? what difference would it have made?" rod frowned, failing to understand the other's excitement. "sure, we've progressed from the older methods, in that we now have pretty complete data for all present job descriptions. and we can synthesize data for a new job, if it's not too different. but there isn't any information on the kind of person needed in a new world. what the devil are you getting so upset about?" the historian threw himself into a chair and glared at rod. "if you couldn't find the kind of people you needed to test, you could have asked a historian if he knew anything about them!" rod shook his head puzzledly. "subjective data, such as that--" "don't bring subjectivity into this, damn it! we get enough of that from physical scientists." jaimie held himself in the chair, almost shaking with the intensity of his feeling. "look, rod, you know i want to see the project succeed. and you admit that you haven't got an answer. well, baby, i think i have! it's an idea that has about a fifty-fifty chance of being right in this case ... would you be willing to try it?" "if i had been betting on your side for the last few months, i'd be several dollars richer," rod smiled. "yes, i think i might go along with your idea, if you can convince me it has an even chance for success. three failures out of three tries makes for poorer odds than that. what do you have in mind?" "h'm," jaimie said. "i imagine your stock isn't so high with old scabbard and blade right now, is it?" rod laughed. "i don't think he'll shoot on sight, but i'm not positive enough to stand in front of a lighted window." "well, then--if i had an idea you agreed with, the surest way to kill it would be to have you present it to him, right? and if you _fight_ it, that's sure to convince carlson!" jaimie thought hard for a moment, tapping the chair-arm. "rod, i have to do something you aren't going to like. do you trust me?" "you mean you're going to try this without even discussing it with the personnel group?" "that's right. if i don't tell you what i'm doing, i know you'll fight it. and i'll need that kind of help from you to push carlson into doing it. "but i have to do something far worse than that, rod. i'm going to tell the general that you knew my plan from the start, and have been sitting on it because i'm not a psychologist. i'm going to ruin your reputation with the worst set of lies since the red purges. i'll say you're fighting me, because you can't accept an idea that came from a man outside of your own group. if the scheme doesn't work you'll be ruined, because there'll be no way to retract the lies. if it does work, we can announce that we put on an act to sell the plan to carlson. can you take it?" rod was thoughtful for a few minutes. he liked and trusted jaimie, but the man had no experience in this field--and this sounded like an all-or-nothing shot. then he remembered his despair over the latest set of resignations. he'd been ready to quit--he had nothing to offer, and neither did his men. even a wild idea was worth a try, he thought grimly--he would be risking nothing but a plan that had already failed. "go to it, boy," he said. "and if you need a fight, you'll get a damn good one." * * * * * the fight with carlson was short, and rod was abruptly overruled. after that jaimie moved fast. the new colonists flocked in. three months after rod's talk with him, the compounds started to fill. a shipload was a hundred men, and each new man had to wait in a group until it was filled. but there was no waiting now except for processing; the compounds were full before the ships were ready. rod had paid no attention to jaimie's recruiting methods, thinking that the historian's idea differed mainly in control over the colonists. until he saw the crowds. even from a distance, they didn't have the young look of the previous groups. up close, they looked like the sweepings of the slums. [illustration] he and biddington talked to a few before they fully realized what jaimie had done. all the men were sure that venus was a mineral paradise--gold in the streams, uranium lodes so pure you had to wear a shield to get near them, diamonds, silver--every treasure that had ever excited men on earth was scattered around the new world waiting to be picked up. that was what jaimie had told them. rod got to a phone, fast. "jaimie, you fool! i know what you're doing, and i won't put up with it! you've told these dupes they can get rich on venus! you intended to attract large numbers of recruits, in the hope that some of them will be what we need--but look at what you attracted! crooks, gangsters, bums, hoboes, sharecroppers and i don't know what. you got recruits all right ... but what the hell kind of a society are you going to start with them! and who will go and live there among them later?" "what's the matter, workham?" jaimie asked coldly. "are you a racial purist? want only your kind of people to get to venus?" "i don't care _who_ goes, as long as they fit some standards. but to make a decent place, you need decent people--morally clean and healthy. not this collection of mental cripples, alcoholics and thieves. probably half of them are wanted men!" he argued further, unable to believe that this was jaimison's great fifty-fifty chance. he said many things ... and regretted every one; for that night the telecasts carried a recorded version of his outburst. jaimie had maneuvered him into saying things he didn't quite mean, so that it looked as if he was trying to hide the all good things on venus and save them for his own friends. one commentator said outright that if you weren't a college graduate recommended by one of workham's friends, it would cost you a thousand dollars to get on an outgoing ship. by the next morning, half the papers in the world were after workham's scalp. * * * * * rod could only take the abuse and grind his teeth. how did you fight a thing like that? you were condemned if you kept silent, and if you answered, people nodded their heads and said, "see--he's still trying to deny it." the failures from the old colonies were rod's only allies. they tried to tell people what venus was like, and what lies carlson and his stooge jaimison were using for bait. but it was pointed out that these men naturally had a stake in the secret ... and, after all, everyone knew how well off the returning colonists were! this was actually due to the high premium paid to get men to go to the planet, but no one believed. days passed. weeks. the compounds filled, and emptied, and filled again. people stood in lines to apply. they walked miles to appear at a recruiting center. they fought for a place on the next ship, or the one after that. farmers, clerks, ragged families, hoboes, armed men, teen-age boys and old men. four thousand people applied in the first few months and were shipped out. then the crowds thinned, even though the get rich propaganda continued. soon, only a few hundred appeared where there had been thousands; then twos and threes; at last only a dozen or so a day, many of whom changed their minds before the full shipload had been assembled. rod clung to his job throughout. he had little to do, though his department had never been formally discontinued. sooner or later, he knew, their services would be needed--when this cheap trick had failed. so he and his staff remained. studying old files, making up test batteries, discussing survival factors, they readied themselves for the project again. from time to time they interviewed and tested a few of those waiting in the compounds. there was too much time to just sit around--even this activity was a welcome diversion. as the year passed, the number of prospective colonists stopped decreasing and held steady at about five a day. but slowly something else changed. among the new arrivals there began to appear engineers who had tossed up good jobs to emigrate, farmers with their families, school-teachers, storekeepers, lawyers, even doctors. all of them young. not in any great number; but their appearance was a surprise still. then there came two former colonists who had resigned on one of the earlier attempts, now trying to get back to venus without inducement of bonus, high pay or guaranteed return. that was the day rod decided to call on jaimie. * * * * * "i have here a bottle of eight-year-old rye, jaimie," he began. "i think you're entitled to a drink, and i'm entitled to an explanation. want to swap?" "rod!" jaimie's bony face lit up. "it's good to see you. i've been afraid to call you until we could admit to the hoax. come in, come in." "well, you did it," rod said, after they had settled down. "i met two former colonists in the compound today. they know there isn't gold on venus, and still they want to go out for free. no contract. and lately we've been getting professional people. there was even a kid fresh out of journalism school who wants to start up a paper. jaimie, how did you do it? were we so far wrong as that?" "you did it yourself, rod. you told me how--but you wouldn't have believed, then. or if you had, we never would have sold it to carlson. remember, you said if there were only a recent pioneer civilization around, you'd run to them with ink-blots and vocabulary tests? all you needed to do was duplicate the kind of person who settled america or australia or california. "well, as a historian i _knew_ those people. and i knew what brought them. so i merely put out the same kind of bait." "the same kind of bait!" rod exclaimed. "what about freedom of religion and freedom from oppression? isn't that what brought people to this country? there's no oppression to flee from these days! and even if it was the same bait, why weren't the same kind of people attracted? you saw that first compound full--where in that cesspool was thomas paine, or franklin, or miles standish?" "franklin was born here," jaimie grinned. "paine didn't come over in the first wave. and i suppose general carlson was miles standish. maybe that kid journalist you saw was paine's counterpart. no, rod--the bait i held out attracted the same kind of people initially as it always has. you have been compromising all along on the factors you really wanted in order to get young, healthy, moral people to venus. the answer is simply this: pioneers are not necessarily young, healthy, or moral. so you didn't get what you wanted. "you see, america wasn't only founded by pilgrims. they were actually a minority here. we were settled by promoters, trappers, bonded servants, exiled british deportees, pickpockets and thieves. we were explored by french and spanish pirates. the better element in europe didn't come here at first--why should they? it was dangerous. pioneering was to the advantage of the worst elements. they came by court order, out of necessity, for adventure. they came for gold more than for freedom; for a new chance more than for a new religion. "australia was set up as a penal colony. others went there for gold, or to start over where they weren't known. that's the kind of person who settles a new land--the misfits: too impulsive, drunkards, weaklings, convicts, and fugitives from justice. too sick in mind and body to make a go of it where they are. "so we announced that there was a brand new world with a new chance for everyone on it. we implied that there was wealth. we told them everything about venus that brought the english to america, the spanish to south america, the easterners to the west, and the middlewesterners to california. we didn't hunt for pioneers. they came to us." * * * * * rod refilled his glass thoughtfully. "but what kind of a society will men like that create? a fighting, lawless structure...." "that's right. and the lawless will eliminate themselves by their very activities. like the early west. while the doctors come in to treat wounds, and the lawyers to plead their cases; while their wives and the other wives will start schools and bring in school-teachers. that society will purge itself, rod--many of the worst will become good citizens out of meeting the challenge of a new planet, and the rest will disappear." "well, then, what about the gold story?" rod asked. "won't they be angry with everyone connected with the project because of the hoax?" "that was a little raw, but no worse than other gold rushes--few of the stampeders ever found the gold they went after. the captain of one of the rockets told me that the first few months the colonists were trying to stow away on the returning ships. now they send messages to friends and relatives to come before the opportunity is gone--that's why you've seen this better element. our lies will soon be forgotten, and crops and foods and minerals will be coming from venus, and better people will go to meet the diminished challenge on our brave new world." rod stood up. "well, my compliments for a job well done, jaimie. when do you expect to go and live there yourself? you'll have to soon, won't you, to complete the project record in residence?" jaimie nodded. "about six months from now, i think. why?" "good," rod exclaimed. "we can all go together." "what are you planning to do? volunteer?" "the whole personnel staff will be going. here's just what we need--a young pioneer society! we can get adequate data for future selection, a better idea of what kind of person a colony needs at different stages of growth." rod grinned. "after all, your method was pretty sloppy, even if it did work. and you sent far too many wrong people. once we have some good data ... anything you can do, we can do better!" publicity stunt _by robert moore williams_ _illustrated by joe w. tillotson_ [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from other worlds march 1953. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] the orders were to build up venus, make it sound like the gateway to paradise for the average earthman--fog-flies, flying snakes and "tame" venusians included. "just go right ahead and start chewing on me!" molock briskly invited the venusian, shad brisbee. "when you get a square meal, i'll get a lunch!" rita morgan didn't turn a hair at the challenge but i thought captain wilkerson, who was officially in charge of us, was going to faint. "no, no, no!" wilkerson screamed. "molock, you're getting us all into trouble. you're--" "sheddap!" molock said to wilkerson. he turned again to the venusian, shad brisbee. "you heard what i said. if you want to try to start carving on me with one of those frog stickers you've got stuck in your belt, hop right to it. but remember, by harry, while you're doing your carving, i'm going to be doing a little light whittling myself." except for the needle pistol in his pocket, molock was unarmed. lifting hands as big as hams, he looked shad brisbee square in all of the venusian's eyes that happened to be turned toward him at the moment. molock had the full attention of all six of those eyes. the expression on shad brisbee's face indicated that if he had had six more eyes, he would have been concentrating all of them on the antics of this mad human. shad brisbee was seven feet tall, he must have weighed close to 300 pounds. molock's six feet, 185 pound frame was a pygmy beside the venusian. shad brisbee fingered the knives in his belt as if he was considering accepting molock's invitation, then suddenly spread his hands. protesting sound bellowed out of him. "but you 'ave landed right in the middle of our dancing ground!" "then by harry! dance somewhere else!" molock shouted. i thought at first that shad brisbee was going to explode. he puffed himself up until he looked to be eight feet tall. indignation turned him green. each of his six eyes turned yellow and he glared at molock out of all of them. "molock, his dancing ground is sacred!" wilkerson croaked. "and to me, staying alive is sacred," molock answered. "which is the sacredest, my staying alive or his dancing ground?" "but the way you're acting now, you're going to get us all killed!" wilkerson screamed. "am i?" molock answered. "watch this!" he turned again to shad brisbee. "listen, you six-eyed baboon. we landed in the middle of your dancing ground by accident but we're going to stay right where we are as long as we damn well please. get it? _we're going to stay here as long as we damn well please._ and neither you nor any other of your six-eyed tribe is going to do anything about it." i was holding my breath. wilkerson looked as if he was about to faint. only rita seemed to be enjoying this scene. perhaps she had illusions that two brawny giants were battling for her, which was a big mistake on her part. shad brisbee wouldn't have had her, or any other human woman, in his harem as a gift. if she was inspiring molock to put on his act, then maybe he was battling for her sake. i had the impression that if wilkerson had thought that she was inspiring molock to this act, the captain would have drowned her in the nearest mudhole, publicity department or no publicity department. and i would have helped him. shad brisbee puffed himself up until he looked as if he weighed 400 pounds. he fingered his knives in his belt, shifted his weight on his bare splayed feet. he extended two of his eyes and looked backward at the jungle behind him as if he was desperately hoping that some of his tribe would turn up to help him dispose of this brash human. the other four eyes continued to glare at molock. "there's none of your tribe around to help you," molock stated, waving his fists. "it's just you and me." shad brisbee shifted uncomfortably. he didn't know quite what to make of us. we were humans. since he was a "tame" venusian, he knew quite a lot about humans. we had landed right in the middle of the huge cleared space that his tribe used as a dancing ground. this in itself was sufficient reason for him to destroy us utterly. each of his six eyes revealed quite clearly that he longed to destroy us and that only molock was keeping him from doing it. "well?" molock said, waving his fists. "if you're ready to start getting that square meal, i'm ready to start eating my lunch." shad brisbee took a deep breath. somewhere inside of him he made up his mind. "it is all right for you to land on our dancing ground," he said. the way he spoke, the words hurt him. wilkerson, rita, molock, and i all beamed. "but you must be gone in one zonar!" shad brisbee snarled. "or i will tear you all to pieces with my own bare hands." saying these words didn't hurt him. he enjoyed every one of them. judging from the way his hands worked as he spoke, he would enjoy even more translating his words into action. "be gone in one zonar--or else!" turning, he stalked into the jungle. i quit breathing again. the smile went from wilkerson's face. rita looked a little perturbed. only molock was unconcerned even though he knew that a zonar was less than an hour and he wouldn't be gone from this place in two weeks, and then only if we were lucky. "did you see me out-bluff him?" molock said, grinning. "did you see me run a sandy on that six-eyed idiot?" "you were marvelous, simply marvelous," rita murmured. "oh, hell!" wilkerson shouted. if there had been a stone wall handy for him to butt his head against, i'm sure he would have felt much better. "yaas, you bluffed him. you bluffed him so goddamned good that we'll all be dead before we get out of this place. remember, this is his country, this is his tribal dancing ground--" "captain, i'm sure you are taking much too negative a view," rita interrupted. since she was a woman, wilkerson couldn't slug her. but woman or not, he looked as if he was about to do it. "i'm not taking nearly as negative a view as shad brisbee will take when he comes back and wants his dancing ground," wilkerson said, bitterly. for a moment, molock looked worried. "you were yelling for a light lunch," wilkerson said. "you may find you have bitten off more than you can chew. now i'm going into that ship and get headquarters on the radio and see if i can get some help out here in time to save our necks. in the meantime, by thunder, you get ready to take care of shad brisbee." turning, wilkerson stalked toward the ship. indignation bristled in every step he took. we followed him with reluctance. beneath my breath i cursed trans-space, inc., its publicity department, and george cooper. cooper was head of the publicity department. it was his brilliant idea that had landed us here in the middle of venus, where shad brisbee was giving us one zonar to get off of his dancing ground--or else. of course, you know that trans-space, inc., has a monopoly on carrying passengers and freight to and from venus, but what you probably don't know is that from the financial end, things have been a little tough for the company. now don't go getting your sympathy aroused about this poor suffering corporation being down to its last billion credits. let trans-space sympathize with itself, it's quite capable of doing the job very competently. it is also capable of hiring boys like george cooper to help it sympathize with itself. cooper had dreamed up the idea that the way to help the financial situation was to encourage human colonizing on venus. if they could get several thriving human colonies settled on the veiled planet, the line would not only pick up revenue from transporting the colonists to venus but it would also pick up some profitable freight business. in the long run, they foresaw a very happy increase in traffic. one joker they ran into right from the start was that nobody but a damned fool wanted to go to venus and argue with six-eyed apes like shad brisbee over the rights to their dancing grounds. also, nobody wanted to put up with the fog flies and the flying snakes and the what-nots. cooper knew how to change all that. "we'll make films, write books, publish pamphlets--all of them emphasizing the good points of venus. we'll make this planet look and sound like a seed catalogue. we'll soon have thousands, maybe millions of people, coming here. build venus up. make people see venus maybe not quite as good as heaven but at least as wonderful as eden!" this was where wilkerson and molock and rita morgan and yours truly, sam crane got into the act. rita, who was the apple of cooper's eye, got the assignment of taking the three dimensional movies in full color and full sound that would make venus attractive. of course, on the sound side we had cooper's permission to dub out the screams of any venusian getting swallowed by a forty-foot boa constrictor. wilkerson, molock, and i were included to fly the ship and help rita. in other words, it was our job to dig up the raw material that the publicity department could use to sell a bill of goods to suckers back on earth who could be flim-flammed into making the big hop to venus. in getting these pictures of eden in the sky, we had hunted up the tamest of all tame venusians, shad brisbee. we knew him, he knew us. to my mind, the fact that he knew us was not to our advantage. in some ways, i would have preferred taking our pictures among some of the wilder tribes, who didn't know us. but know-all george cooper had decided that the tame shad brisbee was just the lad for us. he had loaded the ship with trade goods and had told us where to go. all of this might have worked out fine, if we had not damaged the drive and had to make a forced landing right in the middle of shad brisbee's tribal dancing ground. you may not know it, but these venusians are funny about dancing. they don't go in for cultural amusements, there isn't a ball park or a library on the planet, a pin ball machine, a golf course, or anything else that might make life more cultivated. but every venusian has his private dancing ground and every tribe has a big one. for amusement, the venusians dance. they dance in the morning and in the afternoon. they dance to celebrate the beginning of a spell of wet weather and the end of it. the male venusians dance as their squaws go out in the morning to gather fruits and vegetables, they dance in the afternoon when the squaws come home. at night, the squaws join in and everybody, big and little, old and young, dances. they hold elaborate contests to determine who is the best tribal dancer. he's the chief, the big shot, the boss. they hold contests between tribes, everybody gets drunk, everybody dances. personally, i'll say one thing for the venusians, it always seemed to me that dancing contests were a better way to settle personal and tribal problems than war, but the venusians are just benighted, ignorant natives with no knowledge of the finer things of life. this doesn't mean they can't and won't fight--they fight alligators and flying snakes and blue tigers--but they just don't fight each other. any personal or private quarrels they settle by dancing it out. i've heard learned professors from earth lecture on the vast satisfaction to be derived from expressing the kinesthetic sense, the rapture that goes with movements of the body, the sweet pure flame of mood expressed by body movement and gesture. all of this may mean something, to the professors. so far as i'm concerned, the venusians just like to dance. if you want to start a ruckus--and but good--just suggest to one of the males that things would be a lot better around the home place if he spent more of his time working and less dancing. if you want to start a real fracas, just come between a venusian and his dancing. hell hath no fury-i know, this is not the way it is written up in the books. the authors usually speak of the "quaint" venusian dancing customs, but this is the way it is. shad brisbee might be a tame venusian to the publicity department, but when we landed right in the middle of his tribe's dancing ground, you could guarantee he would revert to the wild state. with wilkerson stamping the ground ahead of us, we moved toward the ship. _whuuuuuup!_ an arrow eight feet long came out of the jungle behind us, passed between us, whammed into the open lock of the ship ahead of us. it beat us to our destination, but it didn't beat us much. i don't know who led the way but it was my opinion that wilkerson damned near beat that arrow into the ship. jumping into the ship, we slammed the lock. "whew!" wilkerson said, mopping sweat from his face. "just an arrow," molock said. "heck, they're nothing. shad brisbee and his boys will never get anywhere with arrows. and they haven't got any weapons except spears, clubs, knives." he sounded very comfortable about the situation. "but we haven't even got a gun, except for your spring pistol!" wilkerson said. for several minutes, he spoke freely and movingly about george cooper. it had been cooper's idea that we go unarmed. "treat these natives with friendliness and they'll treat you with friendliness. no guns!" cooper had decreed. "wait until i get that damned cooper on the radio!" wilkerson said, stalking into the control cabin. "there won't be anything to this," molock said. "cooper will send out a couple of ships and blow these idiots to hell and gone. or scare 'em to death. let's go into the galley and have a beer." * * * * * we were starting on our second can of beer when wilkerson stumbled into the galley. he had a glazed look in his eyes and he was waving his hands and sort of frothing at the mouth. snatching up the can of beer molock had just opened, he drained it. "when will the ships be here?" molock asked. wilkerson blew foam from his lips. "they won't!" he said. "what?" molock gasped. "do you mean those dirty dogs are going to leave us here to be murdered by a bunch of six-eyed apes?" "cooper was mad as hell because we had crash landed. he wanted to know what the hell i meant by damaging company property. from the way he sounded, the cost of the repairs was coming out of his lunch money." "i'll kill that cooper!" molock screamed. "doesn't he know our lives are in danger?" "he seemed to think that maintaining peaceful relations with the venusians was more important than our necks," wilkerson explained. "he said that if shad brisbee wanted to knife us for landing on his dancing ground, it was all right with trans-space and with him." "but rita is here!" molock raged. "doesn't he see he's risking the life of a woman?" "he said that trans-space doesn't discriminate between its employees because of sex," wilkerson answered. "open me another can of beer, somebody. i feel faint." "let me at that radio!" molock screamed. "i want to talk to that cooper." he slammed out of the galley. while he was gone we drank beer vigorously. when he returned his face was ash-colored. "what did cooper say?" wilkerson asked. "he said that good publicity was more important than our necks, that if we are going to bring colonists here, we have to be able to prove to them how peaceful venus is." "um," wilkerson said. "what else did the good man say?" "he fired me!" molock sounded as if he was strangling. "he told me to come in and get my pay. when i asked him how i was to get there, he said i was to walk." "um," wilkerson said. "well, go right ahead and start walking. you bluffed shad brisbee once. you can do it again." "you're as bad as cooper!" molock screamed. "shad brisbee would murder me if he caught me outside this ship. i'm not a damned venusian, i'm fair game to him." "nah, he wouldn't hurt you," wilkerson said, "hell, he's just an ignorant native. all he's got are knives and clubs and spears and bows and arrows--just a native. he's easy to bluff. hell, you're a human being. he probably looks on you as a sort of a god. at least some of the literature i saw one of the trained seals pounding out in the publicity department said the natives regarded humans as minor gods who can do no wrong." _whaaam!_ an arrow smashed against the plastite hull window bounced off. one point was definitely to our advantage. no weapon possessed by the venusians could get through the steel hull or the plastite view ports of the ship. we were as safe as sardines in a can--unless the venusians found a can opener. we sat in the galley and morosely drank beer and considered how best to draw our wills. "hey, look!" molock gasped, painting toward the plastite window. at first glance it seemed to me that the whole venusian race had put in its appearance. there were hundreds of venusians, thousands of them, coming from all directions. shad brisbee had called in his pals from miles around and they were all heading our way. wilkerson's face went white. "this looks like the end, boys," he said. "nah!" molock answered. "they'll never get through the hull. i'll figure out something." "you had better get your slide rule into action. uh! what was that?" _that_ was the ship lurching as if it was about to turn over. from the ports, we could see what was happening. venusians were on both sides of the ship. those on one side were pushing while those on the other side were pulling. when the ship settled back, the ones on the second side pushed like hell, setting up a rhythmic rocking motion that was rapidly threatening to turn the ship over. "you could turn over a mountain like this!" wilkerson whispered, as the ship lurched. "my god! they're going to try to roll the whole damned ship into the swamp." on one side of shad brisbee's dancing ground was jungle. on the other side was a deep pool of muddy water. staring at it, wilkerson seemed to talk out of a trance. "drowned, like rats in a trap, in my own ship!" he took a deep breath, turned to molock. "go out and bluff shad brisbee now!" molock also took a deep breath and rose to his feet. "i'll just go do that," he said, moving toward the lock. all of us were too stunned to try to stop him. when he opened the outer door of the lock, the noise that came in was like the howling of a forest full of baboons. but the rocking of the ship stopped as soon as he appeared. i don't know why the venusians didn't kill him before he had a chance to open his mouth, but probably they were too surprised at his appearance to take immediate action. "i want to talk to shad brisbee!" he yelled at the top of his voice. shad appeared in the throng. he looked more than seven feet tall and i would have sworn he had more than six eyes. the throng grew so quiet you could hear these tame venusians slobbering as they thirsted for human blood. "i'll dance you ... for the right ... to keep our ship ... on your dancing ground ... until it is repaired ..." molock said. "the hopeless fool!" wilkerson gasped. "the utter idiot ..." "you will dance _me_?" you could have heard shad brisbee scream for miles around. the idea appalled him, because it was a direct challenge, and it also appealed to him because he was absolutely certain that he, or any other venusian could out-dance any human who had ever put foot on the veiled planet. "i'll do it!" shad brisbee roared. "make room for the dancers!" his voice was a howl that shook wondering echoes out of the jungle. molock came back into the galley. "you can't do it," wilkerson gasped. "these dances are endurance contests. that big baboon has done nothing but dance all his life. he can dance straight into next week ..." "i'm stalling for time," molock said. "i want you to get on that radio again and convince that damned cooper he's got to get here and help us. all he has to do is swoop low in a ship over this place and these baboons will take to the jungle or the swamp to dodge the rocket blast. tell him." "i'll tell him," wilkerson said grimly. "the question is--will he act on what i tell him." molock's eyes went to rita. "honey, i want you to get those cameras going and keep them going. i want this recorded for posterity, if for nobody else." rita was shaken and scared. but there was good stuff down inside that girl. "will do," she whispered. she got to her feet and headed for the observation dome in the top of the ship where the cameras were located. molock turned to me. "i've got a little job for you, sam." out of his pocket, he slipped the little needle gun. "i'm going to have to dance against that six-eyed baboon. when he gets to dancing real good and everybody is all excited, i want you to shoot him in the butt with one of these needles." "but--" i whispered. "exactly," molock said. "it won't kill him, but a couple of these needles will slow him down considerably." i regarded the weapon with horror. "but that means i'll have to go out there where all those venusians are!" maybe this wasn't a heroic thing to say but the thought just popped out of my mind. anyhow, i wasn't feeling very heroic. "yah!" molock said. "but--" "i'll be out there," molock said. "i'll be out there dancing. all you've got to do is squat on the ground." "okay," i said. the word cost me a desperate effort but i said it. we went out together.... the venusians had already cleared a circle fifty yards in diameter. they clustered around this circle like hungry dogs waiting for the kill. shad brisbee, stark naked, grinning out of all of his six eyes, looking nine feet tall and fit to dance all month, grinned as he waited. in shad brisbee's mind, here was a lamb being led to the slaughter. shad brisbee and i had one thing in common--we both agreed on this lamb led to the slaughter idea. i squatted on the ground at the edge of the circle and tried to lose myself between the legs of the venusians towering over me. have you ever seen a venusian dance? if you haven't, you have missed one of the weirdest sights in the solar system. they do everything in the books on ballets, ball room dancing, tap dancing, they also turn flip-flops and walk on their hands. they do things that no human being will ever believe until he sees it. as big and as ponderous as he was, shad brisbee went into his act by turning three quick back flips. i'll give molock credit, he could do tricks i had never guessed he could do. he kept even with shad. but within thirty minutes he was beginning to pant. going round the circle, dancing every step of the way, he found wind to yell at wilkerson, who was peering from the lock. "any news ... from that damned cooper?" "operations contacted him ... in a bar!" wilkerson yelled. "cooper said you could dance your own way out of this ..." "the dirty dog!" molock screamed. the next time he came around the circle, waving his hands and bending double as he imitated one of shad brisbee's more intricate steps, he whispered to me, "bunt him...." keeping the little spring gun out of sight in my hand, i waited until the venusian's back was turned to me, and pressed the trigger. the spring clicked softly. i caught a glint of the needle as it went home in shad's backside. he went right on dancing as if nothing had happened. the next time he came around the circle, molock whispered, "let him have another one...." as i started to pull the trigger, the sky seemed to fall down on top of me. a ham-sized venusian hand smashed me downward. "no tricks!" a venusian voice snarled into my ear. the gun was jerked away from me. about twenty-four eyes in my vicinity were concentrated on me, each one glaring in its own individual way. i was given to understand that if i attempted to take any further part in the proceedings, i would be fed to the nearest alligator. "what happened?" molock yelled, as he danced by again. "they caught me. you'll have to out-dance him honestly." "but i can't go much farther--" he was covered with sweat and his chest was heaving. i felt like the lowest kind of a dog for having let him down. molock might be an utter damned fool, but when the chips were down, he was in there trying for all of us. he had built all his hopes on this trick with the needle gun. circling the dancing ground, he suddenly stopped, stood with his hands on his hips, chest heaving. "you give up?" shad brisbee shouted. "you quit?" "i do not--give up!" molock wheezed. "but you have stop dancing." "i have danced your way--for two zonars. turn about is fair play. now you dance--my way." "your way?" astonishment showed in all of shad brisbee's six eyes. "you humans don't dance, you don't know how." "that's where you're wrong!" molock answered. "we know how to dance in a new way--a way you stupid venusians have never heard of." i didn't know whether shad brisbee and the others were more excited over the insult or the thought of a new way to dance. dancing was the blood of life to them. "no way venusians not know!" shad brisbee shouted. "we know _everything_ about dancing, all steps, all--" "hell, you don't know this way," molock interrupted. "i doubt if you could do it even if i taught it to you." he was stalling for time but as he was stalling he was getting his strength back. personally, it was my opinion that all he knew about dancing he had learned in a dime-a-dance hall in some space port on earth, but if he wanted to teach this to the venusians, it was all right with me. "show him to me!" shad brisbee screamed. "i can do him." "all right. watch this." weaving forward with his hands up, molock slugged shad brisbee on the jaw. the startled venusian almost turned a somersault as he went over backward. a cry of rage arose, both from shad and the onlookers. "kill the human--" "slaughter him--" "now you try to hit me!" molock ignored the cries for his blood. he weaved away with his fists up. "that's not dancing!" shad brisbee roared. "it's _our_ kind of dancing, the human way to dance," molock answered. "yah, you big yellow-belly, you can't do it!" i held my breath. the hopeless idiot--or maybe genius--was trying to turn a dancing contest into a boxing match. and he did. screaming, shad brisbee charged, swung a tremendous hay-maker at molock's jaw. dodging, molock slugged him behind the ear. for the next fifteen minutes, to my awed and thunderously appreciative delight, i watched a venusian get carved to pieces. molock hit shad brisbee with everything up to and including his elbows and knees. he hit the venusian in the gullet, the stomach, all over the head, and he knocked at least three eyes out of commission. it took him exactly fifteen minutes to reduce a seven foot venusian giant to the status of a whimpering child. "i give ... i give ..." shad brisbee gasped. "you better dancer than me...." "you will allow us to stay here unmolested, until we can get our ship repaired?" molock demanded. "sure ... sure ... i do that for you ... if you do one thing for me...." "what's that?" "here, i whisper to you...." leaning forward, shad whispered something in molock's ear. the human looked a little surprised and startled. "okay," he said. "it's a deal." then, as if some secret thought was pleasing him tremendously, he began to grin. "i'll say it's a deal," he said. "boys, we go home now!" shad brisbee shouted. with awed and appreciative looks at the greatest dancer they had ever seen, they went streaming away from shad brisbee's dancing ground. an equally awed and appreciative wilkerson met us in the lock. rita was there too, but rita wasn't awed. she climbed right up into molock's arms. "did you get the pics?" he asked her. "i got them, darling." "then we've got the world by the tail, honey. we've got the world by the tail." it took two weeks to get our ship repaired. during this time, molock was a mighty busy man, both taking pictures of his own selection and spending hours each day with shad brisbee. in spite of the fact that he had been licked, shad harbored no animosity. he and molock struck up a beautiful friendship. when we finally got the ship repaired and was about ready to take off, a ship arrived from headquarters, carrying a most important visitor, a mr. george cooper, head of publicity. wearing beautiful clothes, his fingers manicured, delicately perfumed--for he was a sensitive man--he descended from the lock. molock and shad brisbee greeted him. cooper smiled urbanely at them. "he wants to dance, shad," molock said. "try out your new step on him, the one i've been teaching you." with one single forearm jab, shad brisbee knocked mr. cooper clear back into the ship the publicity man had just left. then shad turned eagerly to molock. "tell me ... do i dance him good...?" "shad," molock said, beaming. "you dance him beautiful." the smile on molock's face was a heavenly thing. * * * * * well, that's about it, except for the pics, the ones rita took of the dance and other carefully selected horror shots of some of the less beautiful aspects of this eden in the sky. i understand these pics are terrific box office on earth. all we know is that they're kicking credits in to us so fast that we're all getting rich, wilkerson, molock, mrs. molock, and me. of course, we're not exactly trying to double-cross the publicity department of trans-space, inc., but if you are thinking of coming to venus, it might be wise to see our picture first. it will give you a little more rounded view of a place that is a little short of heaven ... about a couple of billion miles short of it. and, if you are thinking of coming to venus, you had better take one other thing into consideration--the promise molock made to shad brisbee before the venusian would concede defeat in dancing. shad made molock promise to teach him this new and wonderful form of dancing that humans knew. molock spent two weeks doing exactly that, which accounts for the enthusiastic greeting mr. cooper got from one of the tame venusians. i understand this form of "dancing" is spreading like wild fire over the veiled planet. if you are thinking of going to venus, you had better take in consideration not only the fog flies, the forty foot boa constrictors, the blue tigers, but the fact that every blasted venusian native now considers himself an expert at "human dancing" and spends most of his spare time looking for humans to practice with. unless you're fully prepared to "dance" with these venusians, you had better think twice before deciding to settle on this eden in the sky. the end wind by charles l. fontenay _when you have an engine with no fuel, and fuel without an engine, and a life-and-death deadline to meet, you have a problem indeed. unless you are a stubborn dutchman--and jan van artevelde was the stubbornest dutchman on venus._ jan willem van artevelde claimed descent from william of orange. he had no genealogy to prove it, but on venus there was no one who could disprove it, either. jan willem van artevelde smoked a clay pipe, which only a dutchman can do properly, because the clay bit grates on less stubborn teeth. jan needed all his dutch stubbornness, and a good deal of pure physical strength besides, to maneuver the roach-flat groundcar across the tumbled terrain of den hoorn into the teeth of the howling gale that swept from the west. the huge wheels twisted and jolted against the rocks outside, and jan bounced against his seat belt, wrestled the steering wheel and puffed at his _pijp_. the mild aroma of heerenbaai-tabak filled the airtight groundcar. there came a new swaying that was not the roughness of the terrain. through the thick windshield jan saw all the ground about him buckle and heave for a second or two before it settled to rugged quiescence again. this time he was really heaved about. jan mentioned this to the groundcar radio. "that's the third time in half an hour," he commented. "the place tosses like the ijsselmeer on a rough day." "you just don't forget it _isn't_ the zuider zee," retorted heemskerk from the other end. "you sink there and you don't come up three times." "don't worry," said jan. "i'll be back on time, with a broom at the masthead." "this i shall want to see," chuckled heemskerk; a logical reaction, considering the scarcity of brooms on venus. * * * * * two hours earlier the two men had sat across a small table playing chess, with little indication there would be anything else to occupy their time before blastoff of the stubby gravity-boat. it would be their last chess game for many months, for jan was a member of the dutch colony at oostpoort in the northern hemisphere of venus, while heemskerk was pilot of the g-boat from the dutch spaceship _vanderdecken_, scheduled to begin an earthward orbit in a few hours. it was near the dusk of the 485-hour venerian day, and the twilight gale already had arisen, sweeping from the comparatively chill venerian nightside into the superheated dayside. oostpoort, established near some outcroppings that contained uranium ore, was protected from both the dawn gale and the twilight gale, for it was in a valley in the midst of a small range of mountains. jan had just figured out a combination by which he hoped to cheat heemskerk out of one of his knights, when dekker, the _burgemeester_ of oostpoort, entered the spaceport ready room. "there's been an emergency radio message," said dekker. "they've got a passenger for the earthship over at rathole." "rathole?" repeated heemskerk. "what's that? i didn't know there was another colony within two thousand kilometers." "it isn't a colony, in the sense oostpoort is," explained dekker. "the people are the families of a bunch of laborers left behind when the colony folded several years ago. it's about eighty kilometers away, right across the hoorn, but they don't have any vehicles that can navigate when the wind's up." heemskerk pushed his short-billed cap back on his close-cropped head, leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his comfortable stomach. "then the passenger will have to wait for the next ship," he pronounced. "the _vanderdecken_ has to blast off in thirty hours to catch earth at the right orbital spot, and the g-boat has to blast off in ten hours to catch the _vanderdecken_." "this passenger can't wait," said dekker. "he needs to be evacuated to earth immediately. he's suffering from the venus shadow." jan whistled softly. he had seen the effects of that disease. dekker was right. "jan, you're the best driver in oostpoort," said dekker. "you will have to take a groundcar to rathole and bring the fellow back." * * * * * so now jan gripped his clay pipe between his teeth and piloted the groundcar into the teeth of the twilight gale. den hoorn was a comparatively flat desert sweep that ran along the western side of the oost mountains, just over the mountain from oostpoort. it was a thin fault area of a planet whose crust was peculiarly subject to earthquakes, particularly at the beginning and end of each long day when temperatures of the surface rocks changed. on the other side of it lay rathole, a little settlement that eked a precarious living from the venerian vegetation. jan never had seen it. he had little difficulty driving up and over the mountain, for the dutch settlers had carved a rough road through the ravines. but even the 2-1/2-meter wheels of the groundcar had trouble amid the tumbled rocks of den hoorn. the wind hit the car in full strength here and, though the body of the groundcar was suspended from the axles, there was constant danger of its being flipped over by a gust if not handled just right. the three earthshocks that had shaken den hoorn since he had been driving made his task no easier, but he was obviously lucky, at that. often he had to detour far from his course to skirt long, deep cracks in the surface, or steep breaks where the crust had been raised or dropped several meters by past quakes. the groundcar zig-zagged slowly westward. the tattered violet-and-indigo clouds boiled low above it, but the wind was as dry as the breath of an oven. despite the heavy cloud cover, the afternoon was as bright as an earth-day. the thermometer showed the outside temperature to have dropped to 40 degrees centigrade in the west wind, and it was still going down. jan reached the edge of a crack that made further progress seem impossible. a hundred meters wide, of unknown depth, it stretched out of sight in both directions. for the first time he entertained serious doubts that den hoorn could be crossed by land. after a moment's hesitation, he swung the groundcar northward and raced along the edge of the chasm as fast as the car would negotiate the terrain. he looked anxiously at his watch. nearly three hours had passed since he left oostpoort. he had seven hours to go and he was still at least 16 kilometers from rathole. his pipe was out, but he could not take his hands from the wheel to refill it. he had driven at least eight kilometers before he realized that the crack was narrowing. at least as far again, the two edges came together, but not at the same level. a sheer cliff three meters high now barred his passage. he drove on. * * * * * apparently it was the result of an old quake. he found a spot where rocks had tumbled down, making a steep, rough ramp up the break. he drove up it and turned back southwestward. he made it just in time. he had driven less than three hundred meters when a quake more severe than any of the others struck. suddenly behind him the break reversed itself, so that where he had climbed up coming westward he would now have to climb a cliff of equal height returning eastward. the ground heaved and buckled like a tempestuous sea. rocks rolled and leaped through the air, several large ones striking the groundcar with ominous force. the car staggered forward on its giant wheels like a drunken man. the quake was so violent that at one time the vehicle was hurled several meters sideways, and almost overturned. and the wind smashed down on it unrelentingly. the quake lasted for several minutes, during which jan was able to make no progress at all and struggled only to keep the groundcar upright. then, in unison, both earthquake and wind died to absolute quiescence. jan made use of this calm to step down on the accelerator and send the groundcar speeding forward. the terrain was easier here, nearing the western edge of den hoorn, and he covered several kilometers before the wind struck again, cutting his speed down considerably. he judged he must be nearing rathole. not long thereafter, he rounded an outcropping of rock and it lay before him. a wave of nostalgia swept over him. back at oostpoort, the power was nuclear, but this little settlement made use of the cheapest, most obviously available power source. it was dotted with more than a dozen windmills. windmills! tears came to jan's eyes. for a moment, he was carried back to the flat lands around 's gravenhage. for a moment he was a tow-headed, round-eyed boy again, clumping in wooden shoes along the edge of the tulip fields. but there were no canals here. the flat land, stretching into the darkening west, was spotted with patches of cactus and leather-leaved venerian plants. amid the windmills, low domes protruded from the earth, indicating that the dwellings of rathole were, appropriately, partly underground. * * * * * he drove into the place. there were no streets, as such, but there were avenues between lines of heavy chains strung to short iron posts, evidently as handholds against the wind. the savage gale piled dust and sand in drifts against the domes, then, shifting slightly, swept them clean again. there was no one moving abroad, but just inside the community jan found half a dozen men in a group, clinging to one of the chains and waving to him. he pulled the groundcar to a stop beside them, stuck his pipe in a pocket of his plastic venusuit, donned his helmet and got out. the wind almost took him away before one of them grabbed him and he was able to grasp the chain himself. they gathered around him. they were swarthy, black-eyed men, with curly hair. one of them grasped his hand. "_bienvenido, señor_," said the man. jan recoiled and dropped the man's hand. all the orangeman blood he claimed protested in outrage. spaniards! all these men were spaniards! * * * * * jan recovered himself at once. he had been reading too much ancient history during his leisure hours. the hot monotony of venus was beginning to affect his brain. it had been 500 years since the netherlands revolted against spanish rule. a lot of water over the dam since then. a look at the men around him, the sound of their chatter, convinced him that he need not try german or hollandsch here. he fell back on the international language. "do you speak english?" he asked. the man brightened but shook his head. "_no hablo inglés_," he said, "_pero el médico lo habla. venga conmigo._" he gestured for jan to follow him and started off, pulling his way against the wind along the chain. jan followed, and the other men fell in behind in single file. a hundred meters farther on, they turned, descended some steps and entered one of the half-buried domes. a gray-haired, bearded man was in the well-lighted room, apparently the living room of a home, with a young woman. "_él médico_," said the man who had greeted jan, gesturing. "_él habla inglés._" he went out, shutting the airlock door behind him. "you must be the man from oostpoort," said the bearded man, holding out his hand. "i am doctor sanchez. we are very grateful you have come." "i thought for a while i wouldn't make it," said jan ruefully, removing his venushelmet. "this is mrs. murillo," said sanchez. the woman was a spanish blonde, full-lipped and beautiful, with golden hair and dark, liquid eyes. she smiled at jan. "_encantada de conocerlo, señor_," she greeted him. "is this the patient, doctor?" asked jan, astonished. she looked in the best of health. "no, the patient is in the next room," answered sanchez. "well, as much as i'd like to stop for a pipe, we'd better start at once," said jan. "it's a hard drive back, and blastoff can't be delayed." the woman seemed to sense his meaning. she turned and called: "_diego!_" a boy appeared in the door, a dark-skinned, sleepy-eyed boy of about eight. he yawned. then, catching sight of the big dutchman, he opened his eyes wide and smiled. the boy was healthy-looking, alert, but the mark of the venus shadow was on his face. there was a faint mottling, a criss-cross of dead-white lines. mrs. murillo spoke to him rapidly in spanish and he nodded. she zipped him into a venusuit and fitted a small helmet on his head. "good luck, _amigo_," said sanchez, shaking jan's hand again. "thanks," replied jan. he donned his own helmet. "i'll need it, if the trip over was any indication." * * * * * jan and diego made their way back down the chain to the groundcar. there was a score of men there now, and a few women. they let the pair go through, and waved farewell as jan swung the groundcar around and headed back eastward. it was easier driving with the wind behind him, and jan hit a hundred kilometers an hour several times before striking the rougher ground of den hoorn. now, if he could only find a way over the bluff raised by that last quake.... the ground of den hoorn was still shivering. jan did not realize this until he had to brake the groundcar almost to a stop at one point, because it was not shaking in severe, periodic shocks as it had earlier. it quivered constantly, like the surface of quicksand. the ground far ahead of him had a strange color to it. jan, watching for the cliff he had to skirt and scale, had picked up speed over some fairly even terrain, but now he slowed again, puzzled. there was something wrong ahead. he couldn't quite figure it out. diego, beside him, had sat quietly so far, peering eagerly through the windshield, not saying a word. now suddenly he cried in a high thin tenor: "_cuidado! cuidado! un abismo!_" jim saw it at the same time and hit the brakes so hard the groundcar would have stood on its nose had its wheels been smaller. they skidded to a stop. the chasm that had caused him such a long detour before had widened, evidently in the big quake that had hit earlier. now it was a canyon, half a kilometer wide. five meters from the edge he looked out over blank space at the far wall, and could not see the bottom. cursing choice dutch profanity, jan wheeled the groundcar northward and drove along the edge of the abyss as fast as he could. he wasted half an hour before realizing that it was getting no narrower. there was no point in going back southward. it might be a hundred kilometers long or a thousand, but he never could reach the end of it and thread the tumbled rocks of den hoorn to oostpoort before the g-boat blastoff. there was nothing to do but turn back to rathole and see if some other way could not be found. * * * * * jan sat in the half-buried room and enjoyed the luxury of a pipe filled with some of theodorus neimeijer's mild tobacco. before him, dr. sanchez sat with crossed legs, cleaning his fingernails with a scalpel. diego's mother talked to the boy in low, liquid tones in a corner of the room. * * * * * jan was at a loss to know how people whose technical knowledge was as skimpy as it obviously was in rathole were able to build these semi-underground domes to resist the earth shocks that came from den hoorn. but this one showed no signs of stress. a religious print and a small pencil sketch of señora murillo, probably done by the boy, were awry on the inward-curving walls, but that was all. jan felt justifiably exasperated at these spanish-speaking people. "if some effort had been made to take the boy to oostpoort from here, instead of calling on us to send a car, den hoorn could have been crossed before the crack opened," he pointed out. "an effort was made," replied sanchez quietly. "perhaps you do not fully realize our position here. we have no engines except the stationary generators that give us current for our air-conditioning and our utilities. they are powered by the windmills. we do not have gasoline engines for vehicles, so our vehicles are operated by hand." "you push them?" demanded jan incredulously. "no. you've seen pictures of the pump-cars that once were used on terrestrial railroads? ours are powered like that, but we cannot operate them when the venerian wind is blowing. by the time i diagnosed the venus shadow in diego, the wind was coming up, and we had no way to get him to oostpoort." "mmm," grunted jan. he shifted uncomfortably and looked at the pair in the corner. the blonde head was bent over the boy protectingly, and over his mother's shoulder diego's black eyes returned jan's glance. "if the disease has just started, the boy could wait for the next earth ship, couldn't he?" asked jan. "i said i had just diagnosed it, not that it had just started, _señor_," corrected sanchez. "as you know, the trip to earth takes 145 days and it can be started only when the two planets are at the right position in their orbits. have you ever seen anyone die of the venus shadow?" "yes, i have," replied jan in a low voice. he had seen two people die of it, and it had not been pleasant. medical men thought it was a deficiency disease, but they had not traced down the deficiency responsible. treatment by vitamins, diet, antibiotics, infrared and ultraviolet rays, all were useless. the only thing that could arrest and cure the disease was removal from the dry, cloud-hung surface of venus and return to a moist, sunny climate on earth. without that treatment, once the typical mottled texture of the skin appeared, the flesh rapidly deteriorated and fell away in chunks. the victim remained unfevered and agonizingly conscious until the degeneration reached a vital spot. "if you have," said sanchez, "you must realize that diego cannot wait for a later ship, if his life is to be saved. he must get to earth at once." * * * * * jan puffed at the heerenbaai-tabak and cogitated. the place was aptly named. it was a ratty community. the boy was a dark-skinned little spaniard--of mexican origin, perhaps. but he was a boy, and a human being. a thought occurred to him. from what he had seen and heard, the entire economy of rathole could not support the tremendous expense of sending the boy across the millions of miles to earth by spaceship. "who's paying his passage?" he asked. "the dutch central venus company isn't exactly a charitable institution." "your _señor_ dekker said that would be taken care of," replied sanchez. jan relit his pipe silently, making a mental resolution that dekker wouldn't take care of it alone. salaries for venerian service were high, and many of the men at oostpoort would contribute readily to such a cause. "who is diego's father?" he asked. "he was ramón murillo, a very good mechanic," answered sanchez, with a sliding sidelong glance at jan's face. "he has been dead for three years." jan grunted. "the copters at oostpoort can't buck this wind," he said thoughtfully, "or i'd have come in one of those in the first place instead of trying to cross den hoorn by land. but if you have any sort of aircraft here, it might make it downwind--if it isn't wrecked on takeoff." "i'm afraid not," said sanchez. "too bad. there's nothing we can do, then. the nearest settlement west of here is more than a thousand kilometers away, and i happen to know they have no planes, either. just copters. so that's no help." "wait," said sanchez, lifting the scalpel and tilting his head. "i believe there is something, though we cannot use it. this was once an american naval base, and the people here were civilian employes who refused to move north with it. there was a flying machine they used for short-range work, and one was left behind--probably with a little help from the people of the settlement. but...." "what kind of machine? copter or plane?" "they call it a flying platform. it carries two men, i believe. but, _señor_...." "i know them. i've operated them, before i left earth. man, you don't expect me to try to fly one of those little things in this wind? they're tricky as they can be, and the passengers are absolutely unprotected!" "_señor_, i have asked you to do nothing." "no, you haven't," muttered jan. "but you know i'll do it." sanchez looked into his face, smiling faintly and a little sadly. "i was sure you would be willing," he said. he turned and spoke in spanish to mrs. murillo. the woman rose to her feet and came to them. as jan arose, she looked up at him, tears in her eyes. "_gracias_," she murmured. "_un millón de gracias._" she lifted his hands in hers and kissed them. jan disengaged himself gently, embarrassed. but it occurred to him, looking down on the bowed head of the beautiful young widow, that he might make some flying trips back over here in his leisure time. language barriers were not impassable, and feminine companionship might cure his neurotic, history-born distaste for spaniards, for more than one reason. sanchez was tugging at his elbow. "_señor_, i have been trying to tell you," he said. "it is generous and good of you, and i wanted _señora_ murillo to know what a brave man you are. but have you forgotten that we have no gasoline engines here? there is no fuel for the flying platform." * * * * * the platform was in a warehouse which, like the rest of the structures in rathole, was a half-buried dome. the platform's ring-shaped base was less than a meter thick, standing on four metal legs. on top of it, in the center, was a railed circle that would hold two men, but would crowd them. two small gasoline engines sat on each side of this railed circle and between them on a third side was the fuel tank. the passengers entered it on the fourth side. the machine was dusty and spotted with rust, jan, surrounded by sanchez, diego and a dozen men, inspected it thoughtfully. the letters usn*ses were painted in white on the platform itself, and each engine bore the label "hiller." jan peered over the edge of the platform at the twin-ducted fans in their plastic shrouds. they appeared in good shape. each was powered by one of the engines, transmitted to it by heavy rubber belts. jan sighed. it was an unhappy situation. as far as he could determine, without making tests, the engines were in perfect condition. two perfectly good engines, and no fuel for them. "you're sure there's no gasoline, anywhere in rathole?" he asked sanchez. sanchez smiled ruefully, as he had once before, at jan's appellation for the community. the inhabitants' term for it was simply "_la ciudad nuestra_"--"our town." but he made no protest. he turned to one of the other men and talked rapidly for a few moments in spanish. "none, _señor_," he said, turning back to jan. "the americans, of course, kept much of it when they were here, but the few things we take to oostpoort to trade could not buy precious gasoline. we have electricity in plenty if you can power the platform with it." jan thought that over, trying to find a way. "no, it wouldn't work," he said. "we could rig batteries on the platform and electric motors to turn the propellers. but batteries big enough to power it all the way to oostpoort would be so heavy the machine couldn't lift them off the ground. if there were some way to carry a power line all the way to oostpoort, or to broadcast the power to it.... but it's a light-load machine, and must have an engine that gives it the necessary power from very little weight." wild schemes ran through his head. if they were on water, instead of land, he could rig up a sail. he could still rig up a sail, for a groundcar, except for the chasm out on den hoorn. the groundcar! jan straightened and snapped his fingers. "doctor!" he explained. "send a couple of men to drain the rest of the fuel from my groundcar. and let's get this platform above ground and tie it down until we can get it started." sanchez gave rapid orders in spanish. two of the men left at a run, carrying five-gallon cans with them. three others picked up the platform and carried it up a ramp and outside. as soon as they reached ground level, the wind hit them. they dropped the platform to the ground, where it shuddered and swayed momentarily, and two of the men fell successfully on their stomachs. the wind caught the third and somersaulted him half a dozen times before he skidded to a stop on his back with outstretched arms and legs. he turned over cautiously and crawled back to them. jan, his head just above ground level, surveyed the terrain. there was flat ground to the east, clear in a fairly broad alley for at least half a kilometer before any of the domes protruded up into it. "this is as good a spot for takeoff as we'll find," he said to sanchez. the men put three heavy ropes on the platform's windward rail and secured it by them to the heavy chain that ran by the dome. the platform quivered and shuddered in the heavy wind, but its base was too low for it to overturn. shortly the two men returned with the fuel from the groundcar, struggling along the chain. jan got above ground in a crouch, clinging to the rail of the platform, and helped them fill the fuel tank with it. he primed the carburetors and spun the engines. nothing happened. * * * * * he turned the engines over again. one of them coughed, and a cloud of blue smoke burst from its exhaust, but they did not catch. "what is the matter, _señor_?" asked sanchez from the dome entrance. "i don't know," replied jan. "maybe it's that the engines haven't been used in so long. i'm afraid i'm not a good enough mechanic to tell." "some of these men were good mechanics when the navy was here," said sanchez. "wait." he turned and spoke to someone in the dome. one of the men of rathole came to jan's side and tried the engines. they refused to catch. the man made carburetor adjustments and tried again. no success. he sniffed, took the cap from the fuel tank and stuck a finger inside. he withdrew it, wet and oily, and examined it. he turned and spoke to sanchez. "he says that your groundcar must have a diesel engine," sanchez interpreted to jan. "is that correct?" "why, yes, that's true." "he says the fuel will not work then, _señor_. he says it is low-grade fuel and the platform must have high octane gasoline." jan threw up his hands and went back into the dome. "i should have known that," he said unhappily. "i would have known if i had thought of it." "what is to be done, then?" asked sanchez. "there's nothing that can be done," answered jan. "they may as well put the fuel back in my groundcar." sanchez called orders to the men at the platform. while they worked, jan stared out at the furiously spinning windmills that dotted rathole. "there's nothing that can be done," he repeated. "we can't make the trip overland because of the chasm out there in den hoorn, and we can't fly the platform because we have no power for it." windmills. again jan could imagine the flat land around them as his native holland, with the zuider zee sparkling to the west where here the desert stretched under darkling clouds. * * * * * jan looked at his watch. a little more than two hours before the g-boat's blastoff time, and it couldn't wait for them. it was nearly eight hours since he had left oostpoort, and the afternoon was getting noticeably darker. jan was sorry. he had done his best, but venus had beaten him. he looked around for diego. the boy was not in the dome. he was outside, crouched in the lee of the dome, playing with some sticks. diego must know of his ailment, and why he had to go to oostpoort. if jan was any judge of character, sanchez would have told him that. whether diego knew it was a life-or-death matter for him to be aboard the _vanderdecken_ when it blasted off for earth, jan did not know. but the boy was around eight years old and he was bright, and he must realize the seriousness involved in a decision to send him all the way to earth. jan felt ashamed of the exuberant foolishness which had led him to spout ancient history and claim descent from william of orange. it had been a hobby, and artificial topic for conversation that amused him and his companions, a defense against the monotony of venus that had begun to affect his personality perhaps a bit more than he realized. he did not dislike spaniards; he had no reason to dislike them. they were all humans--the spanish, the dutch, the germans, the americans, even the russians--fighting a hostile planet together. he could not understand a word diego said when the boy spoke to him, but he liked diego and wished desperately he could do something. outside, the windmills of rathole spun merrily. there was power, the power that lighted and air-conditioned rathole, power in the air all around them. if he could only use it! but to turn the platform on its side and let the wind spin the propellers was pointless. he turned to sanchez. "ask the men if there are any spare parts for the platform," he said. "some of those legs it stands on, transmission belts, spare propellers." sanchez asked. "yes," he said. "many spare parts, but no fuel." jan smiled a tight smile. "tell them to take the engines out," he said. "since we have no fuel, we may as well have no engines." * * * * * pieter heemskerk stood by the ramp to the stubby g-boat and checked his watch. it was x minus fifteen--fifteen minutes before blastoff time. heemskerk wore a spacesuit. everything was ready, except climbing aboard, closing the airlock and pressing the firing pin. what on venus could have happened to van artevelde? the last radio message they had received, more than an hour ago, had said he and the patient took off successfully in an aircraft. what sort of aircraft could he be flying that would require an hour to cover eighty kilometers, with the wind? heemskerk could only draw the conclusion that the aircraft had been wrecked somewhere in den hoorn. as a matter of fact, he knew that preparations were being made now to send a couple of groundcars out to search for it. this, of course, would be too late to help the patient van artevelde was bringing, but heemskerk had no personal interest in the patient. his worry was all for his friend. the two of them had enjoyed chess and good beer together on his last three trips to venus, and heemskerk hoped very sincerely that the big blond man wasn't hurt. he glanced at his watch again. x minus twelve. in two minutes, it would be time for him to walk up the ramp into the g-boat. in seven minutes the backward count before blastoff would start over the area loudspeakers. heemskerk shook his head sadly. and van artevelde had promised to come back triumphant, with a broom at his masthead! it was a high thin whine borne on the wind, carrying even through the walls of his spacehelmet, that attracted heemskerk's attention and caused him to pause with his foot on the ramp. around him, the rocket mechanics were staring up at the sky, trying to pinpoint the noise. heemskerk looked westward. at first he could see nothing, then there was a moving dot above the mountain, against the indigo umbrella of clouds. it grew, it swooped, it approached and became a strange little flying disc with two people standing on it and _something_ sticking up from its deck in front of them. a broom? no. the platform hovered and began to settle nearby, and there was van artevelde leaning over its rail and fiddling frantically with whatever it was that stuck up on it--a weird, angled contraption of pipes and belts topped by a whirring blade. a boy stood at his shoulder and tried to help him. as the platform descended to a few meters above ground, the dutchman slashed at the contraption, the cut ends of belts whipped out wildly and the platform slid to the ground with a rush. it hit with a clatter and its two passengers tumbled prone to the ground. "jan!" boomed heemskerk, forcing his voice through the helmet diaphragm and rushing over to his friend. "i was afraid you were lost!" jan struggled to his feet and leaned down to help the boy up. "here's your patient, pieter," he said. "hope you have a spacesuit in his size." "i can find one. and we'll have to hurry for blastoff. but, first, what happened? even that damned thing ought to get here from rathole faster than that." "had no fuel," replied jan briefly. "my engines were all right, but i had no power to run them. so i had to pull the engines and rig up a power source." heemskerk stared at the platform. on its railing was rigged a tripod of battered metal pipes, atop which a big four-blade propeller spun slowly in what wind was left after it came over the western mountain. over the edges of the platform, running from the two propellers in its base, hung a series of tattered transmission belts. "power source?" repeated heemskerk. "that?" "certainly," replied jan with dignity. "the power source any good dutchman turns to in an emergency: a windmill!" the end transcriber's note this etext was produced from _amazing science fiction stories_ april 1959. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed. minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note. venus has green eyes by carl selwyn space-trotting flip miller was prisoner of the lovely, cruel venusian queen. it looked like star's end for the stubborn-jawed young earthling until he remembered that women are women--on earth or on venus! [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from planet stories fall 1940. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] charlie mead, trapper, and flip miller, ex-prospector, started a forty-day drunk. charlie just liked the idea. flip had reasons. "in a few hours it'll be wetter'n a swamp duck's gullet," said charlie, grinning behind his whiskers. "and darker'n west pluto!" charlie had been trapping otters here for five years and accepted the long nights as resignedly as the mud, the eternal fog and the heat. he poured another glass of _loku_, squinted at its blue sparkle in the tube-light. the gray mists swirled through the open door and the raw wind whistled through the rusty holes in the wall. flip leaned back against the bundles of fur and held up four fingers. "to hell with the following," he counted, "i.m.c., radios, fuel tanks, and this soggy planet of yours, venus!" * * * * * noted for his wild-goose chases and wilder ideas, flip miller was always running into trouble. in fact it was just two months ago that the space patrol found him marooned on pallas. he had one pint of air left when they found him, said he fell out of his plane while looking for diamonds. the patrol took him to mars. there, he immediately got in a poker game and made a fortune--and immediately got in another and lost it all. that is, all except a doubtful map of a venusian xanite mine which nobody else would accept as stakes. which was his reason for being here, if flip ever needed a sane reason for being anywhere. for once however his screwball ventures panned out. "and i've been here all these years without knowing a billion dollars was in my back yard," said charlie who considered the matter very funny. "leastwise it was a billion till--" "shut up, you blinking old veedle-chaser," said flip. people always laughed at his misfortunes. maybe it was because he did too.... charlie's island was in the middle of the black swamp. the mine was a few hundred miles east. fused with asphalt and deep in the mire, thousands of miles from nowhere, it was small wonder it had lain there unvisited since its original discovery. the map had passed through the hands of sundry dissolute, short-lived sourdoughs till the location became as dubious as other bar-room talk. it was flip's luck that the map eventually got around to him. he was probably the only man in the system who would have believed in it. filled with quick visions, he'd figured his treasure up on the spot. it would cost about fifty dollars a ton to get it out of the swamp, smelt the asphalt and ship the ore to earth. on earth xanite ore was worth over a thousand dollars a ton. then the fates ran amuck. his plane's fuel tank sprang a leak. flip lost every drop of the reserve that was to carry him back to the mainland. the mainland was 25,000 miles away. then his sending set blew a transformer and he couldn't radio for help. last, while trying to ascertain his position on the receiving set, he heard that i.m.c.--interstellar metallurgical company--had just opened a gigantic xanite deposit on mars. the market quoted xanite now at twenty dollars a ton. venusian xanite suddenly wasn't worth swamp water. "it shore is too bad," continued charlie with smiling sympathy. "you probably wished it on me," said flip, "so you could have company on this mildewed damn island." that was the one blessing in his barrage by malevolent fates--he'd glided to charlie's island and the old fellow, one of many of his kind in the venusian swamps, had placed his metal shack, his canned beans and his _loku_ at flip's disposal. to all of which he was doomed till the supply ship came around after the rains--forty days ahead. "i wish one of your pirates would show up," mused flip. "i might could bum a ride out of here." "don't wish that, boy," said charlie with quick seriousness. "i've been pretty lucky so far but i told you about the fellow who used to be here--he's buried out yonder in the mud. these here venusian pirates're about the meanest critters you find anywheres." "they come around during the nights, huh." "yeah, when the season's catch is ready for packing. they kill the fellow and take his pelts. you quit talking about pirates, boy. they'd just as soon skin you as an otter." "say! what about this female pirate i heard about on the mainland?" "captain vixen? i never seen her--never knew nobody that had. she don't come out here and the natives won't talk about her. but you can bet your sunday space-togs she's behind this swamp raiding--she runs everything on the mainland, about ruined the big industries there. supposed to be a native queen back in the hills; hates foreigners. they say she's nursed scorpions and killed men with her fingernails." "pretty tough date, huh." and now the twilight was coming on, it was starting to rain--and soon it would be blackness and constant rain for forty dreary days. "oh, hell," yawned flip. "and i didn't bring my bathing suit." he joined charlie in a drink. * * * * * the thirty-eighth century haliburton and the black swamp bacchus were doing nicely with the sixteenth verse of _lulu drank loku on pluto_ when one of the more technical gestures necessary to the famous ditty caused the bottle to be overturned. "now look what you've done," said flip. "we've got only enough left for thirty-nine days." "sho shorry," said charlie. flip felt in his shirt pocket for a cigarette and found the ill-starred map which had brought him here. the lines were blurred with sweat but he could still make out the circle designating the mainland port, the crow's feet designating the swamp, the large x in the upper left where the xanite was. he didn't need the map any more; for the location was stark in his mind. in fact he wished he could forget it. "ah, well," he said. he opened the tube-light, held the map over the hissing jet. it turned brown, then black and he crumbled the ashes in his fingers. "i sometimes wonder what'll happen to me next...." he heard something above the wind at the door; probably a stray veedle, one of the mud-mice which infested the swamp. then he noticed charlie's eyes. they were very big and slowly his mouth fell open. he's gone _loku_ loco, thought flip. charlie was staring past him, over his shoulder. flip whirled around. a woman stood in the door. flip dropped his glass. behind the woman stood three men. the woman said something in venusian. flip couldn't understand and there was a dumb pause as he stared with eyes that grew wider. the woman wore hip-high swamp boots, two guns on her belt, a filmy shirt open at the throat. her hair, uncovered and flowing, was golden, vaporous as the mist. flip heard charlie replying in the native language. the woman stepped into the room. eyes flicking into every corner, the three men followed her. in the hand of each was an .03 pistol. she halted before them and flip rose from his chair like a ghost. charlie sat very still. his face was pale, eyes narrow. "sit down." it was a command and flip sank back down helplessly. in his amazement he'd probably have done anything she said. she spoke english, in the liquid tones of a native. and she was venusian, in all its ancient connotation. her eyes met flip's evenly, calmly. her eyes were emerald green. "you are flip miller," she said. "you have a map. give it to me." she held out her hand, as if refusal to her easy words was unthinkable. flip found his voice. "who--?" he began. her eyes were cold, commanding; his ego rebelled and he stood up quickly. with a swift hand, one of the men pushed him back down. flip came up again with fists balled. a pistol was jabbed in his side. "jupiter's jumpers!" cried flip. "what is this?" "captain vixen...." breathed charlie. * * * * * the .03 gun was persuasive and flip sat down. the man was huge, ugly with a welted blue scar across his cheek. he stepped back and stood with feet wide apart, the gun pointed at flip's chest. another stationed himself at the door, the other stood behind charlie. the woman leaned against the table, crossed her legs. "the map?" she said and produced a cigarette. bravado was the word for flip, naturally or _à la loku_, and forgetting his anger he struck a match for her. she ignored him, lit the cigarette herself. without changing his expression, flip thumped the burning match toward the man with the gun. "so you're captain vixen," he said, meeting her gaze. "perhaps i should ask for your autograph." "i should brand it on your mouth, earthman. but the map, please?" she wasn't beautiful, thought flip; her eyes were too far apart, her lips too large--sensual. and her green eyes, her eyebrows long and slanting, her firm lithe sleekness--they were more feline than feminine. which was dangerously feminine, thought flip, and perhaps she was beautiful. "captain vixen, the legend does you an injustice," he observed. "the complexion! like swamp lilies in the mist...." then he laughed, for lovely women weren't danger to flip miller. quite on the contrary. "now what's all this about a map? my xanite mine?" "fool, did you think your arrival on venus was not made known to me--and your purpose here?" "you followed me to get that map!" flip threw back his head with mirth. charlie made shushing noises. but it was too funny, flip thought. didn't she know the mine was worthless? she must! but she had come out here after him in person. perhaps she didn't know the bottom had fallen out of the xanite market. the woman motioned to the man with the scar. "search him," she said, smoke curling from her lips. the fellow came forward, reached out a hairy hand. flip slapped it aside, annoyed. "oh, drop the mask, viki, and let's be friends," he said. "and i don't like the company you keep." "oh, lord!" groaned charlie. the man looked at the woman, waited for orders. "i said search him," she repeated. the man holstered his gun, snatched at flip's collar. the shirt ripped and flip's fist came up as he rose. _spat!_ the man staggered backward, hit the wall and slid to the floor. in the same second flip hurled his chair at the man in the doorway. the woman was between him and the other fellow's gun, which probably saved him. he saw charlie get to his feet as he whirled upon the woman--to find her pistol only inches from his belly. charlie turned upon the man behind him and was struck in the face by a gun barrel. he fell across a pile of fur, was struggling up when the heavy man deliberately placed a foot upon his wrist. flip heard the bone snap. he ground his teeth in rage, started to lunge at the man and felt the woman's gun press into his ribs. she had not moved from the table and her face was calm as ever. she had merely changed the cigarette to her left hand. fingering their bruises, the men flip had dealt with came up. the other had his gun leveled on charlie. flip saw the little trapper get slowly to his feet, holding his limp arm. his face was very white. it was then that flip became quite sober to the situation. suddenly he forgot this woman's beauty, and what had been admiration turned to burning hate. he told her so. "for the last time," she said, "i'm asking for that map." her eyes were green ice and her hand did not waver on the gun. "i burned the map." "then you will tell me the location." "i will tell you nothing." "perhaps we can change your mind," she said. "bring a rope, thorg." * * * * * after being thoroughly searched, they were pushed through the door. charlie didn't say anything and flip knew his wrist must be agony. twilight had come, the long twilight of venus which precedes the longer night, and the mist was wet with drizzling rain. visibility was poor; flip could see only a few yards ahead. the sun, never seen on this dank planet, was now below the horizon leaving a dull gray afterglow--like false dawn on earth. he did not know where they were going nor what mad torture the woman had conceived. he knew only that hate flamed in his chest and her white throat in his hands would be a great pleasure. never before had flip desired to harm a woman. but never before had he seen one like this. they passed a trim strato-plane, vague in the fog, and flip discovered how the pirates managed to land so noiselessly. on their craft's power jets were the slim serpentine coils of doxim silencers, exhaust mufflers banned for years by interstellar law. if only a veedle would crawl in one of those tubes, he thought; it might blow up the ship. slashing through the rain at charlie's side, the threatening guns close behind, flip was jerked from his heated musings by an .03 shot. he whirled around, saw smoke curling from the pistol in the woman's hand. a dead veedle, an exceptionally small mud-mouse, lay at her feet. lordy, thought flip as he was pushed on; the woman was heartless, mercilessly cruel for the sport of it.... the edge of the little island halted them. here the rock fell away for several feet to the sickening ooze. covering half of venus, it was the black swamp which stretched off in the dismal fog. "tie a rope around his neck and throw him over," came the woman's impassive voice. "he will become quite loquacious before he sinks...." so this was it. flip looked at charlie and charlie looked at the swamp. flip followed his gaze and the dark viscous mire rippled in a passing breeze, hissed against the rock and sucked hungrily like a live thing waiting to feed. the swamps were bottomless. the man thorg, the one who had broken charlie's wrist, threw a loop over flip's head, pulled it tight about his neck. flip fingered the rope and stared at the woman. would she really do this? and would he talk? no! damned if he would! he'd sink first. but the mine was worthless. why not tell her where it was? but he had no reason to expect a lesser fate if he did. besides it was a matter of honor now--and he knew one way to enhance that honor. "hold the rope when you shove him in," said the woman, her eyes mere slits against the mist. "let him sink slowly." the other two men had their guns trained upon flip. he met thorg's beady eyes. "son of a veedle!" flip said in his face. suddenly he swooped down and upward with one long arm. the man was shoved forward, to the brink of the rock. he tottered there a long second, waving his arms frantically. flip sprang toward the woman. flame burst around him, he wasn't hit. he heard thorg scream. he crashed into the woman as he heard a splash, more screams. then there was silence and he was struggling on the wet-rock, the woman fighting like a tiger. flip found her gun hand, wrenched the weapon from her. he got to his knees. the two men stood before him, one holding his gun on charlie. they couldn't fire at flip for fear of hitting the woman. flip started to blast them, then turned the pistol upon their captain vixen beside him. "drop your guns or i'll kill her," he said. he leveled his pistol, got to his feet and backed away from the group. "take their guns, charlie," he grinned. "we're not licked yet." "no?" said the woman. his eyes flicked to her. she had a pistol in her hand. flip had his sights dead upon her. damn, he thought; he'd forgotten she carried two guns. they stared at each other--stalemated. the very wind was still. "i've never killed a woman--" flip said. "i've never killed a man," she said quietly, "before." for the first time she smiled. flip's gun was suddenly jerked away, fire streaked toward him, he heard the crash. she had shot the gun from his hand. * * * * * he stood there, helpless and dumb. captain vixen lit a cigarette, her gun still ready. she looked at him a long moment. "well," she said, green eyes never leaving his, "what are we waiting for?" she motioned to the man with the scar. "take the end of the rope, voss. our earthian friend hasn't tasted the mud yet, you know." charlie hadn't said anything. a gun at his back, his white mustache ruffled by the wind, he stood silently watching flip, holding his broken arm. the choice was up to flip. "look at the mud, flip miller," said the woman. "there is not even a ripple where thorg went down. he went quickly. you shall dip slowly, that the conceit of your tongue and the rashness of your mind may be reflected upon with regret." flip glanced over the rock's edge. there was only the quiet, waiting mire; no trace of thorg's body. "vixen--" he began. he never finished for voss pushed him over with both hands. the black surface of the mud rushed up at him. arms flailing off balance, he hit on his side with a heavy splash. he heard charlie's yell from above. he raised his head from the mud, tried to brush the stuff from his eyes. a soft and clinging pressure was warm against his legs, his waist. through the mud in his eyes, he saw the dark flat plain of the swamp stretching away into the mist. turning, he saw the perpendicular rock wall of the island rising above him. the hot ooze crawled up to his chest and in his nostrils was the fetid smell of the swamp, dank with the warm breath of ancient decay. the mud crawled higher. he struck out with his hands against it, struggled to pull himself upward but a grim suction tugged at his feet and legs, slowly drew his body downward. then his wrists were caught in the irresistible pull. he couldn't move his arms. looking down, he saw the black mire high on his chest. as he watched, fascinated, the mire rose higher. it was at his shoulders. keen and swift, panic struck like a knife in his belly and his arms strained, every muscle in his body trembled with mad flight. but he couldn't move and the mud climbed to his throat. this is _it_, he thought, and pictures paraded through his mind, irrelevant flashes. he saw faces, dim in the mist above him, blurred with water and the mud in his eyes. he shook his head violently, the faces cleared. there was choking pain in his throat. the faces were of three men, and a woman. it was vixen, looking down from the rock above. his head was strained back and upward against the rope, tight on his throat. he had stopped sinking. "have you found your tongue?" it was the woman's voice. "where is the mine? speak! tell me or you sink!" flip stared at her and could say nothing. he was smothered with the noose on his neck. his eyes burned with the pain, with red hatred of the woman. "let him down slowly." her voice again. flip stared up at her with mute passion. the mud caressed his chin, repulsive and warm. slowly, he felt it creep higher, moist against the back of his head. "speak, fool! where is the mine?" he stared up at her with bulging eyes, couldn't speak. her words were meaningless. he felt only the pain in his throat, the pressure of the mire against his body. he knew only that he hated the voice that spoke and that his body was weak with that hatred. the mud crawled into his ears and the voice stopped. the mud rose to his lips. he could taste the thick salty warmth of it. he closed his mouth tightly but the taste remained. the mud bubbled at his nostrils. he couldn't breathe. he saw the vast flat plain of black become level with his eyes. the mud covered his eyes. * * * * * the air was good and he gulped at it. he was lying on the rock. he felt his throat, wiped his face and saw somebody standing over him in the rain. the man had a scar across his cheek. "try the other one." it was the woman's voice. "perhaps the muddy earthian will talk to save his friend if not himself." flip sat up and stared at them, gathering his wits. charlie had a rope about his neck. the man voss held a pistol at his back. charlie grinned at him. "proud of you, boy," he said. his right arm dangled at his side. failing the first time, flip's scene was to be repeated with a new performer. "no," said flip. "no! charlie doesn't know where the mine is--he had nothing to do with this." "no matter," said the woman. "perhaps seeing him in the mud will affect your obstinacy." "that mine's worthless," flip said. "it's no good any more. since i.m.c.--" "i know," she replied. "hush, flip," said charlie. "there's more going on than we know about. don't tell her. i'm an old man and--" "throw him in," said the woman impatiently. flip got to his feet, ignoring the gun in his face. voss picked up the end of the rope around charlie's neck. "stop," said flip. "i'll tell you." he couldn't let charlie go through with this. it wasn't his problem and he had a broken wrist already. "be quiet," said charlie. "i don't--" "talk," the woman told flip. the mine must mean a lot to her, flip thought. why? he was positive about the present market price. could the radio report have been wrong? no. not in a quotation affecting five planets. "what do you want with that mine?" flip stalled. "you know the market price." "your questions are unhealthy, earthman. tell me the mine's location or your friend goes in the swamp--without a rope." flip told her. he didn't lie. he gave the exact venusio-magnetic direction he'd taken to find it. but he was sure of one thing--that there was more here than he knew. the radio report must have been wrong.... "you shouldn't of told her, flip," said charlie. "your life will be short if he lied," said the woman. she glanced up at the fog. it was a shade darker than when they had come and the rain was stronger. the mist was thickening and it was much cooler, flip noticed. "come," said the woman, "we must prove his words while there is light." she turned, walked up the rock toward the ship. "tie them in the cabin," she ordered over her shoulder. "if he lied, we shall return. if he spoke truth--they have only to free themselves before they starve...." * * * * * when the men left, flip immediately tried the rope. pulling with all his strength, he couldn't slacken it and, with the pain in his arm, there was little charlie could do. "lordy!!" said flip. "what now?" "we're lucky to be alive," said charlie. "captain vixen must have taken a fancy to you." flip strained at his ropes with the thought of her. venusian women were the beauties of the universe and this woman had surpassed them all, but in her dull beauty, thought flip, there was nothing feminine. she had no heart. she had but one emotion--the pursuit of her goal. "it gets pretty chilly during the nights," said charlie happily. "we'll get pneumonia before we starve." flip looked helplessly about the room. they were bound to their chairs and the ropes looped through holes in the wall. there was no way flip could get to charlie and perhaps untie him. the house was of metal and through the rusty walls and the open door came the increasing chill of night. captain vixen's men had made them "comfortable," left them to the whistling wind. there was a draft on flip's neck and he turned to see the rust had eaten away a small crack behind him. just another thing, he thought. he was still caked with mud. then he almost turned over his chair with excitement. he craned his neck, saw where the rope binding him was looped through the wall. they were two small holes, rusty as the rest. "charlie," he said hoarsely, "these dumb venusians! they've tied us to a _knife blade_!" "what?" "the holes they put the rope through! look at the edges!" he began see-sawing back and forth with his chair. the rope rubbed against the rusty edges as he did so. "maybe i can make it in time. it's been only a few minutes and they've got to warm up the ship." "you mean you're going to face them again. saints o' saturn! leave well enough alone, boy!" flip kept at his work. if he could get this part of the rope cut the rest would be simple. "and let 'em get that mine? hell no! there's something about that xanite i don't understand and i'm going to find out what. i'd like a nice long chat with miss vixen too." charlie gave up trying to dissuade him and flip kept sawing. with the mufflers, he couldn't hear the ship leave but he was sure they hadn't gone yet. those high-power planes took a lot of warming up, especially with moxims. what to do when he got there? flip miller's mind never strayed far from the present. the rope broke. it was a matter of minutes before he was free. "try the same thing, charlie," flip said at the door. "you wouldn't be much good out there with a busted wrist and i'll be back before long." "maybe," said charlie doubtfully as flip streaked out into the rain. * * * * * the ship loomed before him in the mist and flip halted, some degree of sanity entering the elation of his escape. he couldn't see through the fogged windows, but there were three skillful guns inside and he was unarmed. they had taken all the guns from the shack when they left. besides, the ship's door was closed and a strato-plane's hull is solid metal. though he considered it, he couldn't just go up and knock. the rise-rockets were idling. a pink glow appeared at each blast but there was only a soft hissing with the mufflers. the power jets hadn't started; they were geared with a synchronized heat progression which ignited them only when the proper temperature was reached. a veedle scampered across flip's foot and he jumped. if a veedle crawled into one of those muffler tubes it would explode, he remembered thinking when he first saw the ship. flip snapped his fingers. if a veedle could cause it, why not he? with mud! he could fill a power jet and when the ignition started, it would burst like a clogged gun barrel. they couldn't leave. perfect! keeping well below the windows, he approached the ship. the power jets, as usual, were outside and forward of the glowing rise-rockets so he could work in safety. that is, unless the jets started while he was near them. but he would never know it if they did. flip scooped up a handful of mud, stuffed it into the five-inch opening. it was like pouring water in a veedle hole but he kept at it, and heat from the smaller tubes blistering his hands. he could hear people moving about inside the plane. finally he packed one more handful to make sure, grinning to himself. the door in the side of the ship suddenly opened. flip dropped down beside the hull. it was the big fellow with the scarred cheek. he jumped down, walked toward the rear of the ship where flip was. making a take-off inspection, flip decided. what should he do? he could make a break across the rocks, lose himself in the mist. no--they'd track him down, get charlie again too. well, there was one thing to do then. the man was silhouetted against the open door as he walked forward. in the heavy mist, he couldn't see flip yet. crouched on hands and toes, flip sank lower. the muscles in his knees tensed. the man came on. flip shot toward him, hands outstretched. his fingers found the thick throat, squeezed with all their might as the force of his spring carried them both to the ground. flip landed on top, kept his hold on the man's neck. the fellow brought up his hands, plucked frantically at flip's wrists but he made only soft gurgling sounds and soon his hands fell away. flip turned him loose. he wasn't dead; a little out of breath. flip took his pistol from its holster. to keep him quiet a while longer, he slugged a finishing touch on his chin. with a grin at this aesthetic work, he got to his feet. he had a gun now. but it was still two against one--he'd learned to count the woman--and they were inside. it would be risky entering the ship. better wait till somebody else came out. they'd be out looking for this fellow soon enough. the door was still open. flip dragged the unconscious man under the rounded hull. eyes on the door, he crouched down beside him to wait. suddenly he remembered the mud he'd stuffed in the power jet. wow! if that thing exploded with him near it--! he leaped up, stuck the gun in his belt. he reached down to drag the man away too. as he turned, something jabbed hard in his side. "so you haven't had enough, earthman?" it was the other fellow, voss. he must have come out the other side, circled around the back. the rockets were glowing cherry red now. the power jets would ignite any moment. * * * * * "get away!" cried flip. "i clogged a tube! it'll explode--" "no more of your tricks, earthman," said voss. he yanked flip's gun from his belt, stuck both of them in flip's belly. "you fool, we'll be blown to bits." "shut up," said voss, eyeing his comrade lying beside the ship. he poked him with the toe of his boot. the man groaned, moved slightly. flip saw bubbles ooze from the jet he'd stopped up. it was a matter of seconds. ignoring the gun, flip hit voss in the face. the man staggered back. flip whirled to run. as he turned, the mist exploded red. something crashed into him. an ear-splitting roar. his head hit the rock and he was stunned for a moment. something large and heavy lay across him. it was quiet in the mist and the rain was cool. it was a man's body across him. something hot and sticky seeped through his clothes. flip shoved the man aside, sat up. he looked at the man's face. it was voss. the back of his head was gone. his shoulders were a crimson mass and his back and legs were shredded. flip got to his feet. he was covered with blood too but could find only slight cuts. voss had received the full force of the explosion and his body had protected him. "are all earthians so lucky?" said a voice. flip looked up. the woman, captain vixen, was standing before him in the rain. one hand was on her hip. the other held a pistol. flip stared at her a long time and neither spoke. "lady," he said finally, "must this game go on forever?" "not for you," she replied. * * * * * "earthman," said the woman, "in the hills, i am queen. on the mainland, i am terror. in the swamps, i am death. whatever defies me on this--my planet--dies. it needs be so, for the resources of venus have been plunder to the universe. imperialism ruled until my father, king before me, died fighting it. you, earthman, are a symbol of those that killed him, those that drove my people to poverty--until i came. i am a symbol of the venus that _was_--and, as i live, shall be again. you understand now why you die...." flip looked at the woman and the rain molded her hair into golden ringlets, the wind shaped her body in the sheer lines of an ancient goddess. the mist softened the chill beauty of her face and her green eyes were misty in the deepening twilight. the wind was keen and flip shivered. "you are the coldest woman i ever knew," he said. "and you are the coolest man." "since i am to die," said flip, "you may tell me why you wanted that worthless mine." "the xanite is worthless--" she paused. "the asphalt mixed with it is pitchblende. it was a secret of my father's that the lost swamp mine holds enough _radium_ to buy the universe--to return venus to her rightful place again." she raised the pistol, took aim at his chest. her hand was without a tremor. "at the swamps," said flip, "you said you'd never killed a man." "i spoke truth. now i am alone--i must." flip heard a splash. a veedle scurried across the woman's boots. she screamed. the mud-mouse streaked off into the mist. the woman's arms dropped to her sides. her eyes were wide. for a fleeting second, the epitome of womankind was on her face. and the warmth of irrational helplessness. then quickly it was gone, the mask returned. she jerked up her gun and fired. the shot went over flip's head as he dived. his lunge knocked her down. he snatched the pistol from her hand, hurled it into the mist. pinning her arms to the ground, flip sat upon her and laughed. "you're a woman," he gritted, "you're a woman--afraid of a mouse!" she struggled violently to free herself. "you're a woman, forced into a deadly legend--a persecution complex. you're beautiful...." he bent, kissed her full upon the lips. she freed one arm, slapped him across the face. he didn't feel it. there were tears in her emerald green eyes. flip threw back his head, roared his laughter to the wind. he'd forgotten captain vixen carried two guns. the stellar legion by leigh brackett no one had ever escaped from venus' dread stellar legion. and, as thekla the low-martian learned, no one had ever betrayed it and--lived. [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from planet stories winter 1940. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] silence was on the barracks like a lid clamped over tight-coiled springs. men in rumpled uniforms--outlanders of the stellar legion, space-rats, the scrapings of the solar system--sweated in the sullen heat of the venusian swamplands before the rains. sweated and listened. the metal door clanged open to admit lehn, the young venusian commandant, and every man jerked tautly to his feet. ian macian, the white-haired, space-burned earthman, alone and hungrily poised for action; thekla, the swart martian low-canaler, grinning like a weasel beside bhak, the hulking strangler from titan. every quick nervous glance was riveted on lehn. the young officer stood silent in the open door, tugging at his fair mustache; to macian, watching, he was a trim, clean incongruity in this brutal wilderness of savagery and iron men. behind him, the eternal mists writhed in a thin curtain over the swamp, stretching for miles beyond the soggy earthworks; through it came the sound every ear had listened to for days, a low, monotonous piping that seemed to ring from the ends of the earth. the nahali, the six-foot, scarlet-eyed swamp-dwellers, whose touch was weapon enough, praying to their gods for rain. when it came, the hot, torrential downpour of southern venus, the nahali would burst in a scaly tide over the fort. only a moat of charged water and four electro-cannons stood between the legion and the horde. if those things failed, it meant two hundred lives burned out, the circle of protective forts broken, the fertile uplands plundered and laid waste. macian looked at lehn's clean, university-bred young face, and wondered cynically if he was strong enough to do his job. lehn spoke, so abruptly that the men started. "i'm calling for volunteers. a reconnaissance in nahali territory; you know well enough what that means. three men. well?" ian macian stepped forward, followed instantly by the martian thekla. bhak the titan hesitated, his queerly bright, blank eyes darting from thekla to lehn, and back to macian. then he stepped up, his hairy face twisted in a sly grin. lehn eyed them, his mouth hard with distaste under his fair mustache. then he nodded, and said; "report in an hour, light equipment." turning to go, he added almost as an afterthought, "report to my quarters, macian. immediately." macian's bony celtic face tightened and his blue eyes narrowed with wary distrust. but he followed lehn, his gaunt, powerful body as ramrod-straight as the venusian's own, and no eye that watched him go held any friendship. thekla laughed silently, like a cat with his pointed white teeth. "two of a kind," he whispered. "i hope they choke each other!" bhak grunted, flexing his mighty six-fingered hands. in his quarters, lehn, his pink face flushed, strode up and down while macian waited dourly. it was plain enough what was coming; macian felt the old bitter defensive anger rising in him. "look," he told himself inwardly. "books. good cigars. a girl's picture on the table. you had all that once, you damn fool. why couldn't you...." lehn stopped abruptly in front of him, grey eyes steady. "i'm new here, macian," he said. "but we've been legion men for five generations, and i know the law; no man is to be questioned about his past. i'm going to break the law. why are you here, macian?" macian's white head was gaunt and stubborn as tantallon rock, and he kept silent. "i'm trying to help," lehn went on, "you've been an officer; every man in the barracks knows that. if you're here for any reason but failure in duty, you can be an officer again. i'll relieve you of special duty; you can start working for the examinations. no need to waste you in the ranks. well?" macian's eyes were hidden, but his voice was harsh. "what's behind this, lehn? what the hell is it to you?" the venusian's level gaze wavered; for a moment the boy looked through the man, and macian felt a quick stab in his heart. then all that was gone, and lehn said curtly. "if you find the barracks congenial stay there, by all means. dismissed!" macian glared at him half-blindly for a moment, his fine long hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. then he 'bout faced with vicious smartness and went out. * * * * * nearly an hour later he stood with the martian thekla on the earthworks, waiting. the monotonous pipes prayed on in the swamp; macian, looking up at the heavy sky, prayed just as hard that it would not rain. not just yet. because if it rained before the patrol left, the patrol would not leave; the nahali would be on the march with the very first drop. "and my chance would be gone," he whispered to himself. thekla's bright black eyes studied him, as they always did; an insolent, mocking scrutiny that angered the scot. "well," he said dryly. "the perfect soldier, the gallant volunteer. for love of venus, thekla, or love of the legion?" "perhaps," said thekla softly, "for the same reason you did, earthman. and perhaps not." his face, the swart, hard face of a low-canal outlaw, was turned abruptly toward the mist-wrapped swamp. "love of venus!" he snarled. "who could love this lousy sweatbox? not even lehn, if he had the brains of a flea!" "mars is better, eh?" macian had a sudden inspiration. "cool dry air, and little dark women, and the wine-shops on the jekkara low-canal. you'd like to be back there, wouldn't you?" to himself, he thought in savage pleasure, "i'll pay you out, you little scum. you've tortured me with what i've lost, until i'd have killed you if it hadn't been against my plan. all right, see if you can take it!" the slow dusk was falling; thekla's dark face was a blur but macian knew he had got home. "the fountains in the palace gardens, thekla; the sun bursting up over red deserts; the singing girls and the _thil_ in madame kan's. remember the _thil_, thekla? ice cold and greenish, bubbling in blue glasses?" he knew why thekla snarled and sprang at him, and it wasn't thekla he threw down on the soft earth so much as a tall youngster with a fair mustache, who had goaded with good intent. funny, thought macian, that well-intentioned goads hurt worse than the other kind. a vast paw closed on his shoulder, hauling him back. another, he saw, yanked thekla upright. and bhak the titan's hairy travesty of a face peered down at them. "listen," he grunted, in his oddly articulated esperanto. "i know what's up. i got ears, and village houses got thin walls. i heard the nahali girl talking. i don't know which one of you has the treasure, but i want it. if i don't get it...." his fingers slid higher on macian's shoulder, gripped his throat. six fingers, like iron clamps. macian heard thekla choking and cursing; he managed to gasp: "you're in the wrong place, bhak. we're men. i though you only strangled women." the grip slackened a trifle. "men too," said bhak slowly. "that's why i had to run away from titan. that's why i've had to run away from everywhere. men or women--anyone who laughs at me." macian looked at the blank-eyed, revolting face, and wondered that anyone could laugh at it. pity it, shut it harmlessly away, but not laugh. bhak's fingers fell away abruptly. "they laugh at me," he repeated miserably, "and run away. i know i'm ugly. but i want friends and a wife, like anyone else. especially a wife. but they laugh at me, the women do, when i ask them. and...." he was shaking suddenly with rage and his face was a beast's face, blind and brutal. "and i kill them. i kill the damned little vixens that laugh at me!" he stared stupidly at his great hands. "then i have to run away. always running away, alone." the bright, empty eyes met macian's with deadly purpose. "that's why i want the money. if i have money, they'll like me. women always like men who have money. if i kill one of you, i'll have to run away again. but if i have someone to go with me. i won't mind." thekla showed his pointed teeth. "try strangling a nahali girl, bhak. then we'll be rid of you." bhak grunted. "i'm not a fool. i know what the nahali do to you. but i want that money the girl told about, and i'll get it. i'd get it now, only lehn will come." he stood over them, grinning. macian drew back, between pity and disgust. "the legion is certainly the system's garbage dump," he muttered in martian, loud enough for thekla to hear, and smiled at the low-canaler's stifled taunt. stifled, because lehn was coming up, his heavy water-boots thudding on the soggy ground. * * * * * without a word the three fell in behind the officer, whose face had taken on an unfamiliar stony grimness. macian wondered whether it was anger at him, or fear of what they might get in the swamp. then he shrugged; the young cub would have to follow his own trail, wherever it led. and macian took a stern comfort from this thought. his own feet were irrevocably directed; there was no doubt, no turning back. he'd never have again to go through what lehn was going through. all he had to do was wait. the plank bridge groaned under them, almost touching the water in the moat. most ingenious, that moat. the nahali could swim it in their sleep, normally, but when the conductor rods along the bottom were turned on, they literally burned out their circuits from an overload. the swamp-rats packed a bigger potential than any earthly electric eel. ian macian, looking at the lights of the squalid village that lay below the fort, reflected that the nahali had at least one definitely human trait. the banging of a three-tiered venusian piano echoed on the heavy air, along with shouts and laughter that indicated a free flow of "swamp juice." this link in the chain of stations surrounding the swamplands was fully garrisoned only during the rains, and the less warlike nahali were busy harvesting what they could from the soldiers and the rabble that came after them. queer creatures, the swamp-rats, with their ruby eyes and iridescent scales. nature, in adapting them to their wet, humid environment, had left them somewhere between warm-blooded mammals and cold-blooded reptiles, anthropoid in shape, man-sized, capricious. the most remarkable thing about them was their breathing apparatus, each epithelial cell forming a tiny electrolysis plant to extract oxygen from water. since they lived equally on land and in water, and since the swamp air was almost a mist, it suited them admirably. that was why they had to wait for the rains to go raiding in the fertile uplands; and that was why hundreds of interworld legionnaires had to swelter on the strip of soggy ground between swamp and plateau to stop them. macian was last in line. just as his foot left the planks, four heads jerked up as one, facing to the darkening sky. "rain!" big drops, splattering slowly down, making a sibilant whisper across the swamp. the pipes broke off, leaving the ears a little deafened with the lack of them after so long. and macian, looking at lehn, swore furiously in his heart. the three men paused, expecting an order to turn back, but lehn waved them on. "but it's raining," protested bhak. "well get caught in the attack." the officer's strangely hard face was turned toward them. "no," he said, with an odd finality, "they won't attack. not yet." they went on, toward the swamp that was worse in silence than it had been with the praying pipes. and macian, looking ahead at the oddly assorted men plowing grimly through the mud, caught a sudden glimpse of something dark and hidden, something beyond the simple threat of death that hung always over a reconnoitering patrol. * * * * * the swamp folded them in. it is never truly dark on venus, owing to the thick, diffusing atmosphere. there was enough light to show branching, muddy trails, great still pools choked with weeds, the spreading _liha_-trees with their huge pollen pods, everything dripping with the slow rain. macian could hear the thudding of that rain for miles around on the silent air; the sullen forerunner of the deluge. fort and village were lost in sodden twilight. lehn's boots squelched onward through the mud of a trail that rose gradually to a ridge of higher ground. when he reached the top, lehn turned abruptly, his electro-gun seeming to materialize in his hand, and macian was startled by the bleak look of his pink, young face. "stop right there," said lehn quietly. "keep your hands up. and don't speak until i'm finished." he waited a second, with the rain drumming on his waterproof coverall, dripping from the ends of his fair mustache. the others were obedient, bhak a great grinning hulk between the two slighter men. lehn went on calmly. "someone has sold us out to the nahali. that's how i know they won't attack until they get the help they're waiting for. i had to find out, if possible, what preparations they have made for destroying our electrical supply, which is our only vulnerable point. but i had a double purpose in calling this party. can you guess what it is?" macian could. lehn continued: "the traitor had his price; escape from the legion, from venus, through the swamp to lhiva, where he can ship out on a tramp. his one problem was to get away from the fort without being seen, since all leaves have been temporarily cancelled." lehn's mist-grey eyes were icy. "i gave him that chance." bhak laughed, an empty, jarring road. "see? that's what the nahali girl said. she said, 'he can get what he needs, now. he'll get away before the rains, probably with a patrol; then our people can attack.' i know what he needed. money! and i want it." "shut up!" lehn's electro-gun gestured peremptorily. "i want the truth of this. which one of you is the traitor?" thekla's pointed white teeth gleamed. "macian loves the legion, sir. _he_ couldn't be guilty." lehn's gaze crossed macian's briefly, and again the scot had a fleeting glimpse of something softer beneath the new hardness. it was something that took him back across time to a day when he had been a green subaltern in the terran guards, and a hard-bitten, battle-tempered senior officer had filled the horizon for him. it was the something that had made lehn offer him a chance, when his trap was set and sprung. it was the something that was going to make lehn harder on him now than on either bhak or thekla. it was hero-worship. macian groaned inwardly. "look here," he said. "we're in nahali country. there may be trouble at any moment. do you think this is the time for detective work? you may have caught the wrong men anyway. better do your job of reconnoitering, and worry about the identity of the traitor back in the fort." "you're not an officer now, macian!" snapped lehn. "speak up, and i want the truth. you, thekla!" thekla's black eyes were bitter. "i'd as well be here as anywhere, since i can't be on mars. how could i go back, with a hanging charge against me?" "macian?" lehn's grey gaze was levelled stiffly past his head. and macian was quivering suddenly with rage; rage against the life that had brought him where he was, against lehn, who was the symbol of all he had thrown away. "think what you like," he whispered, "and be damned!" * * * * * bhak's movement came so swiftly that it caught everyone unprepared. handling the martian like a child's beanbag, he picked him up and hurled him against lehn. the electro-gun spat a harmless bolt into empty air as the two fell struggling in the mud. macian sprang forward, but bhak's great fingers closed on his neck. with his free hand, the titan dragged thekla upright; he held them both helpless while he kicked the sprawling lehn in the temple. in the split second before unconsciousness took him, lehn's eyes met macian's and they were terrible eyes. macian groaned, "you young fool!" then lehn was down, and bhak's fingers were throttling him. "which one?" snarled the titan. "give me the money, and i'll let you go. i'm going to have the money, if i have to kill you. then the girls won't laugh at me. tell me. which one?" macian's blue eyes widened suddenly. with all his strength he fought to croak out one word: "nahali!" bhak dropped them with a grunt. swinging his great hands, forgetting his gun completely, he stood at bay. there was a rush of bodies in the rain-blurred dusk, a flash of scarlet eyes and triangular mouths laughing in queer, noseless faces. then there were scaly, man-like things hurled like battering-rams against the legionnaires. macian's gun spat blue flame; two nahali fell, electrocuted, but there were too many of them. his helmet was torn off, so that his drenched white hair blinded him; rubber-shod fists and feet lashed against reptilian flesh. somewhere just out of sight, thekla was cursing breathlessly in low-canal argot. and lehn, still dazed, was crawling gamely to his feet; his helmet had protected him from the full force of bhak's kick. the hulking titan loomed in the midst of a swarm of red-eyed swamp-rats. and macian saw abruptly that he had taken off his clumsy gloves when he had made ready to strangle his mates. the great six-fingered hands stretched hungrily toward a nahali throat. "bhak!" yelled macian. "_don't_...!" the titan's heavy laughter drowned him out; the vast paws closed in a joyous grip. on the instant, bhak's great body bent and jerked convulsively; he slumped down, the heart burned out of him by the electricity circuited through his hands. lehn's gun spoke. there was a reek of ozone, and a nahali screamed like a stricken reptile. the venusian cried out in sudden pain, and was silent; macian, struggling upright, saw him buried under a pile of scaly bodies. then a clammy paw touched his own face. he moaned as a numbing shock struck through him, and lapsed into semi-consciousness. * * * * * he had vague memories of being alternately carried and towed through warm lakes and across solid ground. he knew dimly that he was dumped roughly under a _liha_-tree in a clearing where there were thatched huts, and that he was alone. after what seemed a very long time he sat up, and his surroundings were clear. even more clear was thekla's thin dark face peering amusedly down at him. the martian bared his pointed white teeth, and said, "hello, traitor." macian would have risen and struck him, only that he was weak and dizzy. and then he saw that thekla had a gun. his own holster was empty. macian got slowly to his feet, raking the white hair out of his eyes, and he said, "you dirty little rat!" thekla laughed, as a fox might laugh at a baffled hound. "go ahead and curse me, macian. you high-and-mighty renegade! you were right; i'd rather swing on mars than live another month in this damned sweatbox! and i can laugh at you, ian macian! i'm going back to the deserts and the wine-shops on the jekkara low-canal. the nahali girl didn't mean money; she meant plastic surgery, to give me another face. i'm free. and you're going to die, right here in the filthy mud!" a slow, grim smile touched macian's face, but he said nothing. "oh, i understand," said thekla mockingly. "you fallen swells and your honor! but you won't die honorably, any more than you've lived that way." macian's eyes were contemptuous and untroubled. the pointed teeth gleamed. "you don't understand, macian. lehn isn't going to die. he's going back to face the music, after his post is wiped out. i don't know what they'll do to him, but it won't be nice. and remember, macian, he thinks you sold him out. he thinks _you_ cost him his post, his men, his career: his honor, you scut! think that over when the swamp-rats go to work on you--they like a little fun now and then--and remember i'm laughing!" * * * * * macian was silent for a long time, hands clenched at his sides, his craggy face carved in dark stone under his dripping white hair. then he whispered, "why?" thekla's eyes met his in sudden intense hate. "because i want to see your damned proud, supercilious noses rubbed in the dirt!" macian nodded. his face was strange, as though a curtain had been drawn over it. "where's lehn?" thekla pointed to the nearest hut. "but it won't do you any good. the rats gave him an overdose, accidentally, of course, and he's out for a long time." macian went unsteadily toward the hut through rain. over his shoulder he heard thekla's voice: "don't try anything funny, macian. i can shoot you down before you're anywhere near an escape, even if you could find your way back without me. the nahali are gathering now, all over the swamp; within half an hour they'll march on the fort, and then on to the plateaus. they'll send my escort before they go, but you and lehn will have to wait until they come back. you can think of me while you're waiting to die, macian; me, going to lhiva and freedom!" macian didn't answer. the rhythm of the rain changed from a slow drumming to a rapid, vicious hiss; he could see it, almost smoking in the broad leaves of the _liha_-trees. the drops cut his body like whips, and he realized for the first time that he was stripped to trousers and shirt. without his protective rubber coverall, thekla could electrocute him far quicker even than a nahali, with his service pistol. the hut, which had been very close, was suddenly far off, so far he could hardly see it. the muddy ground swooped and swayed underfoot. macian jerked himself savagely erect. fever. any fool who prowled the swamp without proper covering was a sure victim. he looked back at thekla, safe in helmet and coverall, grinning like a weasel under the shelter of a pod-hung tree-branch. the hut came back into proper perspective. aching, trembling suddenly with icy cold, he stooped and entered. lehn lay there, dry but stripped like macian, his young face slack in unconsciousness. macian raised a hand, let it fall limply back. lehn was still paralyzed from the shock. it might be hours, even days before he came out of it. perhaps never, if he wasn't cared for properly. macian must have gone a little mad then, from the fever and the shock to his own brain, and thekla. he took lehn's shirt in both hands and shook him, as though to beat sense back into his brain, and shouted at him in hoarse savagery. "all i wanted was to die! that's what i came to the legion for, to die like a soldier because i couldn't live like an officer. but it had to be honorably, lehn! otherwise...." he broke off in a fit of shivering, and his blue eyes glared under his white, tumbled hair. "you robbed me of that, damn you! you and thekla. you trapped me. you wouldn't even let me die decently. i was an officer, lehn, like you. do you hear me, young fool? i had to choose between two courses, and i chose the wrong one. i lost my whole command. twenty-five hundred men, dead. "they might have let me off at the court-martial. it was an honest mistake. but i didn't wait. i resigned. all i wanted was to die like a good soldier. that's why i volunteered. and you tricked me, lehn! you and thekla." he let the limp body fall and crouched there, holding his throbbing head in his hands. he knew he was crying, and couldn't stop. his skin burned, and he was cold to the marrow of his bones. suddenly he looked at lehn out of bright, fever-mad eyes. "very well," he whispered. "i won't die. you can't kill me, you and thekla, and you go on believing i betrayed you. i'll take you back, you two, and fight it out. i'll keep the nahali from taking the fort, so you can't say i sold it out. i'll make you believe me!" from somewhere, far off, he heard thekla laugh. * * * * * macian huddled there for some time, his brain whirling. through the rain-beat and the fever-mist in his head and the alternate burning and freezing that racked his body, certain truths shot at him like stones from a sling. thekla had a gun that shot a stream of electricity. a gun designed for nahali, whose nervous systems were built to carry a certain load and no more, like any set of wires. the low frequency discharge was strong enough to kill a normal man only under ideal conditions; and these conditions were uniquely ideal. wet clothes, wet skin, wet ground, even the air saturated. then there were metal and rubber. metal in his belt, in lehn's belt; metal mesh, because the damp air rotted everything else. rubber on his feet, on lehn's feet. rubber was insulation. metal was a conductor. macian realized with part of his mind that he must be mad to do what he planned to do. but he went to work just the same. ten minutes later he left the hut and crossed the soaking clearing in the downpour. thekla had left the _liha_-tree for a hut directly opposite lehn's; he rose warily in the doorway, gun ready. his sly black eyes took in macian's wild blue gaze, the fever spots burning on his lean cheekbones, and he smiled. "get on back to the hut," he said. "be a pity if you die before the nahali have a chance to try electro-therapy." macian didn't pause. his right arm was hidden behind his back. thekla's jaw tightened. "get back or i'll kill you!" macian's boots sucked in the mud. the beating rain streamed from his white hair, over his craggy face and gaunt shoulders. and he didn't hesitate. thekla's pointed teeth gleamed in a sudden snarl. his thumb snapped the trigger; a bolt of blue flame hissed toward the striding scot. macian's right hand shot out in the instant the gun spoke. one of lehn's rubber boots cased his arm almost to the shoulder, and around the ankle of it a length of metal was made fast; two mesh belts linked together. the spitting blue fire was gathered to the metal circle, shot down the coupled lengths, and died in the ground. the pistol sputtered out as a coil fused. thekla cursed and flung it at macian's head. the scot dodged it, and broke into a run, dropping lehn's boot that his hands might be free to grapple. thekla fought like a low-canal rat, but macian was bigger and beyond himself with the first madness of fever. he beat the little martian down and bound him with his own belt, and then went looking for his clothes and gun. he found them, with lehn's, in the hut next door. his belt pouch yielded quinine; he gulped a large dose and felt better. after he had dressed, he went and wrestled lehn into his coverall and helmet and dragged him out beside thekla, who was groaning back to consciousness in the mud. looking up, macian saw three nahali men watching him warily out of scarlet eyes as they slunk toward him. thekla's escort. and it was a near thing. twice clammy paws seared his face before he sent them writhing down into the mud, jerking as the overload beat through their nervous systems. triangular mouths gaped in noseless faces, hand-like paws tore convulsively at scaly breast-plates, and macian, as he watched them die, said calmly: "there will be hundreds of them storming the fort. my gun won't be enough. but somehow i've got to stop them." no answer now. he shrugged and kicked thekla erect. "back to the fort, scut," he ordered, and laughed. the linked belts were fastened now around thekla's neck, the other end hooked to the muzzle of macian's gun, so that the slightest rough pull would discharge it. "what if i stumble?" thekla snarled, and macian answered, "you'd better not!" lehn was big and heavy, but somehow macian got him across his shoulders. and they started off. * * * * * the fringe of the swamp was in sight when macian's brain became momentarily lucid. another dose of quinine drove the mists back, so that the fort, some fifty yards away, assumed its proper focus. macian dropped lehn on his back in the mud and stood looking, his hand ready on his gun. the village swarmed with swamp-rats in the slow, watery dawn. they were ranged in a solid mass along the edges of the moat, and the fort's guns were silent macian wondered why, until he saw that the dam that furnished power for the turbine had been broken down. thekla laughed silently. "my idea, macian. the nahali would never have thought of it themselves. they can't drown, you know. i showed them how to sneak into the reservoir, right under the fort's guns, and stay under water, loosening the stones around the spillway. the pressure did the rest. now there's no power for the big guns, nor the conductor rods in the moat." he turned feral black eyes on macian. "you've made a fool of yourself. you can't stop those swamp-rats from tearing the fort apart. you can't stop me from getting away, after they're through. you can't stop lehn from thinking what he does. you haven't changed anything by these damned heroics!" "heroics!" said macian hoarsely, and laughed. "maybe." with sudden viciousness he threw the end of the linked belts over a low _liha_-branch, so that thekla had to stand on tiptoe to keep from strangling. then, staring blindly at the beleagured fort, he tried to beat sense out of his throbbing head. "there was something," he whispered. "something i was saying back in the swamp. something my mind was trying to tell me, only i was delirious. what was it, thekla?" the martian was silent, the bloody grin set on his dark face. macian took him by the shoulders and shook him. "what was it?" thekla choked and struggled as the metal halter tightened. "nothing, you fool! nothing but nahali and _liha_-trees." "_liha_-trees!" macian's fever-bright eyes went to the great green pollen-pods hung among the broad leaves. he shivered, partly with chill, partly with exultation. and he began like a madman to strip lehn and thekla of their rubber coveralls. lehn's, because it was larger, he tented over two low branches. thekla's he spread on the ground beneath. then he tore down pod after pod from the _liha_-tree, breaking open the shells under the shelter of the improvised tent, pouring out the green powder on the groundcloth. when he had a two-foot pile, he stood back and fired a bolt of electricity into the heart of it. thick, oily black smoke poured up, slowly at first, then faster and faster as the fire took hold. a sluggish breeze was blowing out of the swamp, drawn by the cooler uplands beyond the fort; it took the smoke and sent it rolling toward the packed and struggling mass on the earthworks. out on the battlefield, nahali stiffened suddenly, fell tearing convulsively at their bodies. the beating rain washed the soot down onto them harder and harder, streaked it away, left a dull film over the reptilian skins, the scaly breast-plates. more and more of them fell as the smoke rolled thicker, fed by the blackened madman under the _liha_-tree, until only legionnaires were left standing in its path, staring dumbly at the stricken swamp-rats. the squirming bodies stilled in death. hundreds more, out on the edges of the smoke, seeing their comrades die, fled back into the swamp. the earthworks were cleared. ian macian gave one wild shout that carried clear to the fort. then he collapsed, crouched shivering beside the unconscious lehn, babbling incoherently. thekla, strained on tiptoe under the tree-branch, had stopped smiling. the fever-mists rolled away at last. macian woke to see lehn's pink young face, rather less pink than usual, bending over him. lehn's hand came out awkwardly. "i'm sorry, macian. thekla told me; i made him. i should have known." his grey eyes were ashamed. macian smiled and gripped his hand with what strength the fever had left him. "my own fault, boy. forget it." lehn sat down on the bed. "what did you do to the swamp-rats?" he demanded eagerly. "they all have a coating as though they'd been dipped in paraffin!" macian chuckled. "in a way, they were. you know how they breathe; each skin cell forming a miniature electrolysis plant to extract oxygen from water. well, it extracts hydrogen too, naturally, and the hydrogen is continually being given off, just as we give off carbon dioxide. "black smoke means soot, soot means carbon. carbon plus hydrogen forms various waxy hydrocarbons. wax is impervious to both water and air. so when the oily soot from the smoke united with the hydrogen exuded from the nahali's bodies, it sealed away the life-giving water from the skin-cells. they literally smothered to death, like an earthly ant doused with powder." lehn nodded. he was quiet for a long time, his eyes on the sick-bay's well-scrubbed floor. at length, he said: "my offer still goes, macian. officer's examinations. one mistake, an honest one, shouldn't rob you of your life. you don't even know that it would have made any difference if your decision had been the other way. perhaps there was no way out." macian's white head nodded on the pillow. "perhaps i will, lehn. something thekla said set me thinking. he said he'd rather die on mars than live another month in exile. i'm an exile too, lehn, in a different way. yes, i think i'll try it. and if i fail again--" he shrugged and smiled--"there are always nahali." it seemed for a minute after that as though he had gone to sleep. then he murmured, so low that lehn had to bend down to hear him: "thekla will hang after the court-martial. can you see that they take him back to mars, first?" transcriber's note: this etext was produced from planet stories july 1952. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed. the wealth of echindul by noel loomis _though he carried with him the loot of the ages, who in the pass--that legalized city of vice and corruption--would dare risk his neck to help russell, the hard luck man of the swamps?_ * * * * * he came up out of the great sea-swamp of venus like old father neptune. he was covered with mud and slime. seaweed hung from his cheap diving-suit. brine dripped from his arms that hung limp and weary; it ran from his torso and made a dark trail in the sand. [illustration: _a flash of intuition hit russell. he knew now how to win this fight._] without even looking back, he stood for a moment as if fighting to keep on his feet, while the brine made a small puddle in the green sand. finally he unscrewed the helmet and took it off. he turned around slowly and looked back across the two hundred miles of deadly swamp, at the flaming craters of the red lava range from which he had come. with fingers that would hardly function from weariness he took off his diving-suit and straightened up. his stooping shoulders were free of that weight for the first time in forty days. he was a small man, hardly over four feet tall, and not well formed. it seemed incredible that he had crossed the great sea-swamp on foot. and as he looked back at the distant rim of green fire that marked the mountains it seemed incredible to him too. a great sigh of relief and gratefulness shook his unsymmetrical body, and all the nerve and colossal will-power that had carried him for six months, suddenly flowed out of him in a single wave and left him empty. he forgot about the ordeal that still lay ahead. he forgot everything. he pitched forward on his face in the sand, and slept. some hours later a whistling noise awoke him. he rolled over, awake instantly, for in past months his ears had saved his life as often as had his eyes. high in the sky he picked out a cannibal fish from the acid sea. it had set its great wings in a dive. he raised his heat-gun, fired once, saw the feathers burst into blue flame, saw it falling; then he rolled over and went back to sleep. not even the thud of its heavy body on the sand disturbed him, but an hour later he heard another warning--a rasping sound--and through the stench of the ancient swamp he smelled a fetidness that meant danger. this time as he turned he rolled to his feet. he saw the huge coils of the venusian water-constrictor. one lidless phosphorescent eye gleamed evilly at him, but its great jaws were spread and the dead fish was half-way down its bone-plated throat. grant russell relaxed. ordinarily he would have been scared to death to be within miles of the big saurian. but now for a few hours, with the fish in its throat it would be comparatively harmless. grant rubbed his eyes and stretched. how wonderful sleep could be! for six weeks he had been in the swamp where he never had dared to take off his diving-suit even when he was resting on a clump of floating grass, for fear it would suddenly sink and drop him into a hundred feet of brown water; six weeks walking through mud sometimes over his head, with the brown, infested water above that; six weeks pitting all his swamp lore against sudden death in a thousand forms, with only the light gravity of venus to aid him, and his indomitable determination to keep him going. but now he felt like a million. no man had ever crossed the great swamp alone on foot before. few had crossed it in any fashion. few would have tried it but grant russell because few wanted to do it as much as he did. in spite of his small size and his scrawny muscles, in spite of venus which catered to big men and strong men, he had done it. * * * * * the food problem alone would have stopped most men, but grant had spent a lot of time around the swamps of venus. often he had gone prospecting with food enough for only one week because he couldn't buy more, and he had stayed four, five, six weeks. to do that he had had to experiment. he'd eaten all sorts of things. sometimes he had been ill but he had acquired immunity to certain poisonous plants that contained food values. the oxygen problem for a diving-suit for forty days would have stopped most men but grant had solved that too. if he had not, he never could have gone to the red lava range after the fabulous gizzard-stones of venus's prehistoric echindul. for oxygen, he had discovered a plant that grew in the bottom of the swamp. you could cut its stalk into sections and put them in a container and they would exude oxygen for several hours. but he had to carry at least one extra stalk all the time, and he had to keep his eyes sharp for more. sometimes it had been close. grant looked at the red lava range and felt the precious leather bag inside his shirt and smiled. yes, he'd done it. he'd found one of the fabulous nests of the echindul--and it had been loaded with stones, just as ancient venusian legend insisted. the extinct echindul had been a sort of flying lizard that had nested in the mysterious, almost inaccessible red lava range. every echindul had had two gizzard-stones, and each matched pair of stones had an unusual property. grant reached in his watch-pocket and brought out the one he had kept out of the bag. he held it up and watched the sunlight, filtering through venus's thick clouds, and the firelight, reflected from red lava range two hundred miles away, play on the chatoyant interior of the stone as if they were chasing each other. those stones would be worth forty thousand earth dollars a pair if he could get them to a reputable dealer in aphrodite, venus's largest city. therein lay grant russell's next problem, and in spite of the satisfaction he felt at emerging from the great swamp, he knew that getting safely to aphrodite might be an even more serious problem. aphrodite's only approach over the lead vapor mountains from the southern hemisphere was through the pass, a legalized city of vice. on one side the pass was flanked by the bubbling zinc pits and on the other side it was skirted by the fluoride river, and man had not yet devised any way to navigate either of these. it was doubtful, even, that any species native to venus could cross those two areas, but on this authorities did not agree for in the year 2542 venus and its natives were still largely unknown. not so far unknown, however, that grant russell failed to recognize the single luminous eye that had risen out of the water on a long, slender stalk. "a fish," he thought, or as some would have said, a venusian. it saw that he was looking at it, and it dropped out of sight. there was the swirl of brown water that marked its under-surface progress. it swam like a fish, but it wasn't really a fish. it was one of venus's four dominant species and the most "human" of all. the swirl moved fast across the surface of the water and disappeared in the direction of aphrodite but grant knew that its place would be taken within a few minutes by another. and if grant had had any forlorn hope that he might be able to slip through the pass, he gave it up, for he knew now that his movements were reported hourly and that his possession of the fabulous stones was undoubtedly known to relegar, the uranian. relegar was the master of the pass. he was no human and he had no human feelings. killings and stealing were a business to him, and he had the most efficient spying system on any planet. it was well known unofficially that he kept an underground factory busy extracting a drug from the stamen of the swamp-orchid. the drug was labeled "venus-snow," and relegar found it highly profitable to trade it to the fish in the sea-swamp on the southwest and to the semi-aquatic people in the great gallium bogs to the southeast--some called them "frogs"--for information. relegar's spy-system was a monopoly by reason of a peculiar fact: the fish-people talked in a high sound-range that no solar being but a uranian could hear; no uranian trusted another uranian, and so relegar was the only entity in the pass who knew the dialect of the fish-people. seldom did any person or any entity find anything of value in the bottom half of venus that was not promptly reported to the uranian. therefore grant russell did not dare enter the pass with the stones on his person. this was a quick way to lose them--and perhaps his life. some day, thought grant wishfully, some big-shot would come along and clean out the pass and then the little honest men would be safe. on the rare occasions when a prospector did find something of value and get back to land he would be allowed to keep it. grant wished he had a lot of power or a lot of money. he'd take over the clean-up job. but a fellow like him, without friends, without influence, without money, didn't have a chance. * * * * * grant had thought about that a good many times on his long trip across the swamp, but he had worried more about how to dispose of his own stones before relegar got hold of him. he would of course have to use deception. but how? if he could hide the stones some place he could go on into the pass empty-handed and pretend that he'd had the usual lack of luck. then he could see netse, the jovian fence, and make a deal for protection. he'd have to give up half, but that was the easiest way out, for relegar would keep hands off if netse got there first. but where could he hide the stones? there was too much continual volcanic subterranean activity in the swamp, and on what little dry land venus had it was doubtful that any hiding-place could be called permanent. it might be solid today and swallowed by an earthquake tomorrow. the only real solution was to have somebody else keep them for a while, grant thought, and that was a discouraging thought, for whom could he trust in the pass even if he could reach them? for that matter, who in the pass would risk his life to help out grant russell, the hard-luck man of the swamp? he'd been known as a hard-luck man as far back as he could remember. his parents had been killed in a rocket crash on a trip to mars; he'd been raised by one relative after another and they'd each one gotten rid of him as soon as they could. finally he had married a nice girl and they had been happy until their daughter was born. then the mother had died. grant had gone to pieces for a while. when he came to, he was broke, hungry, ragged. then when it was too late he had become frantic over the safety of his small daughter, beth. he found that she was safe in a child welfare home in new jersey, but they would not release her to him until he could pay what he owed for her care and have enough left over to establish himself as a substantial citizen. he had told her goodby. she was the image of her mother, and she had held onto his hand as long as she could and said between sobs, "daddy, can we have a farm some day, and raise strawberries, and have just us two? i don't want to be an orphan." he had gulped and said, "sure," and then he had come to venus. it was a new planet, largely unexplored, full of opportunity. that had been three years ago. things had been tough at times but now he could afford to smile. he'd hit the jackpot--a million-year-old nest of the echindul, with sixteen pairs of stones. he put the one stone safely back in his watch-pocket. he was keeping that one. when he sold the others he would have the dealer pick out the mate to this one, and he and beth would keep this pair. they would be well able to afford it. he felt the bag at his side. the stones didn't weigh much, perhaps a couple of ounces apiece, but the famous telepathic stones of venus were well known on earth. wealthy young lovers would carry a pair, if they could get them, so that each could know what the other was thinking. scientists said the stones were matched crystals so that each pair, in effect, was tuned in together. they said also that the stones were little more than nature's ultimate extension of man's feeble attempts at radio communication. grant russell knew little about that. what he did know was that those stones were worth half a million dollars. he gathered up his patched diving-suit and packed it, from long habit. he raised his head and saw another eye watching him from the swamp. he watched the eye and listened to the rasping of the bone-plates in the constrictor's throat. ordinarily he would have tried to kill the big saurian, for its skin had the property of turning slightly radioactive after death and it was worth a couple of hundred dollars delivered in aphrodite, but a thought occurred to him. he watched the saurian and began to smile. the constrictor could be worth a lot more than two hundred dollars to him. he flipped a handful of green sand at the eye in the swamp and it withdrew abruptly into the water. he ran, making a wide circle around the constrictor's powerful tail. he darted in to the head and stood above the lidless eye. three years ago he would not have walked this close to a _dead_ constrictor, but now--well, he'd learned not to be scared until there was need of it. he bent down. the fish was well inside the saurian's mouth. the constrictor's jaws were distended and it was helpless. grant whipped the bag of stones from inside of his jacket and tied the leather thong to one leg of the fish. he made sure he had the one single stone in his watch-pocket. that one he had to keep to be able to find the others. he went back to the edge of the swamp and waited until he saw an eye come up, whereupon he flipped another handful of sand at it. he stayed there for two hours, until the bag of stones was well down the saurian's throat. then he set out for the pass. he was painfully hungry now, but he was light-hearted. never again would he have to risk the death that infested the great sea-swamp. within thirty days he would be home--home on earth. he and beth would get a little house out in the country and have a little garden, and he could relax and watch his daughter grow up. she was only seven now. it wasn't too late. * * * * * it was dark when he got to the pass, the sinister city where he'd seen men killed for a twenty-dollar bill, where girls had been sold over the counter for fifty. he knew better than to go directly to netse, for the jovian and the uranian had a sort of throat-cutting partnership in the underworld, and while grant was sure netse would help him directly to get a bigger cut, he knew also that netse wouldn't want to be too obvious about it. so grant, by this time weary in the shoulders from carrying his equipment, turned down thorium avenue toward nellie's boarding house. but under the first streetlight he was stopped by a grimy boy. this was notable, because the boy was an earthman. there weren't too many earthmen in the pass. "where you been, hard-luck russell?" the boy asked insolently. grant's throat was dry. he knew what that meant. nobody who knew hard-luck russell would bother to stop him unless they had orders to do it--orders that came from relegar. "in the swamp," russell said, swallowing hard. the kid stared at the diving-suit in grant's hand, stared at grant's face with a sharp, penetrating, unashamed inquisitiveness that made grant use all of his will-power to stare back. the kid suddenly disappeared. grant forced himself not to walk faster. the kid had put the finger on him. it was the first time relegar had ever done that. those damned eyes! relegar must know what grant had found, and the knowledge that the uranian knew about the stones made him weak. relegar was a bad spider. grant's impulse was to run but he forced himself to be steady. now he didn't dare go straight to netse. he went on to nellie's place and hammered on the door. "oh, it's you. come on in." nellie opened the door. nellie was a martian, a century-plant, and nobody knew whether it was he or she or whether it made any difference, but they called it "she" and they called it "nellie." grant went in. nellie's leaves rustled and that queer whispery voice came from her. "do you want a cot?" "i'll have a room this time," said grant. "how much?" "a buck," said nellie's leaves. "pay now." she collected. he took his diving-suit to the room. he didn't like the smell of cabbage and garlic, and the fumes of chlorine were so strong he nearly choked. a saturnian must be pickling insects somewhere up on the second floor. he sat down. he was starved but he didn't want to go outside until he had a chance to figure things out. he thought maybe the first thing to do was to see netse. from the sounds he thought the two girls across the hall were getting ready to go out. he lay down on the bed to rest. at ten o'clock they left, jabbering. it was good to hear earth-people talk, even if it was french, which he didn't understand. as soon as the front door closed after the girls he tiptoed across the hall and tried the doorknob. it was locked. he opened it with his skeleton key. the room was dark and he did not turn on a light. he opened the window and dropped softly to the ground in a narrow space between two buildings. a grating voice said, "where you going, punk?" grant froze. he wanted to run but couldn't. he turned. back at the alley, in the light, was a medium-size, solidly built man with black hair and a long scar on his left cheek. grant wheeled, but stopped short. in front of him, at the street end, was a huge neptunian. it was ten feet high. grant shuddered. he didn't want that thing too close to him with its razor-sharp teeth and its fondness for blood. he walked toward the earthman. * * * * * they took him into a snow-joint over on chloride street. the man led, the neptunian followed. they went down many flights of stairs carved in the solid purple lava and finally into an elevator. they went farther down. this, then, was relegar's headquarters. the uranian couldn't stand radiation for any length of time. out on uranus they had almost none, and so venus, with its very heavy clouds that filtered the sunlight, was one of the few planets where a uranian could live. even so, the uranians on venus, having an instinctive dread of sunlight because sunlight usually meant radiation, preferred to stay underground. perhaps it was more like their native world that way, for they lived underground even on uranus. they got out of the elevator in a rock cavern and walked a hundred feet. they passed two guards and went through a steel door. they were in a big room, dimly lighted by red bulbs. giant didn't like the dimness and he didn't like the smell. he tried to see. "here he is," said the man. there was an odd bass rambling which grant recognized as the voice of a uranian. he shivered. then there were words, and grant knew the uranian, wherever he was--maybe in a different room--was using a modifier to turn his sounds into earth-language: "walk closer," ordered the queer voice. "i want to watch your face." it scraped the marrow in his bones, that queer voice. he saw a big tunnel, and at the far end of it, barely discernible in the dim light, was relegar. grant stared, chilled. his eyes became used to the queer light, and then he began to make out details. the tunnel was round and big enough so that a man could have walked into it, and at the far end the big uranian seemed to be standing on his side, with his sixteen huge jointed legs supporting him, half of them on the floor and half on the ceiling. his purple, hairy body was supported in the middle almost as from a web. his two semi-globular eyes, seemingly opaque, were surrounded by six smaller ones. grant knew the smaller ones could detect infra-red, and now he felt his face growing warm and knew they had on infra spot on him. "what did you find in the swamp?" asked that dissonant voice. grant swallowed and licked his lips. "nothing," he said finally. the great maw of the spider, rimmed in red, opened wide as if the uranian was yawning. it showed long, curving white fangs. then relegar said, "you found stones of the echindul." "i have only one," said grant, and held it out fearfully. a curious red began to creep over relegar's body. his next words were deadly: "one is no good. you found many. what did you do with them?" grant watched the great, gray poison-mandibles lift, and he was terrified. he wanted to speak but he could not. "you've hidden them somewhere," said the horrible voice. "you intended to go back after them. well, i am going to let you do that. but i shall be after you. i, in person, shall be on your trail. how will you like that?" "i--i haven't got them. i don't know where they are," grant insisted, which, in a manner of speaking, was true. relegar's two big bulbous eyes seemed to grow bigger and bigger, but still the light was reflected only from their surface. grant took a step backward. relegar swayed his body toward him, but the legs did not move. "go get your stones," he said. "but whenever you do, i'll be right behind you. and don't try to go to aphrodite." the lights went out. the giant neptunian was at grant's side. grant felt the leathery skin against his hand. they took him up and kicked him out on the street. grant got dazedly to his feet. he had to see netse the jovian, quick. netse would exact a steep price as soon as he found out that relegar had threatened, but even one-third of the money would be better than nothing. and he knew what it meant to be trailed by relegar. no being from any planet had ever come back sane from being hunted by relegar. most of them didn't come back. he stopped at the big jewelry house over on curium avenue. he saw that it was now nearly one o'clock in the morning, and of course the jewelry store was closed, but he knew that netse seldom slept and that the jovian probably did more business at night than during the day. he pressed the night button and waited. the square of sidewalk dropped. grant walked between x-ray scanners and remembered to deposit his heat-gun. he was met by an earthman who took him up a long escalator. they went into a well-lighted room hung with rich tapestries and golden drapes. the man escorted grant to a pedestal in the center of the room. the lights went out and it was inky black. then suddenly there sprang into sight on the pedestal a transparent dome the size of a small goldfish bowl. it was lighted by ultra-violet from the bottom. in the center of the dome a small golden ball hung by a platinum wire, and on the ball was a tiny butterfly--netse the jovian. netse's wings moved slowly as he walked around the ball, and the violet light brought out the delicate green luminous tracery in his wings. grant involuntarily stepped back. there were whistling words and grant was aware that they came through a speaker and amplification system. he knew the dome that protected the jovian was almost indestructible. "you wished to see me?" the wings moved slowly back and forth. each one had a purple spot in the center like an eye. grant gulped. "yes. i--i have something to show you. i need your help." he wondered if the purple spots actually were eyes. "most people do," said netse dryly. grant, inordinately ill at ease, fumbled in his watch-pocket. it was incredible that this tiny butterfly that would hardly outweigh a cigarette paper should have the brain to conduct a ramified business such as this one, and it was even more incredible that men and everything else--except perhaps relegar--would yield to its will. will, of course, was the key factor. will was dominant and men obeyed. * * * * * grant held out the echindul stone. "this is one of a pair," he said. "i found the other one too." "you have just come back from the red lava range," said the whistling voice. "how many pairs did you find?" grant stared at the butterfly. some thought the jovians could read minds. grant wondered. then he decided to be honest. "sixteen." netse's wings quit moving for a minute. "what do you want me to do?" "i want you to assure me safe passage to your office. i will give you three-fourths of them," grant blurted. he had not meant to make an offer like that. he had intended to let netse ask but the delicacy of his situation hit him abruptly and fully and he was weighed down with sudden desperation. "how can you find the others?" asked netse. "i--" grant got cautious. "i have provided for that." the butterfly fluttered to the top of the dome and hung upside down for a moment. then the whistling came again. "i am sorry. i do not see where i can be of any assistance." grant was stunned. he held out both hands. "but--" the lights went out. the earthman was at his side, leading him out. he was given his heat-gun. "but what--why?--i don't understand," grant said, bewildered. his escort looked at him, opened his mouth, and showed grant he was tongueless. he positioned grant on the square and a moment later grant was back on the sidewalk. discouragement was on him like a great weight. it deadened him. it smothered him. he paced the streets and eventually found himself before a restaurant. he remembered then that he had not eaten for a long time. he went in and ordered oysters. that was about the only meat you could buy in the pass and be sure of not eating some sentient being. then, waiting, he sat in a booth with his head between his hands. it was apparent they didn't want him to have any part of his stones--the stones he had spent six months and risked his life for--the stones that meant so much to him and to beth. they wanted all of his stones. the dirty shylocks. they weren't willing to take half, or two-thirds, or three-fourths. they wanted all. they weren't willing for him to have any part of them. he would have settled for ten per cent, which would have been over fifty thousand dollars, but they didn't offer him ten per cent. they offered nothing. they wanted all. netse must have been contacted by relegar and told to keep hands off. that was why grant had wanted to see netse first. but he had not dreamed that netse would refuse him entirely. he had thought it would be merely a matter of the price. now what could he do? he didn't dare let the constrictor have more than three day's head-start, for the saurian would finish digesting the fish in about five days. that meant grant would have to start back to the swamp tomorrow. but relegar's spies would report every move. the minute he set out, relegar would be notified. and relegar would come after him. grant shuddered. where his hands touched his face his finger tips were cold. relegar would find him. the spider had a locator sense that was infallible. he could set out days later and find grant unerringly. and how could one fight the uranian when they met? relegar's nervous system was so constructed that he was practically impossible to kill. you could boil him or freeze him without injuring him. uranians had been boiled alive in prussic acid for forty hours without ill effects. you could cut off legs and even sever the head and they would still live. so what could a man do? there was only one thing grant knew. that was to go after the stones. they were his and he would never give them up. they might take the stones away from him, but he would never give them up. so the next morning he overhauled his suit and patched it. he got fresh oxygen and bought a meager supply of food. he had one more good meal and started out south again with the single stone in his watch-pocket. it took him seven hours to reach the place where he had left the constrictor. it was gone, of course. how far, he could not know. he took the one telepathic stone from his pocket. he found a spot where he could sit in the open, cross-legged, with his eyes fixed on the stone. from the corner of his eye he saw a brown detached eye on a stalk pop up from the surface of the water, but he paid no attention. he concentrated on the stone. the stone had a fair polish. he looked at its surface and shut out all the normal sounds from his ears. the stone seemed to be in motion on the inside, and presently that motion communicated itself to his mind. he had a picture of a constrictor, lying sleepily in a pool of brown water surrounded by heavy, deep grass that hung over the banks and grew down into the water. he heard now the distant bellow of a swamp-ox, the buzzing of aquatic bees. slowly he turned the stone on its edge and revolved it carefully. when the picture was clearest in his mind he picked out an orientation point in the distant mountains. then, well pleased, he put the stone in his pocket, got into his diving-suit, screwed on the helmet, adjusted the oxygen, and stepped off into the brown water of the swamp. the bottom here was steep but it was good. it was hard and not more than knee-deep in mud. he traveled carefully, freezing on occasion when huge shadows moved above him. he was in fifty feet of water and he liked that better because it was easier to go unnoticed. he avoided a patch of electric cactus, for the spines would have electrocuted him even through the suit, and he went far around an area of white bull-root, shaped like women's legs, because he knew the bull-root was always infested with swamp-razors that would cut through the seams of his diving-suit. when he came out of the water he found his orientation point and kept going. he came to a wide stretch of water, and with the wind at his back, made fast time by climbing on an island of floating grass and going straight across. this was important. he needed to find the constrictor by the time relegar started after him. the spider could travel much faster than grant for it walked on water where grant was forced to wade on the bottom. but relegar would wait a while. he wouldn't want to be on the surface of venus any longer than necessary, even for half a million dollars, so he would give grant plenty of time, since there was no danger of his getting away. grant was encouraged by the fact that the constrictor did not appear to be far away. everything here depended on his reaching the saurian two days ahead of relegar. not that he expected to run. that was hopeless. but he did have a partial plan. he thought he knew how to recover the stones and to face the uranian without being immediately killed. and he hoped for some now unforeseen development that subsequently would help him to get through the pass. that last item was a weak point, a very weak point, but there was nothing he could do about it now. he could not wait for a plan. he had to go ahead and trust his own ingenuity to devise a means of getting to aphrodite later. if he could keep relegar from going back to the pass until he himself could get through the pass, then he would be unmolested, for relegar was master of the pass, and no entity of any sort, not even as powerful a one as netse, would touch any being in whom relegar was interested unless relegar himself should order it. if grant could get through the pass and across division street he would be safe, for aphrodite proper was under the jurisdiction of the planetary police, and even relegar respected them. * * * * * grant found the constrictor on the second day, lying in a shallow pool with only its dorsal spines showing. working slowly and carefully and entirely under water, he located the saurian's head, concealed in a clump of floating grass. the reptile was still in something of a torpor from its meal, and grant had no difficulty in approaching it through the water and attacking it with the heat-gun on the soft part of the neck below the head. the first bolt must have gone through and severed its spinal column, but grant risked destruction from the threshing body long enough to burn the head off entirely. he got out on solid ground and waited until sundown for the monster's contortions to die. then he worked fast. the flying scavenger-foxes were already settling on the constrictor's back and tearing out great chunks of flesh. he went back under water and cut out the saurian's gizzard with the heat-ray. he dragged it off to one side and tremblingly cut it open with his knife, and he was relieved and exultant when he recovered all fifteen of the stones. the bag had disintegrated, but he put the stones carefully in his pockets. then he went back once more. he cut off a piece of the hide two feet square. he took only the outer hide, which was dry and which held the great iridescent scales that formed isotopes after death. from some marsh-bamboo and some wire-vines he formed a shield. by that time it was midnight. he turned his light on the pool where the saurian had been, and shuddered. the water was dull red, and alive with creatures fighting each other to get to the carcass. the surface was covered with flying things, some small, some huge, all fighting, fighting. life on venus was an eternal, bloody fight. this slaughter, once started, would go on for weeks, until the fighting creatures in this immediate area of the swamp were exhausted. grant snapped off the light as clouds of flying things arose. he started down the neck of dry land and walked all night, going as far as he could without submerging, getting out of range of the holocaust around the dead constrictor. eventually he came to a lavawood tree. he examined it carefully, then climbed it. he found a crotch in the limbs. he lay down and hung his arms and legs over the limbs, pulled the shield over him, and went to sleep. from the brilliant, blinding light of the sun even through the clouds, and the vapor arising from the surface of the swamp, he knew it was mid-afternoon when he awoke. he started up, but long habit stopped him almost as soon as he moved. he opened his eyes and was fully awake, listening for the sound that had awakened him. he heard it, a rasping noise like the sound of a knife-blade scraped against the grain of a fresh hog-skin. he looked across the swamp. less than fifty yards away was relegar, walking toward him on the water. the sound came from the scraping of his gray poison-mandibles against each other. relegar's mouth, as wide as his body, was open. the two bulbous eyes gleamed like pieces of polished metal. they saw grant. the spider's sixteen jointed legs, that held his purple body three feet above the water, moved too fast for grant to follow them. the uranian skittered across a hundred feet of water and walked out on the land. his bone-scraping voice came to grant in the tree. "i'll take the stones now." it was a sinister voice. grant felt a crawling, instinctive horror as the spider came toward him, its jointed legs moving delicately. "you've saved me some trouble by finding them." grant overcame his paralysis and reached for the heat-gun. relegar saw the motion and stopped. "you can't hurt me with that heat-projector," he said. "you might shoot off a leg, but i'd have you half eaten before you could fire a second bolt." the knowledge hit grant with what was almost a shock that there was some way he could get the best of relegar, otherwise the big spider would not have spoken at all. he well knew that he couldn't kill relegar with the heat-gun. he could burn off a leg, yes, but he doubted that the infra-rays would affect the spider's body at all. he moved a little on the limbs, got a hold on the snake-skin shield, and dropped to the ground. relegar darted forward to meet him. but ten feet away the spider stopped, and grant knew he had felt the radiation from the snake-skin. relegar's mouth hung open, his white fangs gleaming in the red maw. the two bulbous eyes were suddenly shot with the red fire of anger. grant did not hesitate. as he landed on the ground he fired a heat-bolt at one of relegar's left legs. it smoked. there was an odor of burned hair. the queer material of the leg glowed white for an instant and then burned in two and the bottom part dropped off. relegar squealed. his two eyes almost exploded in a rage of red. he wasn't permanently injured--he would grow a new leg--but he was furious because he dared not come close to the shield. the radiation would paralyze him within a couple of seconds. grant saw his body sag a little on the corner where the leg had been, and then he had one of those flashes of intuition that every being had to have, to live long in the swamp. he knew how to win this fight. he trained the heat-gun on the second leg on the same side and pressed the trigger. that leg burned in two and relegar's body sagged still more. grant started on the third one. a feeling of triumph was growing in him. then relegar charged. grant hadn't expected that. there was little he could do but hold the shield frantically before him to try to ward off the fangs and the mandibles. he had had no idea that the uranian's body was so heavy. it seemed to grant the thing must weigh three or four hundred pounds. it thundered into him and knocked him over as if he had been a straw. the heavy hoofs galloped over him. he was surprised, but he rolled on over and came to his feet, shooting. he got the fourth and fifth legs this time. relegar's body sagged considerably, but the spider, his entire body turning red with rage, spun around and charged again. this time the great mouth was open, the fangs ready, and the mandibles were extended. grant left himself open until he could feel the spider's fetid breath in his face, then he flung out his shield. the sharp fangs struck it. relegar turned into a tornado of fury for perhaps a second, trying to shake the skin from his teeth. but it was too late. the skin came loose, but the radiation had paralyzed the spider. he sank feebly to the ground with the shield under him. his eyes glared with unutterable malignant hate, but that was all. his muscles were impotent. grant stood a few feet away, getting his breath, feeling the trip-hammer in his temple slow down to normal. then he aimed. the sixth, seventh, and eighth legs burned off. he put the pistol in its holster. "i'm not going to try to kill you," he said. "i suppose that's impossible anyway, short of cutting you up into small pieces, and i don't relish that idea. but i'll leave you the snake-skin. it will have passed the peak of its radioactivity by tomorrow and you can start back for the pass. but you won't go back very fast. you've got legs on only one side. it's going to be slow navigating, especially on water. in fact, i think maybe you'll have to wait until you grow some new legs." he patted his pockets filled with half a million dollars' worth of echindul stones. "long before that i'll be in aphrodite depositing my stones at the first interplanetary bank." he watched relegar's eyes turn dead, cold black, then he screwed on his helmet, adjusted the oxygen, and stepped off into the brown water. he felt rather good, wading through the mud at the bottom of the swamp. he was somewhat astonished that it had fallen to him, a nobody, to be the means of breaking up relegar's hold on the pass. but it was a very satisfactory feeling. he thought about beth and new jersey and strawberries with fresh cream. he sighed happily. his luck had changed. * * * * * transcriber's note: this etext was produced from planet stories july 1952. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed. [illustration: _if i'm going to die it's going to be my way--that was latham's last thought._] one purple hope! by henry hasse _once he had been a tall, straight spaceman, free as the galaxies. now joel latham was a tsith-addict, a beach-comber at venusport. maybe he'd get one last chance...._ * * * * * his sleep-drugged mind was slow to respond. he was lying face down, he knew that. and he ought to get up. if he didn't get up he would drown. something hot and heavy, like a huge hand, was pressing him deeper into the brackish mire. he pondered. perhaps it were better to drown. for a moment he allowed himself the luxury of the thought, then decided against it. plenty of time later for drowning. first there was something he had to do! so it was that joel latham, earthman, age thirty, occupation space drifter, avocation tsith drinker, awakened on this most momentous of mornings. moaning in protest, he slowly rolled himself over. the sun slapped him hard against the eyes. he blinked against the pain and saw that he was still in venusport; rather he was at the edge of the swamp near the sprawling compound. overhead the ionic field was aglow, humming softly, beating back the obscurant mists. he managed to stand up. some of the pallid-faced gweels, out in the swamp, stopped their work to stare at him. latham grimaced. every fiber of him, especially his brain, seemed to have been squeezed dry. then it came. he felt it coming and there was nothing he could do to stop it. the hammering nausea took him suddenly about the middle, bending him double. "i'm an earthman," joel latham groaned aloud. that was invariably the first reaction of the tsith hound, at least with terrestrials who indulged in the deadly stuff; a piteous protest half in defiance, half in despair. the nausea reached up through his stomach, through his chest and into his throat. it became more than nausea. it grew thorns that stabbed inwardly, jagged edges that sawed away at his brain with a terrible need. he fell forward on hands and knees ... and that's when he saw the little martian who crouched a few feet away, watching him. "i went through mine a few minutes ago," the martian said in a monotone. "yours will go away presently." "i know ... it will. been through this ... before." "you obviously have. many times." many times was an understatement, latham thought wretchedly. but this was one of the worst ones, even worse than the time on callisto. thinking about it didn't help. he turned his gaze back to the martian. that didn't help either. most martians are lean and brown and ugly. this one was that, and more. what had once been clothes were tattered and spattered with swamp mud. the hair was a wisp, the teeth only a memory. the skin was tight and leathery across the bony structure of the face, the eyes distended and yellow, the unmistakable sign of a tsith hound. latham grimaced, managed to grind out: "do i look as bad as you?" "worse," the little martian was matter-of-fact. "i believe you." he looked long and hard at the martian. "i remember you now. name's kueelo. you were with me last night--" kueelo grinned, showing the stumps of yellowish teeth. "correction. four nights ago. that's when it began." latham climbed to his feet. the reaction was going away but there was still a dull apathy about his brain. just to think was an aching effort. "four days," he muttered. "how'd i come here?" "so you don't remember that? you came on the pleasure yacht. the one from turibek." * * * * * "turibek--" latham was remembering now. turibek, capital city of venus, far on the other side of the planet. he'd had a small stake and was lucky at the gaming tables. before that it was callisto, where he had struck it rich in the iridium fields; anyway, rich enough to keep him supplied with tsith for a year. before callisto it had been mars. he had worked the rocket rooms of jovian freighters, he had served as tourist guide in the dark little streets of ganymede city, and when fortune was lowest he had begged in those streets and done worse things than begging. before that he couldn't remember. he went wherever whim and fortune took him, but the whims were short-lived and the fortune invariably ended at the bottom of a glass. the deadly tsith twisted his brain awry and took its toll and drove him on. he had been "on the beach" on half a dozen planets. earth he shunned. he hadn't set foot there in more years than he could remember. at first it was because he was ashamed, but even that was gone now. only a cold sickness was left in the soul of joel latham. he stared at this fellow tsith hound, this shell of a martian, and said, "what happened last night?" "what always happens," kueelo said wearily. "we used up all our credit. penger kicked us out." it took joel latham a full minute to absorb that piece of information. mixed up with the agony in his eyes was a pensive look, but no resentment; his need just now was too dire for resentment. he stared across the swamp at the outpost's straggling street. jake penger was the law here, and he owned the only supply of tsith. latham recalled him vaguely, a huge man, inscrutable, uncompromising. "penger," he muttered. "that's it. i knew there was something i was going to do." "what were you going to do?" kueelo moved in closer, a sudden light of interest in his eyes. "see penger, of course." "why?" "i need tsith! and i'm going to need it worse before this day's over." kueelo's eyes went dull again. "we both do. how do you think you're going to manage it?" "i'll show you. never let it be said that joel latham was helpless in face of an emergency." with unsteady fingers he began a search of his clothes. and that's when the final realization descended upon joel latham. these weren't his clothes, not the ones he had when he came here. he stared into the martian's mango-like face. "i had a lucky piece. an ancient deimian jewel set in platinum. it's always been good for credit." kueelo's sigh was like a wind through withered leaves. "that," he said, "was used up two nights ago." "i had a dis-gun, too! what happened to it?" "we used that up last night. penger allowed us four drinks apiece for it." latham nodded miserably. "the space yacht. i guess it's already gone." "two days ago. your fine feathered friends shunned you when they learned you were a tsith hound. but i stuck by you," kueelo added cunningly. latham sank heavily onto a clump of swamp grass. he stared at his right hand. it had started trembling. he couldn't stop the trembling. he wondered dully if he was frightened, or if that was a result of the terrible craving that twisted and writhed within him. he stared up into the martian's face. "stranded," he said weakly. "but i'll get out of here. i'll hire out on one of the freighters--" "you won't." kueelo's voice was matter-of-fact again. "not when they learn you're a tsith hound. and penger will let them know, you can bet on that. he's a devil, that penger." "but he's an earthman, and i'm an earthman!" latham's voice was almost a wail. his soul was withering within him. "tell penger that and see what he answers you. you're on the beach, my friend. you've been there before, but this is the final beach--the swampside of venus. and here you'll stay until penger is ready to let you go. i've been here five years." joel latham put his head in his hands and tried to think. kueelo's voice droned on: "you'll work for penger. you'll work in the swamps. an earthman, a martian, a ganymedian can do ten times the work of one of these gweels." he gestured at the pallid-faced low-venusians who moved listlessly through the mud, pulling up the draanga-weed. "you'll work for the amount of tsith penger portions out to you, and glad to get it." at the word _tsith_, latham's head came up. the dawning fear was gone from his eyes. "all right! i'll do it, but only for a while, mind you! i'll find a way out of this. i'm getting back to the iridium fields on callisto." he plunged wildly into the mud and sank to his waist. but it was the thought of tsith that drove him on, not callisto. kueelo stood by and watched, a thin, knowing smile creasing his leathery lips. a sort of frenzy had come upon joel latham. he tore at the stubborn draanga-weed and brought it up dripping, tossing the long lengths across his shoulder. he knew of this stuff. when properly synthesized draanga-weed had a medicinal value on the various planets. penger shipped it out four times a year, at a neat little profit. latham moved on. a yellowish fog had come down, the dreaded igniis fatui. unless one kept moving, decomposition of the blood set in, essential salts within the body were dissolved and cellular activity ceased. latham grinned wryly. he doubted if it could touch him! there was too much tsith within his alchemy. nevertheless he moved and worked ceaselessly. he could see that caricature of a martian standing back there watching. then it happened; the thing happened which was to prove both a promise and a despair. joel latham felt a hardness at his heel, an irritating lump inside his neoprene boot. he moved back to higher ground, lifted his foot from the mire and removed the boot. he shook something out into his hand. it was round and hard and shiny, perhaps an inch in diameter. he held it aloft between thumb and forefinger. the filtering sunlight struck it and sent back lambent fires. joel latham stared and gasped, felt his senses reeling. "purple!" he sobbed. "a purple josmian!" * * * * * he was clambering back toward kueelo. forgetting the sweat in his eyes and the insufferable heat, he held the thing aloft. "look at it!" he sobbed again. "look at it shine! look at the size!" kueelo was indeed looking. his yellowish eyes bulged. "a josmian," he whispered. "we've struck it rich!" joel latham regarded the little caricature with astonishment. something of sanity came back to joel latham. "we?" he said. "i found it. it's mine. i never knew you until four days ago!" "but i stood by you," the martian wailed. "your friends deserted you, but i stood by. aren't we partners?" latham considered that. "no," he decided. "you stood by me as long as i had credit for tsith! until my money and lucky piece and dis-gun and clothes were gone. did you offer to help me out there?" he waved at the swamp. "this josmian is going to get me back to callisto! penger ought to give me plenty for it." what happened next was too swift for latham's reeling senses. a claw-like hand darted out, and kueelo snatched the josmian; his other hand swung around and caught latham hard across the throat, sending him back into the swamp where he staggered for a moment and sat down abruptly. "hey!" latham protested. "hey, look here--" but the martian was scuttling away like a huge fiddler crab, the josmian clutched in one scrawny fist. joel latham came slowly up out of the mud, shaking his head and grinning stupidly. it was very unkind of kueelo to treat him like this. he watched the martian's departing figure. he made no effort to follow--not at once--not until a strange new emotion, part frustration and part despair, rose up in his breast, and close upon that the dawning realization that he was being cheated of a last hope. even then he didn't hurry. he followed kueelo, swinging along in slow loping strides, but not gaining. he felt weak and sick. that jagged need for tsith was again sawing away at his entrails. his feet tangled in the outlying swamp grass, he plunged headlong and picked himself up. kueelo was heading for higher ground away from the compound. kueelo was yelling as he ran. latham wondered why the devil he was yelling. then, some distance ahead, latham could see a third man lifting himself from the ground. the jovian! suddenly latham remembered him. the jovian had been with them last night too. now kueelo was tugging at the man, yelling, showing him the josmian. the jovian hoisted his bulk erect, turned and waited for latham, grinning broadly. the grin didn't fool latham. all jovians grinned. some of them grinned while breaking a man's vertebrae. this was one of the big ones, latham noticed, and he was ugly, with long reaching arms and wiry hair and a face that looked as if he'd slept in it. latham stopped just short of him and reached out a hand. "i want the josmian," said joel latham. the jovian came a step forward. "you leave kueelo alone. kueelo, he's my friend." "i'm going to have that josmian," said joel latham. the jovian thrust out a huge fist with amazing speed. latham caught at it and hung on grimly. the jovian brought his other hand around in an arc that caught the earthman across the face, sent him sprawling ten feet away. "josmian belongs to us, now. you leave us alone." joel latham sat there wiping blood from his face, watching the bestial pair as they headed around the compound and into the matted jungle. his last glimpse, just before darkness swallowed them up, was of kueelo grinning gleefully back at him. latham sighed. he stood up. the blow had shaken some of the resolve out of him. he turned east, northeast, east-by-north, like a compass on a binge. then he saw penger watching him from the outer gate of the compound. apparently penger had seen it all. latham turned and ran toward jake penger. "you saw them!" latham wailed. "you saw it. they stole my josmian! you've got to stop them!" * * * * * penger planted his feet wide apart and surveyed the snivelling earthman. penger's dark face was hard-cut and impassive. he'd seen these tsith hounds before. they came here and died here. he hated them all. penger said, "they did what?" "the josmian, the purple josmian! i found it and they stole it from me. you've got to help me, penger!" penger said, "you're crazy." "but i found it, i tell you! a big one. i'll sell it to you, penger. i'll--" penger said, "you're crazy with tsith. there hasn't been a josmian found in this swamp for ten years." "penger, listen to me--" penger said, "forget it. you want tsith? you'll have tsith. but you'll work and you'll work hard. you'll get the draanga-weed out." "penger, i'm an earthman! i'm asking you as one earthman to another--" latham stopped. he shivered. he looked into penger's colorless eyes and what he saw made his soul curl up within him. "you're a what? an earthman? you _were_ an earthman! now you're a grubby little specimen of the genus tsith! you're a miserable, whining little speck of matter wriggling toward the final transfixation! in another year you won't even be that. you'll be dead and forgotten. don't come crawling to me talking about earthmen!" the voice scraped across latham's naked nerve-ends. penger's eyes blazed, and in his trembling anger he almost raised a fist. latham cringed away. from out of his forgotten past something came to latham. he stared at the loom of jungle where kueelo and the jovian had disappeared. "i've seen the day," he complained miserably, "when they wouldn't get away with this!" "you've seen the day--period!" "i'm asking you once more, penger. help me! at least give me back the dis-gun." "the dis-gun? now what would you want with the dis-gun? you'd only come trading it back to me. you bring in the draanga-weed, that's all i'm interested in! and if you work especially hard, there'll be some tsith--enough for your needs." latham's eyes went fever-bright. his lips writhed back, a fit of trembling took possession of his limbs. almost, he succumbed to the immediate vision of the tsith; almost, he forgot about the josmian. but somewhere deep in his alchemy was a well of stubbornness he never knew he possessed. he clutched at penger's sleeve as the man turned away. he found himself screaming, "then i'll go without the gun! i'm going to get that josmian, do you hear? you'll believe me then! you'll believe when you see it, penger!" penger shook him away. "sure, sure. you bring me a josmian. then we'll talk a deal." he wanted to ask for a drink, just one drink of tsith right now, but latham had learned the essential fact that there could be no compromising with this man. he reeled away. his brief outburst had left him weak and trembling. nevertheless, he went stumbling toward the looming wall of jungle. he heard penger's voice, a little annoyed: "where are you going?" latham stumbled on. "you fool, you don't know these jungles! you'll die in there! you won't last an hour!" latham didn't look back. penger didn't call again. latham could almost imagine the man's shrug of indifference. vision stopped five yards away. a soft glutinous muck, worse than the outer swamp, tugged at his ankles. corrupt fungi-growth and giant spiked ferns reached far above him in the blanketing fog. penger was wrong! he wouldn't die in here. latham knew where he was going. kueelo had told him of the gweel village a mere few miles away, where the foothills came down to touch the jungle edge. kueelo and the jovian had undoubtedly headed for there and planned to lie low for a while; when the time was propitious, they would sneak back to the outpost and make a deal with penger for the josmian. the route was long and circuitous, hugging the fringe of jungle. the gweels traveled it every day. but latham had a better plan. by cutting directly through the morass, he might just arrive there ahead of them! he would arm himself somehow and wait ... the element of surprise ... that's all he could hope for now. he left the glutinous path, and to his surprise it wasn't so bad. the growths towered many times higher but were not so dense. occasionally the sun evidenced itself against the paling of mists hundreds of feet above. lusty, primeval odors were almost an opiate to his senses. he plunged on for some ten minutes before he began to doubt. gradually the gloom came alive with motion and sound and unseen terrors. he tried to segregate those that might mean danger. there came first a gentle whirring of wings through the mist, sweeping close above him and away. there came a gentle ripple through the foliage beside him, a slither of sound that kept pace endlessly. was this what penger meant? still latham had seen nothing. he wished he had his dis-gun, though. he wished it desperately, as a heavier sound came near. a grayish bulk charged directly across his path. it was monstrous, semi-reptilian, with wings arched sinuously along its spine as it half reared toward him. latham fell back against a tree bole and stood motionless, staring into glittering feral eyes. the beast coughed raucously and went thrashing back into the welter of jungle and mud. latham stepped away. his foot caught in a root and he fell headlong. instantly, tiny spheres of diaphanous substance showered about his head, to burst in a scatter of violet spores. those that touched his skin turned instantly blood-red, and seemed to grow, burrowing deep. frantically he pulled them from his flesh, leaving raw red sores. there was no trail to guide him now, but he did not immediately mind that. he trekked the south mars desert and he had weathered the jungles of io. tsith hound or no, he had an unerring instinct for direction. he was sure the foothills couldn't be far ahead. but he must have a weapon! * * * * * a silent dark shadow floated down. he glimpsed a razor-clawed reptilian body, ten feet from wing to wing, its serpentine neck darting wickedly. latham threw himself aside as the tremendous whirr of wings beat the air above his head. close upon it came three others, and latham hit the mud. looking back, he saw that one of the creatures in its mad rush had hurtled into a giant fern, impaling itself upon a four-foot thorn where it hung, screaming raucously as its life-fluid ebbed away. latham crawled from the spot. reaching another fern, he managed to climb high enough to tear away one of the thorns. it was crude, but it would serve as a weapon! he was realizing his error now. he should have gone by the outer route. he would never reach the gweel village ahead of kueelo and the jovian, if indeed he reached it at all! danger and death lay everywhere about him. time and again those serpentine shapes winged down, silent and unwarning. he fended them off. twice he speared them, saw ocherous blood spill from their shiny integument. other times he wasn't so lucky, as sharp claws left a row of furrows in his back. the miasmic yellow fog bit deep into his wounds. hours resolved into a nightmare of mud and heat and battle. other creatures crossed his path or curved at him from out of the tangled fronds. he was becoming awfully weak, but a terrible madness lay across latham's mind like a patina, driving him on. through feverish turmoil, through waves of heat and pain and nausea that encompassed the universe, joel latham pursued his course. he never remembered the end. he never remembered coming out of that deadly jungle. he pressed with his palms against moist earth, and thought he must have been lying there for some time. his left arm was shredded. his back was shredded. inside his clothes he felt the warm stickiness of his own blood. outside his clothes was other substance which he knew wasn't his blood. something long and shiny lay beneath his hands. the thorn! he clutched at it frantically. he felt if he could just lie there a moment, strength would come back to him. but he didn't lie there. he tottered to his feet, and just a few yards ahead the foothills sheered up and away from the jungle. every step was an agony. he followed along the foothills, trying to find the gweel village. he had to find it! that much he remembered. a tiny martian and a brute of a jovian were there, and they had something that belonged to him. he had quite forgotten now what it was, but it meant something to him, he knew, it meant a great deal. he came upon the village, a cluster of clay huts high upon an escarpment. latham began climbing. he had to be careful now, something pounded that warning into his brain. he saw groups of frail, pallid-faced gweels moving about. they were harmless enough, latham knew that; but if those other two were here-he reached the level of the village and moved nearer, staying behind rocks and clumps of growth. then he saw kueelo! the martian huddled beside an open fire, stirring some substance in a huge gourd. as latham watched, kueelo opened a leather pouch at his waist and took something out. the josmian! he held it up to the flickering firelight, and the purple sheen of the gem was no more brilliant than the gleeful look that appeared in kueelo's yellowish eyes. in that instant latham almost leaped forward, but a tightness in his temples stopped him. the distance was too great. and the jovian must be somewhere about! quick surprise was his only chance. his gaze roved up to the steepening cliff behind the village, and he saw the way. still clutching the thorn-weapon, he followed a little ravine up to a rocky abutment. thence along a ledge, to a spot just above the hut near kueelo. he judged the distance, decided he could make it in two leaps; first to the roof of the hut, then to the ground. latham paused the merest instant, then launched himself downward. he struck the roof with a force that jarred him to the teeth. he sprang again, and that's when luck deserted him. his feet tangled in the coarse thatchwork. he felt himself going over the edge, spinning wildly off-balance, plunging headlong into the ground as the thorn-weapon was flung far out of his grasp. with a startled oath, kueelo whirled about. latham had a vision of the man's ludicrous face. then a tiny, shiny tube appeared like magic in the martian's hand. a power-rapier. latham had heard that martians carried them always. tiny and easy to conceal. a press of a stud released a rapier-like shaft of electronic power that reached perhaps five feet. this occurred to latham in a mere kaleidoscopic instant, then he was propelling himself forward. his shoulder took kueelo squarely in the middle. kueelo screamed as he went back. he tried to get the shiny tube up. latham got hold of the martian's wrist and jerked it sharply against his knee. kueelo let out another yell and dropped the power-tube. * * * * * the martian was small, but possessed of a wiry strength. he was squirming like an ocelan, bringing his knees up into latham's groin. latham felt fainter every moment. he let go of the wrist and tried to find the power-tube. kueelo smashed a fist into his face. "i'll kill you, earthman, i swear it! i've got to kill you!" the martian kept yelling that, his little voice going shrill. then he yelled, "kraaz! kraaz!" latham got a hand around kueelo's throat and he didn't yell any more. the place was very still. then latham heard a sloughing sound of heavy footsteps coming up the slope. kraaz was the jovian! that's when the real panic hit latham and he knew he had to get the power-rapier. he fumbled and found the power-rapier. kueelo brought a knee into his stomach and latham felt sick. he couldn't get the weapon around. kueelo had hold of his wrist and was bending it backward. latham thought: _kraaz is coming! if i don't_-they twisted and rolled and kueelo was trying with both hands for the weapon. latham held onto the weapon. kueelo was using his knees to keep him down and latham kept feeling weaker. kueelo kept coming forward and making noises in his throat and he seemed big and heavy. he kept going forward until he got a knee against latham's throat. latham thought: _the jovian's running now, he's almost here_-kueelo pressed with his knee and latham's head went back. his throat was hurting and blocking the air. the knee pressed harder, and it was bad. then it was very bad. but he wouldn't let go of the power-rapier. _the jovian'll be here! i've got to_-latham moved his hand beneath him. the hand twisted and brought up the tube and his fingers touched a tiny stud. he didn't know which way it was pointing, it was too late to wonder. his finger pressed the stud and kueelo was screaming. then the pressure in his throat went away. he was on his feet as the jovian came ploughing through the huddle of frightened gweels. latham tried to get the rapier-tube up, but his arms were numbed and weary, a red mist swam before his eyes. a powerful blow sent the weapon hurtling away, then the jovian was upon him; huge arms closed about him. it was useless to struggle. latham could see the man's lips writhing back in a soundless rage. latham brought a knee up in a purely desperate move. kraaz grunted, stumbled and fell, but he didn't let go. they were rolling together down the slope. the jovian's arms were a vise crushing away his life. latham had a glimpse of a cliff falling sheerly away, with those deadly thorn-ferns reaching up from below. _if i'm to die, it's going to be my way!_ that was latham's last conscious thought as he surged against the jovian's braking body; his fingers clung tenaciously, his last ebbing strength carried them both over the edge. kraaz's arms broke away. latham lashed out with his feet, then he was twisting, falling, far out into space ... and that's all he remembered. hands were tugging at him. a shrill chatter of voices rang in his ears. someone was holding a gourd to his lips, trying to pour a hot sticky substance down his throat. latham sat up and knocked the gourd away. the little group of gweels fell back. some of them were still chattering, staring overhead with awe-stricken eyes. latham looked up and saw kraaz, the jovian. the huge bulk hung twenty feet above, tangled in the foliage of a giant fern. one thorn had entered his chest, another completely pierced his throat. he was quite dead. wearily, latham made his way back up to the village. kueelo still lay there with the blackened hole through him. latham tore away the leather pouch holding the josmian; he had fought through hell and swamp and jungle for this, and by all the redtails of jupiter, he was taking it back! he thought of penger, and the tsith awaiting him there. most of all he thought of callisto and the iridium fields, which would mean much more tsith. clutching the josmian as though it were his life's blood, joel latham staggered away from there and began the long route back. * * * * * the men at the compound would not soon forget the night when joel latham returned. penger was there of course; some prospectors from the near-by hills, the crew of a supply freighter, a motley scattering of others whose business was unknown and unasked. they stared in disbelief at the caricature that suddenly came out of the night to stand in the doorway of penger's place. clothes ripped in shreds, mud and blood bespattered, one arm dangling, tangled hair that looked unreal as if sewed to his scalp. an awful whiteness about the lips and eyes that were dark empty pools. maybe it had once been an earthman, but it was unrecognizable now! joel latham stood there for an instant, seeking out penger behind the bar. black exhaustion threatened to take him, but with an effort he hoisted himself up. he made his way across the room and slumped against the bar. spacemen moved out of his way. there was something about his eyes. penger moved down to him, stood staring in amazement. "so it's you!" said penger, and seemed unable to say more. "it's me, all right." latham's eyes were searching out the rows of bottles. martian thasium, earth bourbon, the potent arack from ganymede. it all left him cold. he was looking for the deadly tsith, and he saw no sign of it. "it's me, all right," joel latham said again, and he placed a closed fist upon the bar. "i've come to make that deal with you, penger!" his fist opened slowly, and penger was staring down at the josmian. "so it was true! and you really went after that thieving pair ... you took it from them...." penger's voice was unbelieving, but he continued to stare at the josmian. "it's yours if you want it, penger. dirt cheap! one thousand credits. that'll be enough to get me out of here on the first freighter, and set up for another try at the callisto iridium fields. that's all i want." penger nodded, took the gem from latham's hand and held it to the light. "it's a beauty!" he replaced it in latham's open palm. "but i didn't promise to buy it! all i said was, i'd make you a deal." latham felt his stomach turning over. kueelo had said this man was a devil! he got the words out: "what kind of a deal?" "you ask one thousand credits. i offer you one thousand glasses of tsith! that'll last you a long time here." so that was the devil's plan! latham felt a cold sickness come over him. he was sick from his wounds, sick from exhaustion, sick for the desperate need of tsith. he found himself saying, "one drink right now! and eight hundred credits--" "no drinks. not until we make the deal. one thousand glasses of tsith, and that's my final offer." latham stared about him. any spaceman here would offer five times a thousand credits for such a gem! but they sensed that this was private between him and penger, and no man dared go against penger here at venusport. they watched the tableau in silence. "i've got to get to callisto!" latham cried wretchedly, fighting back the sickness. "here--it's yours--just one drink now, and enough credits for passage!" "why callisto?" penger's voice was mocking. "so you make another strike there, and it all ends with tsith anyway!" he reached beneath the bar, brought out a crystal flagon of tsith. for a moment he held the sparkling blue liquid to the light, then placed it on the shelf behind him. "damn you!" latham tried to leap forward, but almost collapsed as waves of nausea shook him. "so. you see what i mean? in another year you'll be dead anyway, so what does it matter?" penger leaned forward, smiling thinly. "earthman, what did you say your name was? joel latham, wasn't it?" latham swayed and clutched at the bar. he glared at the man, wondering what diabolical scheme he was planning now. * * * * * penger's eyes bored into him. "joel latham, i knew your father years ago before he died on mars. he was a fine man. a man of courage. i wonder what carl latham would say now if he could see his son--" "people from here to mars and back," latham rasped, "are always telling me they knew my father! i'm sick of hearing about it! all i want to know, do you buy this josmian or not?" "i may make you another deal. suppose i give you the thousand credits. but if i do, you don't go to callisto." "where, then?" latham's brain was throbbing, seeking out the gimmick. there must be a gimmick. penger glanced at a tall, angular man who had stayed in the background. a silent signal passed between them. "they need a chart man at asteroid station three. the work is not hard but it's a thankless, monotonous existence. you're alone on an anchored world a half-mile in diameter. you sign on for three years, and there you stay. you have every need within reason, including technical library and one-way radio. a government ship brings supplies once a year, and they don't include tsith." penger paused and peered at latham, whose face had gone pale beneath the growth of beard. "your task would be to chart the thousands of rogue asteroids that cause havoc in the spacelanes every year. i understand you once knew ray-screens, co-ordinates and parabolics. you could brush up." "it seems ... you know a lot about me!" latham's voice was frightened. it didn't want to leave his throat. he was staring at the glittering blue tsith behind penger. penger motioned to the tall, angular man with the bright eyes. the man stepped to the bar. "this is george elston of interplanet commerce. he's been looking for months for the right man. frankly, i don't think it's you"--latham felt the impact of penger's scorn--"but he has a cruiser outside, and he can up gravs within half an hour in case you are interested." "i'm not--" latham continued to stare at the glittering blue flagon just out of reach. "i thought not. well, i've made you two offers. i'll buy your josmian for credits or tsith!" penger counted out a thousand credits and slapped them on the bar. he poured a glass of tsith and placed it down gently. "your choice, latham! a choice of escape!" * * * * * a terrible quiet had come over the room. latham's eyes were fever-bright, burning deep in his skull. his stomach twisted like a nest of cold serpents. a choice of escape! there was no choice. there was only tsith. he had only to take it. penger was right. he would die here within a year, but he had resigned himself to that. he would die out there on the station, too; he would die a thousand deaths without tsith. three years! latham had heard of a few tsith hounds who tried it. he knew in every detail the agonies of body and mind a man went through, before the absence of the stuff either broke him of the terrible need, or left him a gibbering, mindless wreck. not many of them ever pulled through it. joel latham thought of all this and made his choice. he slammed the josmian on the bar; his trembling hand seized the glass. penger shrugged and sighed as if this was what he expected. he took up the josmian. "the deal is closed, latham! i'd better put this away in my safe." he walked to the end of the bar. when he came back, the glass in latham's hand was empty. penger met george elston's gaze. "you'll have to keep looking, elston. you'll have to look for a man, not a--" the tall man smiled, stopping the words. he pointed to the mirror where a splash of blue, glutinous tsith was dripping. latham threw the empty glass at penger's head. it missed him and struck the mirror, bringing it down in shattering fragments. he seized the bundle of credits and sent them flying. "keep these too, penger! keep them all, damn you! i won't need them where i'm going!" tottering and pale, a fury still upon his lips, he seized elston's arm. "come on! make it quick--" elston hurried with him. at the door, he pointed across the compound. "the black cruiser, there beside the freighter. get aboard. i'll be with you in five minutes--" penger was at the door too. they watched latham hurrying, stumbling, not looking back. then penger did an amazing thing. he opened his fist and he still held the josmian. he placed it on the floor, put a heavy heel on it and came down with all his weight. there was an absurd little pop as the josmian shattered. elston stared at him, bewildered. "not a josmian," penger grinned at him. "glass. one of the cheap glass baubles that sometimes come here on the trade freighters." he gripped elston's arm. "but don't tell him! don't ever tell him, at least not for three years." "but i thought he found it in the swamp!" "he found it in his boot, where i placed it when i found him lying out there this morning in a stupor. an experiment, a whim--" penger shrugged. "i didn't know what would come of it." joel latham had almost reached the cruiser. they saw him pause, and then he turned. joel latham raised a fist and shook it straight at penger. "damn you, penger! damn you, damn you!" with that he stumbled up into the waiting lock as elston hurried after him. * * * * * 4-1/2b, eros by malcolm jameson "4-1/2b, eros."... a strange code, but grizzled space-trader karns used it to break the perilous mercury-venus jinx. [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from planet stories spring 1941. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] "makee chop chop. kwei! kwei!" the two venusian coolies squatted down between the shafts and with one quick motion elevated the sedan chair to shoulder height. then they started off in a lazy run through the torrential downpour, splashing mud right and left as their sturdy yellow legs struck into the watery lane of muck that passes for a road in venusberg. captain hank karns, the lone trader, sank back in his seat and watched idly with mild blue eyes as first one grass hut and then another appeared momentarily through rifts of rain. there would be time enough to worry about cappy wilkerson's plight when he reached the administration building and found out more about the charges against him. no doubt it was just another shakedown, the effort of some minor official to pry loose a little more than the customary cumshaw. captain karns had berthed his own old trading tub not an hour earlier and as he registered the arrival of his _swapper_ he noted that under the date of three days before there was the entry: "_wanderer_, captain wilkerson, en route mercury to luna." after it was the notation in red: "detained by order collector of the port; captain in custody." hank karns thoughtfully pawed his long white beard. cappy wilkerson was a careful and upright man and a lifelong friend; what manner of charge could they have trumped up against him? that they were trumped up he took for granted, for the local government of autonomous venus was notoriously corrupt and always had been. the venusians themselves were the descendants of coolies brought centuries before from tropical asia. they took little or no interest in government. politics had, therefore, fallen into the hands of white adventurers, most of whom lived on venus for the very good reason they were not wanted elsewhere. the central council of the loose interplanetary federation seldom interfered with them unless for acts so flagrant as to affect the federation as a whole. the old space merchant left his chair at the courtroom and squeezed through the crowd at the back just in time to hear the whack, whack, whack of the gavel marking the end of the trial. standing defiantly in the prisoner's box was cappy wilkerson, his eyes flashing and his iron-gray mane thrown back. he looked like an indignant old lion brought to bay by a pack of jackals. the judge, a young man with a monocle and a stiff black pompadour, was dressed in a smart military uniform which made him appear anything but judicial. he was biting out his words as if what he was saying was inspired by personal venom. "i have heard all you have had to say, including your filthy imputations as to the integrity of this court. your guilt is so apparent that we need not trouble even to preserve the record of your silly and malicious allegations...." here the judge contemptuously tossed a sheaf of papers into a wastebasket. "therefore, bearing in mind not only your guilt but your contumacious conduct before me, i sentence you to five years at hard labor in such a one of our prison camps as the director of welfare and beneficence may select. "it is further directed that your ship, together with its illicit contents, be confiscated and sold at public auction in order to defray the cost of these proceedings. marshal! take him away." hank karns was on his feet at once, elbowing and pushing his way forward through the departing throng of curiosity-seekers. his voice was shrill with indignation. "hey, you can't do that!" he yelled. officials closed in on him at once, and the judge's face grew red with anger. "this is a court of law," he said, "and the decisions of the presiding judge are final. now get out before i haul you up for contempt." "tarnation damn!" muttered hank karns as he turned and left the building. this was no ordinary shakedown. this called for action, and quick action, for it was unthinkable that his buddy should be carted off to the insect-infested, fever-ridden, infamous great swamp of venus. white men lived but a few months there; a year, let alone five years, was as good as life. a bulletin caught his eye, and as he read it he gasped. the paste that fastened it to the board was still wet, but the paper bore characteristics of printed type. it must have been prepared at least a day ago. it read: collector's sale one confiscated tube ship, the _wanderer_, complete with fittings. the cargo of the same consisting of miscellaneous trade goods. saturday. inquire at collector's office for details. "phew!" gasped hank karns. "_that_ was quick work. and planned." he turned and made his way to the collector's office. the man at the front desk gaped at him woodenly. "s'already sold," he said indifferently, the third time karns put his question. "but it says saturday...." "okay--it says saturday. so what?" "b-but this is only tuesday...." "we have a saturday every week, dodo. now trot along and annoy somebody else for a change. i have work to do." hank karns blinked. why, saturday was the day the _wanderer_ docked. these venusians were getting raw. they must have sold her that very day! "who is that old man? throw him out!" karns turned slowly and viewed the new speaker. he was a big man, with piercing black eyes and a hawk nose, and heavily bearded--a strange sight for super-tropical venus where men kept clean shaven for coolness. but the man turned abruptly away and entered an inner office, slamming the door behind him. hank karns' eyes followed him all the way--they were fixed on the back of the fellow's neck. there, oddly enough, just above the shoulder line, peeped a line of color demarcation. above the line, which was made visible by the fact that its wearer had pulled open his collar for comfort, the skin was the normal pallor usually seen on venus; below, it was a mottled chocolate color. "didja hear what the collector said?" snarled the clerk. "scram!" without a word, hank karns turned and left the office. he passed through the thronged corridors almost in a daze. there was cappy wilkerson, gone to the swamp, virtually condemned to death. there was his ship sold, even before the trial which was to condemn it. and everywhere there was high-handed insolence, seemingly inspired by this overbearing man with the duplex complexion. what did it mean? and the fact that he could not yet place those sharp eyes and that predatory nose, though somewhere, sometime, he had encountered them before, puzzled hank karns still more. something stank in venus. * * * * * an hour later he sat morosely in a tiny tavern he had long known, hidden up the blind alley known as artemis lane. for half a century it had been familiar to him as the hangout for his kind. "so you see how it is," the bartender was concluding. "at this rate there won't be any more. with all the old-timers dead or in the swamp, how in hell can _i_ keep running. no sir, this joint is for sale--for what it'll bring. drink up and have another." captain karns took the proffered drink from the grizzled tavern-keeper, but despite its cheering nature--for it was purest "comet-dew"--he took it glumly. never in all his long and active life had he heard so much evil news at one sitting. another of his old pals had come to grief, and all because he had touched at mercury. mercury, it appeared, was poison to all his tribe. the record was too consistent to be accounted for by coincidence. coincidents do not occur in strings. "and what makes it stink all the worse," persisted the indignant bartender, bitterly, "not a damn finger is lifted to stop the flow of trilibaine. the town is lousy with it. half these natives stay hopped up all the time." "i thought the federals had cleaned that up ten years ago," commented hank karns. "it's back," was the laconic retort. hank karns said nothing. the fact that three of his buddies were languishing in the malarial swamps of venus, continually subject to the indignities of brutal guards was uppermost in his mind. and besides that, two others--bill ellison and jed carter--had died on mercury when their ships mysteriously blew up on the take-off. that, too, had an especial significance, for those two were the only members of the trader tribe who had any sort of reputation as fire-eaters. in their youth, of course, all of them had been bolder and more truculent, but as they gained in experience they learned that there is more to be gained by soft words than bluster. if hank was to secure the release of his friends it must be by guile, the use of a cunning superior to that employed by their common enemies. _if_ he was to secure! there was no if about it. he must. for it was bob merrill and ben wilkerson who had once rescued him, hank karns, from an even more deadly situation. more than twenty years ago that had been, on far-off io, and hank karns winced at the memory of it. on that occasion he had, through the machinations of the notorious von kleber gang, been convicted and sentenced as a pirate. ten hateful and horror-filled days and nights he had spent in the mines of sans espérance, the federal penitentiary, digging radioactive ores. two of his friendly competitors heard of it and pled for a new trial wherein it was shown that he had been sent up through perjured testimony to screen the trial of the real culprits. the wave of public opinion they started then did not subside until von kleber and his outlaws were put finally behind the bars. no, there was no choice. cappy wilkerson and cappy merrill must be released and ellison and carter avenged. how? that remained to be seen. "wa-al," drawled hank karns, elaborately, now that his mind was made up, "i'll be seein' you. i'm taking a little trip into mercury and back." the bartender shook his head ominously. "no fool like an old fool," he said, and he didn't laugh. in the rain-lock, or the vestibule outside the bar, karns stopped. he felt inside the lining of his vest and after much fumbling produced a dog-eared memorandum book. he ran through the yellowed pages until he found one covered with cryptic entries. they appeared as if made long ago, but several interlineations in various colored inks showed that amendments had been made from time to time since the original writing of them. halfway down was the group p2, and what followed had been twice changed. the line that stood in lieu of them read: "vbg--wickerware--4-1/2b, eros." hank karns read the line through two or three times, then snapped the book shut and replaced it in its hiding place. he carefully buckled up his slicker and jammed his sou'wester tight upon his head. then he stepped forth into the steamy drizzle of artemis lane. he sloshed his way through mud and water until he came to the main drag. he turned to the right and splashed along until he came to the corner where erosville road turned off. he took the turn and plugged along for four blocks of its twisting, boggy length. a dozen steps farther on he lifted his eyes and peered from beneath dripping brows at the signs about. across the street was what he sought--a sagging awning crudely painted with the legend; "an shirgar--dealer in native basketry." on the bedewed window below was another, "hir spak anglass." hank karns stopped under the awning long enough to squish some of the water out of his shoes, then he entered. a swarthy, turbanned venusian met him, rubbing his hands together obsequiously and bowing jerkily at every step. "yiss, milord. valcom to mizrable shop. vat vishes milord?" "wickerware," said hank karns, tartly, for him. "for export." "ah," breathed the representative of an shirgar. "zhipluds, eh? you pay?" captain karns shook his head, and pointed to the private door at the back. "ah, vickware. no pay. maybe boss ut see, eh?" "yep, trot him out," said hank karns, and began fingering the clever basketware of the venutian hillmen. he knew it would be quite a while before the earth-man came, if this was operated like the callistan branch had been, twenty years before. after a time, without quite knowing how he knew, he was aware that someone else was in the showroom, studying him from a distance. "howdy," he said, turning around. "i kinda wanted to finance a deal that's too big for me to swing--is this the place?" "might be," said the man non-committally. he was a typical terrestrian business man, not much over thirty, baldish, and plainly not given to foolishness. "i don't touch anything as a rule unless i see a profit in it. and no chance of loss. what is your collateral?" hank karns mentioned his ship. the man snorted, and started to turn away. "you're wasting time." "i got a ring, too. it's a--well--sorta heirloom." the man came back. he was still not interested, but he took the ring karns offered him and weighed it in his hand. then he applied a loup to his eye and examined it closely. "you've hocked this before?" "yes," chuckled hank karns. "and got it back, too." "hmmm," said the man. "it looks genuine. what do you want?" "i--uh--am dropping into mercury to do a little trading. when i get back i might want to buy a chair or so--mebbe a houseful of stuff--and just wanted to be sure my credit was good." "you speak in riddles, my friend," said the man with a curious, tight little smile. he was tossing the ring thoughtfully all the while. "i'm only a lone trader," said hank karns, wistfully, "and don't know no better. supposing you keep the ring while i'm gone--to appraise it, so to speak. all i want to know is who to call for when i get back. _if_ i get back." the man pocketed the ring. "where will the call come from?" "i dunno. space, mebbe. jail, mebbe." "my radio call is care assistant dockmaster, venusberg sky-yard. mention berth twenty-three somehow. as to the jail angle, i do not as a general thing do business with people in jail. in that event, i might send you a lawyer, in consideration of this ring. tell rashab, the night turn-key--you'll know him by the double scar on his chin--that you want to see mr. brown. i can't guarantee he'll go, but if he does, bear in mind he's a very cagy fellow and that venusberg jail is studded with dictaphones and scanners. if what you have in mind smacks at all of illegality, it's likely he'll walk out on you." "yep," snapped hank karns, beginning to shut the clasps on his slicker, "i'll remember. only i don't think it'll be a lawyer i'll need. if the joint is lousy with spy-machines, what i'll want is an old friend--a man of my type." the man, whatever his name was, for he had still not given it, laughed outright for the first time. he slapped the lone trader on the back. "men of your type, you old humbug, are extinct as the horse." hank karns looked up to laugh back at him, but he was gone. in his place stood the turbanned venutian, still doing washing motions with his hands. "milord no like vickvare? milord go now?" "my lord, yes. i go now." karns jammed on his sou'wester, took a deep breath, and pushed open the door. a half hour later he was making ready for the take-off for mercury. it was a shot in the dark, but it was a chance he had to take. "to hell with that," thought hank karns. then briskly to the boy he had brought with him this trip as a general utility man, "hey, billy, look alive! bear a hand with getting them there rakes stowed!" * * * * * "so that's mercury," exclaimed billy hatch, four days later, as he stared goggle-eyed into the visiplate. this was his first interplanetary trip. "yep," said karns, "that's her, the doggonedest planet barrin' none in the whole dad-frazzled system. after you've been here you can tell 'em you've seen wind blow, and i mean blow. that's what them rakes is for. to get around you lie down on your belly and pull yourself along by them. it's a helluva place. the sun on your back'd fry you, 'cepting there's always a ice-cold hurricane cooling you off." "how can that be, cap'n?" "convection's the ten-sol word for it. it's cause she's sizzling hot on one side and colder'n the underside of a iceberg on t'other. the wind goes straight up over the desert and comes straight down over the back side glaciers. then it scoots for the desert again--and how! nobody could live an hour in any part of the place if it warn't for the temp'rate strip, and that's cockeyed enough. you gotta steady, hundred-two-hundred-mile wind going straight into the sun, for that's right down to the horizon. in the lee of a house you burn up, in the shade of it you'd freeze solid in five minutes. and the houses have to be stone and streamlined." hank karns kept a watchful eye on the terrain coming up to meet them. mooring a ship in that wind required the utmost art. "as i told you, itsa helluva place. nuthing grows there but a sort of grass and some moss. the only animals is varmints, like the cangrela and the trocklebeck. it's cangrela claws and trocklebeck hides we trade for." billy hatch listened, wide-eyed. this was romance. "the trocklebeck is a critter something on the order of a armadillo, only it's got horns and big claws to hang onto the ground. it grazes, with its head allus into the wind. the cangrela is built along the lines of a crab and has claws, too. it crawls up behind the trocklebeck and kills 'em while they're feeding. trocklebeck scales and cangrela claws are both harder'n hell. they use 'em in machinery." "oh," said billy hatch. "but you better git forrard there and tend to them grapples, 'cause a-gitting hold of the ground here is ticklish business. ef we miss it's just too bad. we'll roll over and over for miles and miles, like as not." hank karns said no more for a time. as a matter of fact, he was far from ready to land. he had deliberately come up on the wrong side of the planet for making the landing at sam atkins' little trading store. he wanted to give it a general bird's-eye view. it was in a valley scooped out by the wind that he saw the first sign of a major alteration. behind a huge artificial wind-break lay a group of new buildings, and one of them was dome-topped with a squat chimney. a matter of ten miles farther away was another new house and a small warehouse behind it. just over the next low ridge lay atkins' place. "standby," warned hank karns, as he brought the ship's nose into the hurricane and began losing altitude. "don't let go 'til i tell you--and that'll be when we're practically down." just as the keel kissed the ground, karns gave the signal and the anchors fell. at the same instant he cut his rockets and the ship began falling away to leeward, dragging her anchors behind. in a moment they grabbed, pulled loose and grabbed again. that time they held. karns released a long pent-up sigh. it was a perfect landing. sam atkins' house lay but a bare hundred yards on the quarter. there was still the business of shooting a wire over the trading post and making it fast at both ends, atkins coming out to do his share. then captain karns slid down the wire to the shack and allowed himself to be hauled in by the trading post keeper. "i'm glad to see you, cap'n, and sorry at the same time," was his greeting from sam atkins. atkins was a grumpy sort and a self-made hermit. he seemed to enjoy the solitude of windswept mercury and the tedious, strenuous work of snaring cangrelas. "how come sorry, sam?" asked hank karns, as innocently as if he had never visited venus. atkins looked mournfully at him and jerked a thumb eastward. "i've got neighbors--bad ones. whatever you do, don't go over there. they'll trick you somehow. they don't want outsiders coming here, they've got a ship of their own that makes a trip every week or so." hank karns raised his eyebrows. "trocklebecks must be breeding faster'n they used to," he observed. "mercury never produced enough to justify more than two trips a year, if that." "trocklebecks," stated atkins, "are practically extinct. and the cangrelas are starving. i doubt if i could scare up four cases of prime claws to save my soul. it's _pagras_ that's doing it. the place is crawling with them. they bite the trockelbecks and they curl up and die." "mmm," commented hank karns. he remembered those serpents well. they were originally a venusian beast--a variety of dragon, and extremely venomous. they were really legged snakes, having thirty-six pairs of taloned legs and crab-like claws near the head, but the body was slender, rarely exceeding a yard in girth, for all their thirty-foot lengths. "i'm closing up shop here," said the gloomy atkins next. "you can take the pick of what i own if you'll set me down at the next stop you make." "now you just keep your shirt on, sam atkins," replied hank karns, "i'm not a-doing anything of the damn kind. i'm going over and have a talk with those gents in the next valley...." sam atkins glared at him. "no fool like an old fool," he remarked, hopelessly. hank karns chuckled. "seems folks are agreed pretty well about me. but let's eat, so i can get along my way." unmooring and getting in the anchors was a troublesome job with only a green boy for a helper, but hank karns managed it. at that it was a much easier maneuver to move the ship that mile over the ridge than to try to crawl it in the teeth of a permanent typhoon. moreover, if there was cargo to take aboard--and hank karns felt sure there would be--the ship would have to be moved anyhow. so he took off, circumnavigated the planet, and came up again, this time to the little office building and warehouse next to atkins' shack. he took good care not to go near the other group of buildings. as he descended, casting about for a good spot to fling out his grapnels he kept a sharp eye out for signs of life about the buildings. all he saw was a couple of bronzed men, both bald as billiard balls, working over some object in the lee of the warehouse. upon sighting the descending spaceship one went inside the warehouse and the other caught hold of the guide-wire and let himself be blown down to what appeared to be the office building. the man had on a heavily quilted suit of gray material--quilted so that if he lost his hold and was blown away, he would not bruise himself to death along the ground. on the fourth try, hank karns managed to ground his ship not far from the office door. this time he landed to leeward and had to make his way up-wind by crawling, assisted by a mercurian "staff," or one of the rakes among his trade goods. as he crawled, he observed he was being watched from a loophole beside the door. but as he drew himself erect, the door opened and a man came out to greet him. "hello, captain," said the man, cordially, "we're very glad to see you. come in and rest yourself." the man, karns observed, was dressed in a heavily quilted suit and was breathing heavily. but he had a full head of hair and a luxuriant mustache. "howdy, yourself," returned the lone trader. "phew! it's shore dusty hereabouts--i've heard of the place but i never seen it. the far trojans is my bailiwick and the asteroids in that corner...." "really?" said the man, helping his visitor through the door. the office was a single room, and no one else was in it. there was a bottle of voilet-hued liquor on the table and two glasses. "have a drink? this is home brew--our mercurian version of comet-dew--made from flowers that grow under the glacier lips." "don't care ef i do," remarked karns, and sat down in the seat indicated. "as i was saying, i thought i'd look in on this place, seeing as how i had to make the perihelion hop home. have to git home to see my oldest grandchild married." "wouldn't be interested in a bit of cargo, would you?" asked the man. "our own ship is overdue, and i have some freight for venus." "i'm allus interested in a bit of cargo," said karns, "but this trip i can't stop by venus--time's too short." "oh, well," said his host, indifferently, "it doesn't matter about that. i was thinking of shipping some boxes of claws and hides to our agent at venusberg for sale there. we are a new company and have no outlets on terra yet, unless you wanted to speculate on your own account and buy them outright." "speculation's my business," said hank karns, serene and bland. and added, with just a touch of foxiness, "_ef_ the buying price is right." "oh, we won't quarrel about that," laughed the man. "the hides are a by-product with us--this is a pharmaceutical outfit. we make a preparation from the hormones of these beasts. you can have the horns at almost any price." they spent the better part of an hour in good natured haggling, the child-like old man raising first one trivial objection after another to win small advantages--chiefly in the matter of valuation of the various items of trade goods he had to offer. none of the lone traders ever dealt in cash. the _swapper_ was most appropriately named. at last they shook on the bargain--and a bargain it most obviously was from the trader's point of view. mr. raoul dement, or so the company man styled himself, presented the visiting captain two flasks of the violet liquor after the old custom of the trade. "nice stuff," observed hank karns, licking his lip. "the best i ever." "there's twelve cases of it in the warehouse," said dement, with a wink. "now, if you were the smuggling sort, there would be a nice profit for you. but, of course...." "hell," exploded hank karns, "running comet-dew's no sin. wisht i had a decimo for every gallon i've hauled. once in a coon's age i get stuck with a little fine, but shucks--the customer'll allus pay that for you." there followed more dickering, but the upshot of it was that hank karns signed up for everything that had been offered him. "bon voyage," said mr. dement. "if you ever pass this way again, drop in and visit." "sure will," said hank karns, looking his man in the eye. he was interested in his host's forehead. about an inch from the right temple there was a slight depression--the ineradicable scar of an old skull injury. * * * * * mercury was still a big disk behind when the _swapper_ straightened out on her earthward trajectory. "step alive there, billy, we got lots to do." all the blandness, all the gullibility and child-like faith were gone from hank karns' face now. he looked much more like work-ridden gnome than an emaciated santa claus. for they had unpacked every case and strewn its contents on the deck, looking for contraband of a more serious nature than the harmless comet-dew. but no case contained anything except what the invoice declared. hank left the job of repacking to the boy and went about a minute search of the ship itself. in that he was not a moment too soon. behind the control board--hidden under the vine-like mass of electric leads--were two thermobombs. their detonating coils were already hot. the control board was divided into three panels, each controlling an opposite pair of the six tubes which were arranged hexagonally about the stern. two of the panels were about to be ruined by fire. hank karns' first impulse was to snatch the bombs loose and let them burn out harmlessly on the deck, but suddenly he checked it. instead he withdrew his hand and stuck his blistered fingers in his mouth. then he shouted a warning to billy hatch. "hey! stand by for a blast. bring an extinguisher, quick!" the boy ran up, but nothing happened for several minutes. then the two boards flashed fire. they put the fire out, but the damage was done. the _swapper_ was not nearly up to acceleration. she could never get to earth at that velocity. she would have to limp into venus on her two remaining tubes and have yard electricians renew her wiring. "pretty neat," said hank karns, admiringly, contemplating his ruined controls. "i did the best i could, cap'n," said billy, modestly, thinking the compliment was meant for him. "you did all right, son," said the skipper. "supposing you turn in now. i'll do what's left." hank karns did not at once change course for venus. he was still unsatisfied that he knew all he should know about his ship and its seemingly innocuous cargo. it was too obvious to miss that dement had ordered the bombs planted to ensure the _swapper's_ going into venus. it was an easy guess that the suggestion to take liquor on board was a device to ensure the ship's arrest and the confiscation that was sure to follow, venusian courts being what they were. but to hank karns' suspicious mind there was much more to it than that. in the first place, he could have obviated both. he could have snatched the bombs before they exploded, and he could yet jettison the liquor. moreover, if the mere elimination of all visitors to mercury was what they were after, those bombs could just as well have been of feroxite and designed to destroy the ship entirely, as was done in the case of the openly hostile merrill and carter. no, the master plot required the _swapper_ to go into venus and be done away with there. why? he thought that over. suddenly he arose and unlocked his little safe. from its lead container he withdrew a small pellet of radium and set up his fluoroscope. then he dragged out one of the trockelbeck hides. he searched it systematically from horn to stubby tail, from the scaly back to the claws of the feet. then he put his fluoroscope away. grinning into his beard, he went aft and got a pair of pliers, a hammer and a cold chisel. one of the horns came away as he screwed it off. he knew already from its fluorescence that it was hollowed out and filled with some substance, but he wanted to make sure. he shook the pale green powder inside out into his palm and sniffed it. yes, that was it. there was the unmistakable odor of crushed cherries and the sickish sweetness of the hashish of the skies--trilibaine! ah, now he was getting somewhere. and as he split a few back scales at random he found that each had a few grams of the insidious drug within it. one such hide would supply a retail peddler for many months, each scale a separate delivery. he delayed no longer. he shifted his course toward venus and at the same time sat down to his radio key. he sent: "urgent: venusberg sky yard. attention assistant dockmaster. four tubes disabled account switchboard fire. please reserve for me berth twenty-three. litigation in prospect. can you recommend lawyer? (signed) hank karns, captain, ts swapper." "well," he said to himself as he carefully swept up the tell-tale green dust from the deck and added it to the bundle of broken scales and neatly bored and threaded horns preparatory to firing it all through the garbage tube into his wake, "i've shot my wad. now let's see how smart mr. brown turns out to be." * * * * * he learned very soon that the thermobombs were but an added precaution. he had not been waiting more than a couple hours when his loudspeaker began to buzz. he glanced at it in surprise, as he was still a long way from venus. the message began coming through, harsh and peremptory, "lay to, _swapper_, to receive a boarding party. lay to, or take the consequences. sky-guard calling. lay to!" hank karns cut his rockets and went to the airlock to await the arrival of the cruiser. it was not long in coming. two smartly uniformed young officers sprang in. "let's see your manifest," ordered one, curtly, while the other headed for the hold. in a moment the second came back with two flasks of the pale violet comet-dew. "the old boy is lousy with the stuff," he reported to the other. "cases and cases of it." "yes," said the first, "and not a damn word about it in the manifest. this makes the second one of these old coots we've hauled up this month--what do you say, shall we call this one conspiracy?" "why not?" countered the other. karns said nothing beyond the usual blustering protests that would be expected of him. then he lapsed into silence as the two took over after ordering their own vessel to proceed. they did not go to the commercial sky-yard, but to the official one. other officers met them, and hank karns was led straight away to jail. he protested every step of the way, demanding to be taken before the terrestrial resident commissioner, or to be booked in the usual way. both those demands were refused, whereupon he asked for a lawyer. "don't kid yourself, old man," said one of his guards. "you're in venus now. here you are." [illustration: ray-gun levelled, the guard shoved hank stumblingly forward. he staggered and nearly fell, striking his head against the barred window. outside he could see the form of a spaceship. but it was not the _swapper_. the guard laughed and swaggered out.] there he was. there was no question about that. the barred door slammed behind his departing escort with an air of utter finality. "hi-ya, pop!" screamed some hoodlum down the corridor. "whatcha in for?" after that nothing happened. hank karns looked about him at his cramped cell and settled down to make the best of it. it would be tiresome, locked up alone this way, but in a day or so perhaps the mysterious mr. brown would put in his appearance. the next day came, but no mr. brown. however, early in the morning another visitor came in his place. karns heard footsteps approaching and the jangle of keys. his door was flung open and a tall stranger stepped in. the man was quite old and clad in the blue uniform, faded and patched, of a space skipper. he was obviously a lone trader, but if he was, he was the only one in the universe that hank karns did not know. for this man, with his beetling gray eyebrows and hard steely eyes beneath, he had never laid eyes on before. "two minutes, no more," warned the guard, and stood back in the corridor where he could both see and hear. "howdy hank," said the newcomer. "danged if it ain't gitting so that tom bagley spends half his time bailing you out or paying fines. why, i'd hardly landed here but what i heard you'd been slung into the calaboose again, and i says to myself, says i...." "yeah, tom, i know," said hank karns, penitently, trying not to look at the eavesdropping guard. inwardly he was seething with doubt and curiosity. could it be that this was some minion of the collector trying to trick him, or was he acting for mr. brown? he remembered telling the fellow in the wickerware place that what he really needed was a man of his own type. maybe they had found one. at any rate, he chose to pretend he knew him. "anyhow," went on the stranger, "i looked up a feller named brown that i know here and asked him what to do. he said things looked pretty black and his advice was to plead guilty and say nothing. might get off with a fine or something. and that he had a little money of yours. he got me this pass, but said he couldn't work it twice. now tell me, hank, what do you want me to do? i gotta get out of here for mercury in a day or so." hank karns looked at the man steadily for a moment. he was on the spot. the man was evidently from brown, but he knew neither of them personally. but worse, the guard was listening to every word, and there were doubtless dictaphones as well. but the two minutes were running out and there would not be a second visit. "i'll tell you, tom, there isn't but one thing you can do. i'll have to take my medicine, i guess, but i hate like everything to lose them trocklebeck hides and horns. the critters is dying off--poisoned by pagras. them danged snakes are all over mercury. you might not have money enough to buy 'em in, but sorta keep track of 'em, won't you? they're not worth much now, but they'll be _mighty_ valuable some day. there's a man here from io that'll pay a good price for 'em, ef you can find him." "time's up," snapped the guard, coming forward. "all right, you old scalawag," said the phony trader captain, jovially, "i'll do my best. but watch your step with that jedge. he's tough." "i know," said hank karns, despondently, and settled his face in his hands. the door slammed and the footsteps withdrew, ringing emptily down the metal passage. dreary day followed dreary day. time after time karns heard footsteps ringing in the corridor, and as often he heard the rattle of keys as some door was opened and another unfortunate was ordered out to meet his doom--the sentence that was to change his state from slow dry rot to the swift wet rot of the swamp. but it was never karns' door. then at last came the day when guards took him to the identical court where wilkerson had been tried. the evidence was brief and to the point. he was apprehended trying to sneak into venus when his clearance papers called for terra as his destination. he had on board eight cases of illicit liquor. he had no acceptable explanation. guilty. two years in the swamp and the loss of his ship was the sentence. then they took him back to his cell to await the next caravan to the penal camps. the second stretch of waiting was harder to take than the first, for he had placed the enigmatic collector now in his memory. the man was von kleber, thought to have died many years ago in the uranium mines of sans espérance. karns knew him to be a convict from the fact that he had grafted new skin on his face and head so that the burns and baldness caused by radioactivity would not show. but that he was the notorious von kleber himself had not occurred to him. and with that recognition came the other. raoul dement was the man known as frenchy the hop, vice-president of the von kleber ring. it was he who had operated the narcotic racket while the big boss turned his attention to such other lines as piracy, white-slaving and smuggling in general. if such men could flourish unchecked in the well-policed jovian satellites for more than a decade, it was hopeless to expect to dislodge them from their place on corrupt and autonomous venus. and so time dragged on and hank karns sat, awaiting the day when he would be taken away to the swamp. he wondered apathetically whether he would be sent to the same camp where wilkerson and hildreth were. but at last there came a day when footsteps rang again in the corridors and he heard doors being opened and men taken away. finally men stopped before his own cell and called him forth. between two soldiers they marched him away. to his surprise they took him first to the street, where three sedan chairs were waiting. the guards very politely indicated that karns was to get in the middle one and they took the others. hank clambered in and they set off. shortly they drew up before the courthouse. he was met inside by a tall, slender man of nearly his own age who wore the uniform of chief inspector of the interplanetary f.b.i. "how are you, captain?" he said cheerily. "sorry you had such a long stay in jail, but we'll try to make that up to you. come in here and let me show you something?" hank karns looked at the inspector in amazement. he was frank haynes, the man who had broken the von kleber case years before. there had been a time when they worked closely together on the information that karns furnished when he was released from sans espérance. he said nothing in reply, though, as haynes was leading the way into the courtroom. in the dock were two baldheaded prisoners--von kleber, erstwhile collector of the port, and mr. dement, manager of the mercurian drug works. the judge was a new one--a judge who looked like a judge should look. "there they are, thanks to you," said haynes, pointing. "two as clever criminals as ever plagued the system. we've been a long time catching them. but their career is over now. "our local operative, known as brown to you, has been trying for months to locate the source of the trilobaine flood but without avail. the venusian authorities blocked him at every turn but there was nothing we could do about that unless we could hang a federal offense on them. it was you who did that for us. i am very glad i gave you that identification ring after our cleanup on callisto and the list of the secret addresses of our agents. i felt then that you were a man of discretion and would not abuse its privileges and today i most certainly am more than justified. when i interviewed you in your cell...." "you!" inspector haynes grinned at hank's surprise. "pretty effective disguise, eh? well, as i was about to say--you gave me all the tips that were needed. first of all, your mention of the scourge of pagras told me it was trilobaine you had aboard, for that is a distillation of pagra venom. that gave us jurisdiction. i attended the secret auction and tried to bid. everything in the ship went for a song to von kleber's pals, but when i went to bid on the trocklebeck hides i ran into stiff opposition. they were not to be had at any price. so i stopped bidding. "our operatives trailed those hides through five sets of owners before we came to the collector himself. early this morning we made our raid and took in all their supplies of drugs and twenty-five of their peddlers. previously we had raided mercury and those men came in about an hour ago. they had quite a thriving little business, and why we didn't think of their method of smuggling in the trilobaine before this i'll never know. we knew, of course, that it must be coming in the ships that they confiscated. that much we were sure of. but we couldn't prove a damn thing until we knew _how_. thanks to you, the ring is busted now, and we can do something for those poor devils who were innocently duped into being carriers of the drug. runners have already been sent to the swamp to bring back your friends. and there you are. you'll find your old _swapper_ in the yard, completely overhauled and stocked to the gunwales with grade a trade goods." hank karns, trader, tugged at his grizzled beard and looked rather sheepishly at the floor. "dag it all," he said "that's fine enough. but gosh, i sure hated to make a damfool of myself in front of everybody thataway." inspector haynes broke into laughter and crossed over and slapped him on the back. "you old liar. you loved it!" spacewrecked on venus by neil r. jones [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from wonder stories quarterly winter 1932. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] [illustration: a beam of electricity leaped from the ship. instantly shafts of light spread from the nearest projectile to the ones on either side of it.] * * * * * neil r. jones [illustration] interplanetary commerce, if and when it begins, will be fraught with all of the dangers that accompany pioneering expeditions. there will be the terrible climatic conditions on other worlds to be faced, strange beasts and plants; and perhaps desperate and greedy men. that was the case when every new land was opened on earth and it may be expected to be true when we conquer the solar planets. mr. jones understands these things well. his vivid imagination, his sense of a good story and his knowledge of what may be expected upon other worlds combine to make this a novel and exciting yarn. and, as is always desired, it comes to a smashing finish with a surprising ending. his scientific weapons are quite novel, but so realistically does he portray them, that they strike one as being quite possible and likely to be used at some future time. * * * * * i stood looking from the space ship into the dense fog banks which rolled about us. we were descending through the dense cloud blanket of venus. how near we actually were to the ground i did not know. nothing but an unbroken white haze spread mistily, everywhere i looked. with jarring suddenness, a terrific shudder throbbed the length of the _c-49_, rattling the loose articles on the desk nearby. the dictatyper, with which i had lately been composing a letter, crashed violently to the floor. i reeled unsteadily to the door. it was nearly flung open in my face. "hantel!" captain cragley steadied himself on the threshold of my room. the captain and i had become intimate friends during the trip from the earth. in his eyes i saw concern. "what's wrong?" i queried. "don't know yet! come--get out of there, man! we may have to use the emergency cylinder!" i followed cragley. the crew, numbering seven, were gathered in the observation chamber. most of the passengers were there too. the _c-49_ carried twelve passengers, all men, to the deliphon settlement of venus. in the earlier days of space travel, few women dared the trip across space. several of the crew worked feverishly at the controls above the instrument board. "what's our altitude?" demanded cragley. "fifteen thousand feet!" was the prompt reply. "our drop is better than a hundred feet a second!" worried wrinkles creased the kindly old face of captain cragley. he debated the issue not one moment. "into the emergency cylinder--everybody!" herding the passengers ahead of them, cragley's men entered a compartment shaped like a long tube, ending in a nose point. when we were buckled into a spiral of seats threading the cylinder, cragley pulled the release lever. instantly, the cylinder shot free of the doomed _c-49_. for a moment we dropped at a swifter pace than the abandoned ship. after that, our speed of descent was noticeably decreased. peering at the proximity detector, cragley announced that we were quite safe from a collision. the _c-49_ was far below us and dropping fast. "no danger now," he assured the passengers. "we'll come down like a feather. then all we have to do is radio deliphon to send out a ship for us." cragley was equal to the situation. in this year of 2342, when the days of pioneer space flying were commencing to fade into history, it required capable men to cope with interplanetary flight. if cragley brought his crew and passengers safely through this adversity and also salvaged the valuable cargo of the _c-49_, it was another feather in his cap. quentin, second to cragley in command, labored over the sending apparatus. quentin looked up at his superior officer with an uneasy expression. the captain was quick to sense trouble. "what's wrong?" "i don't like the looks of this," was quentin's reply. "the sender refuses to function properly. i can do nothing with it." cragley's face bore a troubled look. he stepped to the side of his subordinate for a hasty inspection of the radio sender. "the receiver plate doesn't light up, either," said quentin. "looks to me as though someone has been tampering with this." in their spiral of seats, the passengers looked silently and gravely upon the cylinder base where cragley and his staff were gathered over the apparatus. a dull glow of cloudy light coming in through the transparent interstices of the descending cylinder softened and counteracted the glow of the radium lights. an intangible feeling of depression hung in the air. "elevation, five hundred feet!" announced one of the crew from his position at the altitude dial. "make a landing," ordered cragley. "we can't be very far from where the _c-49_ fell. if there's enough of the ship left, we may be able to discover the cause of this accident." down through the lush vegetation, the cylinder felt its way, dropping very slowly. finally it came to rest on a knoll. "how far are we from the ship?" queried the captain. "about seventeen hundred feet south of it, i'd say." "we'll go outside and get organized. we've got to get that platinum shipment off the _c-49_ and get into communication with headquarters at deliphon somehow. the proximity detector tells us we're over two hundred miles from there." one of the passengers spoke up with a suggestion. "can't we go the rest of the way in this? you can send back for what's left of the ship. i've an important reason for arriving in deliphon quickly. if--" "not a chance," cut in cragley, both amused and annoyed. "the cylinder wouldn't take us anywhere. all the cylinder is good for is an emergency descent. it has no driving power." * * * * * preparations were made for a trip to the wrecked space ship. "might i go with you and the men, captain?" i ventured. "sure, hantel, come along! i'll have to leave part of the crew here with the passengers and the cylinder, so i'm glad to have a few volunteers." "count on me, then," another of the passengers spoke up. i recognized him as chris brady. he was a man about my own age, possibly younger, perhaps in his late twenties. brady and i had become friends during the trip, having spent many hours together. this was my second trip to the clouded planet. brady had made many trips to venus, spending considerable time among the colonies. i had learned much about the man which had interested me. our party consisted of cragley, brady, three of the crew, four other passengers and myself. well armed, we set out through the yellow jungle in search of the remains of the _c-49_. quentin insisted that it was not far away according to the proximity detector which was especially attuned to the bulk and metal composition of the space ship. progress was difficult in spots, and we found it necessary to hack our way through lush growths of vegetation, taking numerous detours around interlaced verdure. we were out of sight of the cylinder almost immediately. one of the passengers who had volunteered to accompany us complained at the prospects of becoming lost. cragley calmed the man's anxiety with a brief explanation of the directometer he carried. it was an elaborate perfection of the old compass. on a square plate, our position was always designated in relation to the _c-49_. by telescopic condensation of the field, cragley was capable of bringing deliphon on the instrument. it was well over two hundred miles beyond us. "if quentin doesn't have that televisor fixed by the time we get back, we are in a jam." "there's the ship!" we looked where the pointing arm of brady designated. the wrecked space ship lay imbedded in the murky waters of a swamp, fully one-third of its bulk out of sight. above, the torn and tangled mass of vegetation bore witness to the rapid descent of the craft. mighty branches were torn away from giant trees. the ship itself was enwrapped by interlaced creepers which it had ripped loose from the upper foliage. we waded through warm, stagnant water which teemed with marine life. we were halfway to the side of the _c-49_ when a cry from behind startled me into action. i turned and stared into the gaping jaws of a terrifying serpent wriggling through the shallow water on many legs. several electric pistols flashed almost simultaneously. the loathesome monster turned belly up, floating dead upon the surface of the swamp water. from then on, we advanced more cautiously. coming alongside the crushed hull of the interplanetary liner, we made an inspection of its position. the space ship lay nearly right side up, the decks slanting a bit sharply to one side. upon the outer deck of the _c-49_, cragley scratched his head and looked the situation over. "not so bad as i'd feared," was his comment. "wouldn't be much else but junk here if it hadn't been for the jungle breaking the fall." cragley pointed upward to the strong barrier of interlaced foliage. "i hope to discover just why it was we fell." "wasn't there an explosion?" i inquired. "there was a great shock just before you opened the door to my stateroom. for a moment i thought we'd struck the planet." "yes--there was an explosion," cragley replied, a bit reluctant to voice the admission. "it occurred somewhere in the mechanism operating our radium repellors. that's why the ship started falling. its weight was left partly free against the gravity of venus. we had to leave so quickly there was no time for inspection." one by one, we descended into the wrecked _c-49_. in that part of the ship which lay lowest below water level, tiny streams of dirty water trickled between wrenched plates, forming pools of water which rose slowly about us. cragley and his men inspected the radium repellors. they whispered strangely among themselves. a steely glint shone resolutely in captain cragley's eyes. "there's deviltry been done here," he stated fiercely. "the _c-49_ was deliberately wrecked by someone on board!" heavy silence followed his words. one of the crew returned from the vault room. he announced to the captain that the _c-49's_ shipment of platinum was intact as they had left it. captain cragley turned the matter over in his mind. he was an astute man. having smelled out a conspiracy, he was planning the best way he knew to thwart it. the platinum itself presented an obvious motive. finally he spoke. "you passengers are to go up into the observation room and wait for us. under no condition are you to leave the room and wander about the ship." captain cragley's orders were obeyed to the letter. * * * * * in the observation chamber, brady asked my opinion of the discovery captain cragley had made. "what's up, anyways?" i shook my head. brady was plainly nervous. others of the passengers who had accompanied us shared his apprehension. fully a half hour had passed and still cragley and his men put in no appearance. outside, myriads of life flew, crawled and swam about the damaged craft. presently, cragley and his three men emerged from the lower levels of the _c-49_. they presented an uncouth spectacle bedraggled as they were with grime and dirty water. in their arms they carried many small boxes. though small, each box was extremely heavy, being loaded with a fortune in platinum bars. "we'll return to the cylinder," said cragley. "there's important work to be done." once more we trudged back through the swamp and jungle, following the trail we had made. several times, huge shadowy forms flapped on the wing overhead, but there was no attack. back at the cylinder, captain cragley ordered every man out into the open. he drew their attention. "there's serious business here," he said slowly, his eyes darting from face to face. "i want the man, or men who wrecked the _c-49_!" the captain snapped out the final words. surprise, terror and alarm registered among the passengers, but cragley evidently saw no admissions of guilt. "the man who is responsible for our present condition owns this!" exclaimed cragley suddenly. from behind him where he had been concealing it, he drew forth a square box studded with knobs and dials. "i know which one of you owns this. it was found hidden in his room by one of my men." again cragley watched for a betraying face. at the time, i doubted cragley's statement that he knew who owned the box. if he knew, i asked myself, why was it he did not come right out and make an accusation with whatever evidence he held? but that was not cragley's way. "we've also uncovered his two accomplices," continued the captain in cool, level tones. "there is proof which points definitely to them." he paused. no one spoke. the silence of death had descended upon the entire group. for a moment my scalp prickled from the high tension of nerves which hung over this episode. cragley's burning eyes made every man of us a criminal. "the penalty for this offense is--death!" cragley hurled out the final word with dramatic suddenness. there was a stealthy movement among those who stood near the cylinder. "drop it!" snapped quentin. "or i'll bore you!" one of the passengers, davy by name, dropped an electric pistol and raised his hands. "raynor!" thundered cragley, pointing a denunciatory finger at another of the space ship's passengers. "let's have an end to this shamming! step out there with davy! give up your weapons!" with the attitude of a fatalist, raynor stepped forward, allowing quentin to disarm him. "and now for the owner of this little box," said cragley, a cryptic promise in his tones. "this radio-electrifier excited an electric explosion of static in the radium repellors. the reason, i suppose, was prompted by designs on the shipment of platinum. will the owner of this ingenious little invention step up--or do i have to call his name?" no one moved. "just as i thought, brady, you have the nerve to bluff this thing out to the finish!" the face of chris brady grew pale. he appeared stunned. those nearest him stepped back in surprise. davy and raynor were the only ones who did not seem taken aback by the revelation. "but i've never seen that thing before," brady protested. "why, i----" "not a chance of wiggling your way out of this, brady! we've got the goods on you sure enough! will you kindly explain how you intended making a getaway with the platinum?" "i'm innocent!" exclaimed brady heatedly. "i don't know these men!" "this contrivance was found hidden in your room, brady! communications between you and these men were also found!" chris brady fell silent. the evidence was overwhelming. cragley turned to the other culprits. "have either of you protests to make?" "we know when we're caught," growled raynor, shooting a swift glance at brady. "you've got the goods on us. we're not squawking." "you were taking orders from this man?" the captain inquired, pointing at brady. both davy and raynor replied in the affirmative, adding further proof against brady. "known him very long?" "don't know him at all," replied raynor, "only that he's the boss." "we've been taking orders from him since we left the earth," supplemented davy. "he had us kill the radio equipment a little while before he set off the explosion." "and how did you expect to get away with the platinum?" "he's the only one of us who knows," replied davy, nodding his head at brady. "brady, i suppose there'll be another ship along pretty soon--some of your friends from deliphon. now i see it all. well, they won't find us, that's all. we won't be here." "i've no idea that...." "pretty thorough, weren't you?" snapped cragley. "but you slipped up a few notches! thought there wouldn't be much left of the ship! too careless, brady! you three men are sentenced to death!" "a trial!" screamed brady. "we're entitled to a trial!" "not under the new interplanetary laws! this is far worse than mutiny, and you're on venus now! you've had your trial!" chapter ii grim retribution overhung the condemned men. it promised swift justice. captain cragley was the law. he dealt out the penalty according to the code governing interplanetary navigation. "we must get away from this vicinity in a hurry!" he informed quentin. "you can bet your last coin there'll be a ship around pretty soon to pick up the platinum and these three men! if there's a battle, we haven't a chance in our present condition!" "where'll we go?" asked quentin. "somewhere and hide?" "we'll head for deliphon. it's a long, hard tramp, but it's our only chance. get things ready to leave. pack everything we'll want to take with us. just before we start, we'll have this execution over with." quentin immediately apprised the crew and passengers of the _c-49_ of captain cragley's intentions. he stated the fact that brigands were expected shortly, telling of what they would do to luckless passengers who fell into their hands. a second expedition was sent to the _c-49_ for food stores and various articles it was deemed necessary to carry along on the march. with the usual brief ceremony required in such proceedings, brady, davy and raynor were lined up before a shallow grave which had hastily been dug for them. five of the crew stood at attention, electric guns half raised. cragley, in a crisp, steady voice, gave the orders. the three men, white of face, stared fascinated at their executioners--into the face of death. "ready!" the men of the _c-49_ tensed themselves. brady no longer expostulated on his pleas of innocence. he faced his fate like a man. "aim!" the pistols were raised. five left eyes closed. sights were drawn. the interval preceding the fatal word seemed endless. at the last moment, it was apparent that brady was unequal to the strain. he closed his eyes. his body swayed. "fire!" five blue streaks shot noiselessly from the weapons. the three men stiffened and fell--into the cavity dug for them. their lives had been forfeited for their crimes. dirt was shoveled upon them. no longer would fliers of the space lanes fear them. but there were other outlaws. captain cragley, his crew of six, and nine passengers, set out in the direction of deliphon. the trip promised to be perilous and fraught with danger, as well as grueling and full of hardships. though i had been to venus once before, i knew little of the yellow jungles. my time on the clouded world had been spent in the colonies. our first day of tramping took us through lush jungles and dismal swamps. the ground was fairly level. occasionally we came to rough, rocky outcrops which protruded above ground. these we invariably circled. several times we found it necessary to ford rivers and skirt lakes. our progress was very slow. quentin prophesied we would be on the march for fully twenty rotations of venus unless we struck the comparatively clear country which cragley was sure existed between us and deliphon. fearsome beasts menaced us at all times. we were ever on our guard, and they usually fell electrocuted before completing their charges among us. even so, we experienced many narrow escapes. many of these monsters were larger than the prehistoric dinosaurs which once roamed the earth. they were difficult to kill, and it required the maximum voltage of our electric guns to bring them down. clothes torn, bodies bruised and scratched, we presented a sorry spectacle. most of us felt the way we looked, but cragley's unquenched determination spurred us on toward deliphon. he was anxious to put a good distance between us and the abandoned cylinder. he feared the brigands, friends of the three who had been executed. though brady had not admitted the claim, the captain was certain a shipload of the outlaws were scheduled to show up for the platinum and their comrades. at night, a camp was set up. cragley argued against lighting a campfire, asserting that it would prove a magnet to the wandering brigands he believed were in search of us. quentin, employing smooth diplomacy, made it clear to his superior officer that a campfire promised to safeguard us from prowling beasts. quentin cited the fact that it was a common sight for a night cruiser of venus to look down upon fully a dozen or more campfires of the troglodytes. * * * * * guards were posted during the night. it was well. the fires held the nocturnal creatures at bay. whenever one of them did muster enough courage to charge, it was revealed in the firelight and shot down. several times i awoke to see a bellowing monster crash in death at the edge of our camp. sleeping, we found was a fitful task. the first night proved the worst. next morning, we plodded on again through the thick, yellow jungle. the country became a bit hilly, yet none the less wooded. in the valleys between, we often found swamps. while approaching one of these swamps, we noticed a gray mist hanging over the stagnant pools. it appeared not unlike the steaming vapors we had previously encountered. one of the crew, plunging ahead of us to gauge the depth of the water and steer us clear of treacherous, clinging mud, became enveloped in the mist. almost immediately his complexion turned black, and he fell strangling in throes of death. another of the crew ran forward to drag back his comrade, but captain cragley warned him back. "he's too far gone! there's nothing we can do for him!" "what is it?" "a poisonous swamp gas! there's enough poison in one breath to kill twenty men!" instinctively, we recoiled from the milky haze. "how are we to cross?" asked quentin. "put on the space helmets!" ordered cragley. "that stuff can't hurt you unless you breathe it!" to prove his words, cragley donned his space helmet and advanced into the mist. looking back through the transparent facing of the helmet, he beckoned to us. previously, many of the passengers had rebelled against cragley's persistence that they carry the added weight of the space helmets. it had seemed utterly useless. now, as they moved unharmed through the deadly fumes, they thanked his foresight. we carried the dead body of the luckless man, who had saved us through his unfortunate discovery, to the top of the next hill where burial was made. the second night, it came my turn to share guard duty with one of the crew while the others slept. the fires were plentifully fueled with dry branches and stalks. fire material was piled in reserve. grinstead, my companion watcher, went his rounds while i attended the fire, keeping the flames well supplied. protected by an embankment erected near a rocky ledge, the balance of our party slept. my eyes fell upon the little mound of boxes which contained the precious metal. cragley and quentin lay on each side of the platinum shipment. not since we had commenced the march had they let it out of their sight or reach. "hantel!" it was grinstead's voice. "come here a moment!" hastily i ran to his side. he was stooped over a mark on the ground far to one side of our camp just within circle of the firelight. mutely he pointed to a footprint--the footprint of a six-toed man. "troglodytes!" i exclaimed. grinstead nodded. "fresh, too! think we'd better awaken cragley?" he asked. "these cave men don't seem bad when they're peaceful, but if they get going--they're devils!" i stared back into the alarmed eyes of grinstead and pondered the matter. i was about to voice an opinion, leaving it up to grinstead to do as he pleased, when a startled cry rang out from the direction of the sleepers. instantly, everything was confusion and uproar. sleek, naked bodies prowling about our equipment flashed out of sight into the jungle. the whole camp came awake, exclamations and profanity mingling with the weird cries of the troglodytes. recovering from my surprise, i fired a shot at one of the rapidly disappearing cave men, but the flickering firelight distorted my aim. then occurred the most amazing feature of the whole affair. a man, fully dressed, ran out of sight with the troglodytes, melting into the shadows of the surrounding jungle. cragley ran up beside me and saw him too. he was out of sight before either of us had a chance to fire. at first, i had thought the man to be one of our party, but his flight with the cave men disproved the assumption. "wonder what the idea is?" spluttered cragley. "our equipment," said quentin, pointing to the food stores and other articles the cave men had hastily disarranged. "they came to steal!" "but the man!" i insisted. "a renegade!" cragley shook his head. "it's queer," he said. "i don't know what to make of it." * * * * * an examination of our equipment proved we had suffered few losses. several boxes of synthetic food were gone, and one of the crew had lost his electric pistol. aside from these thefts, nothing else appeared to be missing. cragley tripled the guards, and the rest went back to sleep once more. nothing else occurred during that night. i was unable to get the fleeing renegade out of my mind. there was something familiar about the figure as i had seen it revealed in the glare of the firelight just before the savages disappeared in the jungle. the thefts of the food and pistol were logical enough in view of the fact that the troglodytes had stolen them, but, guided by the man, why had they neglected stealing the platinum? evidently, they were unaware of its presence. murky morning suffused the perpetually clouded sky, and once more we pushed on toward our goal, distant deliphon--so near and yet so far. much to the relief of everyone, we came out of the jungle into a comparatively open country. high grasses grew about us, but the going was much easier than we had experienced while in the jungle. the land before us was a bit rolling and hilly. leafy copses dotted the landscape as far as the eye might reach. in the open, the danger from lurking beasts was at a minimum. our hopes rose higher. it was around noon when the space ship from the south cruised into view above us. cragley viewed it in consternation. "the brigands! now we're up against it!" for a moment, pandemonium reigned among the frightened passengers. all had plans, each one trying to put his own into force at once. out of the chaos, captain cragley gathered order. "head for the bushes!" he cried. "we're all armed! if they come too close, let them have it!" the assurance in cragley's voice i knew was faked. like him, i realized the desperate odds which confronted us. the ship was high above. we had plenty of time to scurry for cover before it dropped lower. cragley and quentin arranged us to the best advantage, and we waited for the initiative of the outlaws of venus. the ship descended several hundred feet away. our retreat into the bushes had been carefully watched. several men left the craft and came slowly, uncertainly, toward our position. "stop where you are!" snapped cragley from his place of concealment. "come across wi' the metal!" shouted one of them in a high pitched voice. "an' get outa there--or get riddled!" cragley's reply was a blue spurt from the muzzle of his pistol. the distance was much too far for accurate firing, but the charge went dangerously close. the outlaws immediately turned tail and ran for their craft. we waited for their next act, knowing that the battle had only commenced. the space ship shot skyward, circling our wide clump of bushes. the survivors of the _c-49_ tensed themselves for a destructive bombardment from above. it did not come. captain cragley was plainly surprised. he was aware that the outlaw ship carried instant death if they chose to use it. the craft hovered some two hundred feet above us. cruising slowly in a circle, it suddenly dropped four objects well outside our improvised stronghold. the projectiles were shaped like torpedoes. the explosions which were expected never came. the projectiles stood straight up from the ground, their front ends imbedded deeply. it was all a strange procedure. cragley was nonplussed. "they probably contain explosives," ventured quentin, answering the question he knew stood out in the captain's mind. "i'm not so sure of that," said cragley. meanwhile, i had been doing some rapid thinking. anxiously, i watched the ship above us, keeping myself partially screened from view of any sniper who might be looking down. i turned to the captain, a wild plan outlined in my mind. "let me go out there," i offered. "i can----" "not on your life!" he exclaimed, placing a restraining hand upon my arm. "it's death to go out there!" "it's death to remain," i assured him earnestly. "but not definitely certain," he maintained. "for some reason or other they're holding off from us. we have an advantage of some kind, but damned if i know what it is." "look!" cried quentin. he pointed to three of the four projectiles which were visible from where we lay. they were glowing strangely with intense light. a jagged beam of electricity leaped out from the airship. instantly iridescent shafts of light spread from the nearest projectile to the ones on either side of it. the shafts made a flashing display, crooked, forked and darting. "lightning bolts!" exclaimed cragley. "we're surrounded by a fence of them!" "penned in--like rats in a trap!" "what will they do now?" "hard to tell. probably pick us off one by one at their leisure. they seem to be going to a lot of unnecessary trouble for no reason at all." three sharp blasts of sound issued from the outlaw ship. a pause, and then followed three more. i watched cragley to see what action, if any, he would take. he seemed undecided. i began to grow uneasy. "not a chance of breaking through that screen of electricity," said quentin. "they got us right where they want to keep us." "but why?" quentin shook his head. "if it was just the platinum, they could destroy every one of us, then come in here and take it." chapter iii weird figures suddenly burst the walls of flaming death. they were outlaws attired in strange accoutrements. a series of metal rings surrounded them, connected to their bodies with spokes. the electrical discharges darted all over the rings. as they came closer, we discovered that they were not surrounded by separate rings but with a continuous spiral which narrowed together at the top of the head. the other end dragged on the ground. "electric resistors of some kind!" muttered cragley whose face wore a hopeless expression. "they walked right through those lightning bolts!" quentin aimed his pistol and fired at one of the slowly advancing figures. the spiral glowed faintly. the outlaw continued his approach. "there goes our last chance!" i cried. "we might just as well toss up the sponge!" cragley was thinking fast. it was unlike him to give up without a fight. but what was he to do when his weapons had been shorn of their force, leaving him utterly helpless before the superior strength of the brigands. several figures rushed from the bushes. they were panic-stricken passengers. in alarm, despite the warning cry the captain hurled at them, they rushed straight past the advancing figures with their encumbering spirals. frightened, bewildered, and hemmed in by the play of lightning, they ran directly in the path of the electric fence. the crackling bolts enfolded three of them before the fourth became startled out of his madness, retreating from the flashing death. one of the spiral clad figures turned and regarded the frightened man for a moment. raising his electric pistol, he fired, and the passenger from the ill-fated _c-49_ joined his companions who had futilely rushed the electric barrier. a voice from the space ship of the brigands suddenly gave out an order. the voice came from a speaker and was many times amplified. "crew and passengers of the _c-49_--come out in the open. bring the platinum with you. keep away from the electric fence unless you wish to die. come out--or we shall come in and hunt you down." the spiralled figures inside the fence had stopped at sound of the voice and were waiting for us to comply with the order from the space ship. more of the brigands in their electric resistors were advancing through the lightning bolts which crackled noisily. the powerful voltage danced and played upon the spirals, disappearing into the ground. cragley paused, undecided. lines of broken resolve creased his face. previously, he had remained strong and stubborn in the face of overwhelming adversity when chances were slim. there now remained not even the slimmest of chances, and stubborn courage yielded to reason. "i guess the game's up, quentin." he turned to regard his under officer in speculation. quentin waited for his captain's orders. again came the voice from the outlaw craft in its strident tones. they were tinged with a touch of impatience. "show yourselves inside of one minute, or else be executed at once! unless----" "hold out!" cried a new voice from the speaker, breaking in upon the first voice. "you have friends on----" then came sounds of scuffling. to our ears came imprecations and curses. "don't go out there!" warned the second voice in laboring gasps. "stay----" with a sudden snap, the speaker was cut off. nothing more was heard. for a moment the lightning bolts comprising the electric fence flashed out--then reappeared. a few seconds later they disappeared once more, returning shortly to flicker in a peculiar manner. it was evident that some sort of a struggle was taking place inside the outlaw ship. the electric display crackled and sputtered louder than ever. with a sudden, explosive thunder clap, the four terminal posts blew to pieces. the spiralled figures turned in alarm back toward their craft. one of them, hovering close to our haven of retreat, did not follow his comrades. instead, he drew forth from a long side pocket a black object. at first glance, it seemed shaped like a pistol. but it was much longer and was proportioned differently. he waited patiently until several more of the brigands had returned to the ship. raising the black weapon, he aimed carefully at his fellow outlaws. the man's strange actions amazed me. he was turning upon his own comrades. several of the brigands fell backward off the deck of the outlaw craft. cragley, beside me, was speechless in surprise at the rapid succession of events. the outlaw's strange weapon which emitted no flash had us all wondering. later, we discovered that it was a radium gun, a new instrument of destruction still in the experimental stage. "who is he?" voiced cragley. "can't be the fellow we heard over the speaker," observed quentin. "this man came through the electric fence with the first ones." "somebody over there is pulling for us," insisted cragley, "and the man with the black gun must be a friend, too." a flash darted out from the ship, hitting the spiralled figure operating his mystifying weapon. the spiral glowed brilliantly. the man inside the spiral remained unaffected, continuing to manipulate the knob of his weapon. something went wrong with it, for the outlaw who had so suddenly turned against his friends tinkered with it a moment, then threw it from him in disgust. meanwhile, the brigands had massed inside the ship. * * * * * with a loud crackling, the speaker's volume was thrown on again. an alarmed voice vibrated in our ears. above the words came a rattling and banging--also the muffled sound of shouting men. "jasper! come t' the control room! i'm locked in! they're bustin' down the door! bring that gun o' yours! hurry, lad!" jasper looked upon his broken weapon, hesitated a moment, then picked it up--butt foremost. seizing it in cudgel fashion, he made for the ship. "come on!" roared cragley exultantly. "now's our chance!" we found our numbers reduced to ten, but every one of us leaped forward at cragley's order, ready to stake everything on the one desperate, fighting chance which had come so unexpectedly. we had nearly overtaken the man we had heard addressed as jasper when a crackling flame of lightning leaped out at us. a hissing roar smote our ear drums and we were temporarily dazzled by an intense light. the aim had been too high. the electric charge had gone over our heads. the man in the control room had frustrated the attempt to electrocute us. several of the brigands jumped out of the ship to meet us. they still wore the encumbering spirals. a powerful gas of paralyzing effect was shot into our faces. we became as immobile as statues. jasper, too, was overcome. instantly, we were divested of our weapons. the man locked in the control room of the ship had been taken. whoever these two men were who had championed our cause, their desperate efforts had failed, and now we were all in the same boat. the one who had addressed us over the speaker was led out of the ship and shoved into our group beside his fellow traitor, jasper. the latter's spiral was promptly torn off. as the outlaws passed among us, searching for concealed weapons, i felt a cold object thrust cautiously into my hand. my heart thrilled to the contact of a pistol. i held my hand close to my side that none might see. the effects of the gas wore off quickly. the chief of the brigands, his brutal face set in anger, strode up to the pair who had turned against him during the stress of combat. his dark eyes blazed, and he raised his clutching hands menacingly above the two. jasper and his friend stared back unabashed, a reckless glitter in their eyes, ready for what might happen. "i don't know who you are, but i've got suspicions!" snapped the outlaw. "you'll both die horribly--the kind of death we reserve for such as you!" he turned upon cragley. "where's the platinum?" he demanded. "is it over there?" he pointed to the clump of bushes from which we had lately emerged. "or have you hidden it?" "see for yourself!" snapped cragley. "when we find it, all tongues will be silenced," he remarked significantly. "if it's hidden, we'll find it just the same. we know how to make tongues wag." it was a desperate situation. cragley knew that the time of reckoning had come. the platinum lay in an open space among the bushes where we had taken our stand on seeing the approach of the outlaw ship. i fondled the gun i held out of sight. leaving a large force of his men to guard us, the leader of the brigands took the balance of his men and headed for the spot where captain cragley had left the boxes of platinum. "well, ben," observed jasper, philosophically scratching his head, "we did the best we could." "which weren't quite enough, jasper, m'lad." "who are you two?" queried cragley. each one looked at the other questioningly. for a moment neither spoke. then through a rough, unkempt beard, ben grinned at his companion. "might as well tell 'im, jasper. the game's up." "we ain't outlaws, that's sure, though we might have made believe so," said jasper. "he's ben cartley, the best pal a man ever had. i'm jasper jezzan. we're from the hayko unit." my mouth fell open in surprise. i nearly dropped the gun i had kept concealed in a fold of my clothing. everyone, at some time or another, had heard of the famous hayko unit. the order, established since the perfection of space flying, was comprised of men pledged to keep the space lanes and colonies safe from the lawless element. "we'll be in the death unit when ledageree and his men come back," cracked ben, chuckling at his own grim joke. "did you plant the platinum, or is it back there?" "back there," echoed cragley dejectedly. "we haven't a chance. i thought maybe we could make deliphon with the stuff before these outlaws got wise." "we followed the trail easily from the air," remarked cartley. "first, we found the space ship and the cylinder. after that, we just watched for the green campfire markers is all." "campfire markers?" questioned cragley in excitement. "what do----" "there comes ledageree!" interrupted jasper. the brigand chieftain and his men were emerging from the bushes with the little boxes stacked in their arms. "we're sunk now!" exclaimed quentin. impulsively, the captain took a step in the direction of the space ship. one of the outlaws guarding us stepped forward before the captain, bringing up his pistol. an evil light shone in his eyes, the fanatical gleam of the confirmed killer. it was the man's intention to kill cragley where he stood. * * * * * but the act was never consummated. a blank look overspread the outlaw's face. his face held that strange expression which is so characteristic of the electrocuted man. he tottered and fell face downward. uttering a cry of agony, another of the brigands fell, seizing frantically at a shaft which protruded from his body, a shaft of crude hammered metal. while we all stared in surprise at the fallen men, jasper jezzan, quick to take stock of the situation, looked out over the high grass. "troglodytes!" he cried. "that's one o' their metal darts, ben!" substantiating jasper's discovery, there came a chorus of yells from all sides. heads came into sight above the tall grass. darts flew thick and fast, yet every one found its mark. the cave men of venus brandished their weapons preparatory to rushing in upon us in overwhelming numbers. the outlaws blazed away at the savages, but the latter proved to be difficult targets at which to aim. they were always on the move, running, hiding, reappearing to launch their deadly darts from another direction. ledageree dropped his armful of the precious metal and screamed an order. "into the ship!" it was then that i noticed the curious fact that none of the passengers or crew of the _c-49_ had been hit. the remaining outlaws attempted to herd us into the ship. their numbers rapidly diminished under the hail of darts cast at them so accurately by the troglodytes. many of the cave men toppled over in death as the outlaws made a hit, but more came to take the places of those fallen. "there's the white man--the renegade!" shouted quentin. indeed, it was so. the troglodytes were led by the man who had broken into our camp on the previous night. seizing a pistol from one of the fallen brigands, ben hastily pointed it at the yelling cave dwellers who were running full force in our direction, the renegade at their head. "no. ben, no!" cried jasper. "they're friends!" "it's brady!" shouted one of the passengers of the _c-49_. "chris brady!" "impossible!" exclaimed cragley. "he's dead!" "you're wrong, cragley!" said i, also recognizing the renegade. "that is brady!" i heard a noise behind me. i turned and looked. ledageree and two of his surviving brigands were clambering aboard the space ship. the horde of troglodytes were nearly upon us. in trepidation, i moved backward. ledageree had gained the deck and was running in the direction of the air lock when brady saw him, raising his pistol to fire. from its concealment, i brought my gun into action. with hasty aim, i pulled the trigger, cursing myself for a wide miss. i was a bundle of nerves at the moment. again i tried, this time drawing a fine bead. chris brady was clearly outlined beyond the sights of my pistol. a split second before i squeezed the trigger, jasper jezzan seized my arm. the flash of power shot harmlessly into the sky. fiercely, i battled with the hayko man, raising my pistol to brain him. but cartley was upon me, and i went down under their combined weight. something hit my head. blackness engulfed me. when i regained consciousness, i was aware of the babble of voices. my head throbbed and swam dizzily. a ring of troglodytes encircled me. i heard chris brady talking. had he come back to life in some miraculous manner? i had seen him shot and buried. his words penetrated my dazed senses. "when i saw that everything was stacked against me with no chances of proving my innocence, i tried an old trick, cragley. i was afraid you'd get wise to me, but you didn't. i fell a split second before your men fired. i watched your lips for my signal. none of the shots touched me. i played dead and was buried in the shallow grave. when you went, i dug myself out. i came pretty near smothering." "we buried you alive!" "you did, and i'm thankful i was alive--and still am." "but the troglodytes?" "my friends," replied brady. "i've been among them a great deal during my life upon venus. i know their language and customs. they look up to me and obey my orders. we've been following you. the other night, we broke into your camp and stole food and this pistol." "then you're not the outlaw we supposed you to be?" cragley was amazed beyond words. apologies flooded to his lips and remained unspoken. what apology could there be to this innocent man he had all but sent to his death? "no--i'm not, but i knew there was no way of proving it to you," replied brady, "at least not until deliphon was reached. with my friends, here, i followed your trail. we heard the sounds of fighting far ahead. when we found you attacked by outlaws, i knew it was my chance to save you and prove myself." "you have proved yourself!" exclaimed cragley warmly. "but what about raynor and davy?" "they thought brady was their leader they'd been told t' watch for!" interrupted jezzan spiritedly. "plain as day, ain't it, ben?" he turned to his comrade for a confirmative nod. "there's your man!" jasper jezzan pointed at me where i sat on the ground, collecting my wits. i knew that i had been caught red handed. denials were useless. "ern hantel!" exclaimed cragley in surprise. "he's the last man i'd suspect!" "just the same, he's the man you thought brady was," persisted my prosecutor relentlessly. "he put green flares in your campfire ashes, so's we could follow you." "how did you men come to be with the outlaws?" asked brady, a bit confused by the surprising revelations he had heard. "the authorities at deliphon have suspected this gang for quite a spell," replied cartley. "jasper and i joined 'em t' find out. we're much obliged t' you and your cave men, brady. you got us out of a tight pinch." cragley confronted me. "what have you to say for yourself, hantel?" he asked grimly. "they've got my number right," i grumbled, rubbing an aching head. "no use bucking a hayko man in a place like this." i nodded in the direction of jezzan and cartley. "ledageree was warned against strangers." "then you admit brady is innocent?" queried the captain, seeking the confession which would irrevocably clear the accused man. "yes. he's innocent. davy and raynor never knew me. i sent my instructions to them through brady, leaving messages where they believed he'd left them. when we left the earth, i recognized davy and raynor right off. for secrecy's sake, they weren't supposed to talk with the man they took orders from. i took advantage of this fact by placing my article of identification in the possession of brady." "the brown collars you loaned me!" exclaimed brady, realizing the mode of his undoing. "after i'd first stolen your collars and destroyed them," i added. "i was afraid of something going wrong before ledageree and his men picked us up. i blew out the radium repellors of the _c-49_ and planted the evidence in brady's room. i knew if anything happened raynor and davy would identify him as the man from whom they took instructions. that left me a loophole." "the case against you is completed, hantel!" cragley's face was stern and set. "you're the one who's going to be shot this time, and there won't be any chance of falling before my men fire, either!" "just a minute," interposed jezzan, thrusting back the angry captain. "we've got a say here. headquarters wants this man. he's got more information than he's given. there's some other affairs he can talk about. he's going back with us." cragley didn't argue the matter. it was beyond his authority. besides, if i received my just dues, he cared little where i was executed. they placed me under strong guard on the outlaw ship, and we flew back to deliphon. knowing me for the clever, resourceful criminal which i pride myself on being, jezzan and cartley personally conducted me to the earth. there, i was given a brief examination. at present, i find myself in the interplanetary penal colony of phobos where i am being held for reasons peculiar to the hayko unit. i expect death most any day. in the meantime, i spend much of my numbered hours gazing out of my prison into the realms of space. the rotating sphere of mars stands prominent against starlit skies. occasionally, i see phobos' companion moon, deimos. beyond the transparent facing of my prison cell stretches an airless void. there is but one escape. i await it, absorbed in fatalistic reflection. the end prospector's special by robert sheckley illustrated by dillon [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from galaxy science fiction december 1959. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] lost in the vast scorpion desert of venus, he needed all the courage a man could own--and every bit of credit he could raise! the sandcar moved smoothly over the rolling dunes, its six fat wheels rising and falling like the ponderous rumps of tandem elephants. the hidden sun beat down from a dead-white sky, pouring heat into the canvas top, reflecting heat back from the parched sand. "stay awake," morrison told himself, pulling the sandcar back to its compass course. it was his twenty-first day on venus's scorpion desert, his twenty-first day of fighting sleep while the sandcar rocked across the dunes, forging over humpbacked little waves. night travel would have been easier, but there were too many steep ravines to avoid, too many house-sized boulders to dodge. now he knew why men went into the desert in teams; one man drove while the other kept shaking him awake. "but it's better alone," morrison reminded himself. "half the supplies and no accidental murders." his head was beginning to droop; he snapped himself erect. in front of him, the landscape shimmered and danced through the polaroid windshield. the sandcar lurched and rocked with treacherous gentleness. morrison rubbed his eyes and turned on the radio. he was a big, sunburned, rangy young man with close-cropped black hair and gray eyes. he had come to venus with a grubstake of twenty thousand dollars, to find his fortune in the scorpion desert as others had done before him. he had outfitted in presto, the last town on the edge of the wilderness, and spent all but ten dollars on the sandcar and equipment. in presto, ten dollars just covered the cost of a drink in the town's only saloon. so morrison ordered rye and water, drank with the miners and prospectors, and laughed at the oldtimers' yarns about the sandwolf packs and the squadrons of voracious birds that inhabited the interior desert. he knew all about sunblindness, heat-stroke and telephone breakdown. he was sure none of it would happen to him. but now, after twenty-one days and eighteen hundred miles, he had learned respect for this waterless waste of sand and stone three times the area of the sahara. you really _could_ die here! but you could also get rich, and that was what morrison planned to do. * * * * * his radio hummed. at full volume, he could hear the faintest murmur of dance music from venusborg. then it faded and only the hum was left. he turned off the radio and gripped the steering wheel tightly in both hands. he unclenched one hand and looked at his watch. nine-fifteen in the morning. at ten-thirty he would stop and take a nap. a man had to have rest in this heat. but only a half-hour nap. treasure lay somewhere ahead of him, and he wanted to find it before his supplies got much lower. the precious outcroppings of goldenstone _had_ to be up ahead! he'd been following traces for two days now. maybe he would hit a real bonanza, as kirk did in '89, or edmonson and arsler in '93. if so, he would do just what they did. he'd order up a prospector's special, and to hell with the cost. the sandcar rolled along at an even thirty miles an hour, and morrison tried to concentrate on the heat-blasted yellow-brown landscape. that sandstone patch over there was just the tawny color of janie's hair. after he struck it rich, he and janie would get married, and he'd go back to earth and buy an ocean farm. no more prospecting. just one rich strike so he could buy his spread on the deep blue atlantic. maybe some people thought fish-herding was tame; it was good enough for him. he could see it now, the mackerel herds drifting along and browsing at the plankton pens, himself and his trusty dolphin keeping an eye out for the silvery flash of a predatory barracuda or a steel-gray shark coming along behind the branching coral.... morrison felt the sandcar lurch. he woke up, grabbed the steering wheel and turned it hard. during his moments of sleep, the vehicle had crept over the dune's crumbling edge. sand and pebbles spun under the fat tires as the sandcar fought for traction. the car tilted perilously. the tires shrieked against the sand, gripped, and started to pull the vehicle back up the slope. then the whole face of the dune collapsed. morrison held onto the steering wheel as the sandcar flipped over on its side and rolled down the slope. sand filled his mouth and eyes. he spat and held on while the car rolled over again and dropped into emptiness. for seconds, he was in the air. the sandcar hit bottom squarely on its wheels. morrison heard a double boom as the two rear tires blew out. then his head hit the windshield. * * * * * when he recovered consciousness, the first thing he did was look at his watch. it read 10:35. "time for that nap," morrison said to himself. "but i guess i'll survey the situation first." he found that he was at the bottom of a shallow fault strewn with knife-edged pebbles. two tires had blown on impact, his windshield was gone, and one of the doors was sprung. his equipment was strewn around, but appeared to be intact. "could have been worse," morrison said. he bent down to examine the tires more carefully. "it _is_ worse," he said. the two blown tires were shredded beyond repair. there wasn't enough rubber left in them to make a child's balloon. he had used up his spares ten days back crossing devil's grill. used them and discarded them. he couldn't go on without tires. morrison unpacked his telephone. he wiped dust from its black plastic face, then dialed al's garage in presto. after a moment, the small video screen lighted up. he could see a man's long, mournful, grease-stained face. "al's garage. eddie speaking." "hi, eddie. this is tom morrison. i bought that gm sandcar from you about a month ago. remember?" "sure i remember you," eddie said. "you're the guy doing a single into the southwest track. how's the bus holding out?" "fine. great little car. reason i called--" "hey," eddie said, "what happened to your face?" morrison put his hand to his forehead and felt blood. "nothing much," he said. "i went over a dune and blew out two tires." he turned the telephone so that eddie could see the tires. "unrepairable," said eddie. "i thought so. and i used up all my spares crossing devil's grill. look, eddie, i'd like you to 'port me a couple of tires. retreads are fine. i can't move the sandcar without them." "sure," eddie said, "except i haven't any retreads. i'll have to 'port you new ones at five hundred apiece. plus four hundred dollars 'porting charges. fourteen hundred dollars, mr. morrison." "all right." "yes, sir. now if you'll show me the cash, or a money order which you can send back with the receipt, i'll get moving on it." "at the moment," morrison said, "i haven't got a cent on me." "bank account?" "stripped clean." "bonds? property? anything you can convert into cash?" "nothing except this sandcar, which you sold me for eight thousand dollars. when i come back, i'll settle my bill with the sandcar." "_if_ you get back. sorry, mr. morrison. no can do." "what do you mean?" morrison asked. "you know i'll pay for the tires." "and you know the rules on venus," eddie said, his mournful face set in obstinate lines. "no credit! cash and carry!" * * * * * "i can't run the sandcar without tires," morrison said. "are you going to strand me out here?" "who in hell is stranding you?" eddie asked. "this sort of thing happens to prospectors every day. you know what you have to do now, mr. morrison. call public utility and declare yourself a bankrupt. sign over what's left of the sandcar, equipment, and anything you've found on the way. they'll get you out." "i'm not turning back," morrison said. "look!" he held the telephone close to the ground. "you see the traces, eddie? see those red and purple flecks? there's precious stuff near here!" "every prospector sees traces," eddie said. "damned desert is full of traces." "these are rich," morrison said. "these are leading straight to big stuff, a bonanza lode. eddie, i know it's a lot to ask, but if you could stake me to a couple of tires--" "i can't do it," eddie said. "i just work here. i can't 'port you any tires, not unless you show me money first. otherwise i get fired and probably jailed. you know the law." "cash and carry," morrison said bleakly. "right. be smart and turn back now. maybe you can try again some other time." "i spent twelve years getting this stake together," morrison said. "i'm not going back." he turned off the telephone and tried to think. was there anyone else on venus he could call? only max krandall, his jewel broker. but max couldn't raise fourteen hundred dollars in that crummy two-by-four office near venusborg's jewel market. max could barely scrape up his own rent, much less take care of stranded prospectors. "i can't ask max for help," morrison decided. "not until i've found goldenstone. the real stuff, not just traces. so that leaves it up to me." he opened the back of the sandcar and began to unload, piling his equipment on the sand. he would have to choose carefully; anything he took would have to be carried on his back. the telephone had to go with him, and his lightweight testing kit. food concentrates, revolver, compass. and nothing else but water, all the water he could carry. the rest of the stuff would have to stay behind. by nightfall, morrison was ready. he looked regretfully at the twenty cans of water he was leaving. in the desert, water was a man's most precious possession, second only to his telephone. but it couldn't be helped. after drinking his fill, he hoisted his pack and set a southwest course into the desert. for three days he trekked to the southwest; then on the fourth day he veered to due south, following an increasingly rich trace. the sun, eternally hidden, beat down on him, and the dead-white sky was like a roof of heated iron over his head. morrison followed the traces, and something followed him. on the sixth day, he sensed movement just out of the range of his vision. on the seventh day, he saw what was trailing him. * * * * * venus's own brand of wolf, small, lean, with a yellow coat and long, grinning jaws, it was one of the few mammals that made its home in the scorpion desert. as morrison watched, two more sandwolves appeared beside it. he loosened the revolver in its holster. the wolves made no attempt to come closer. they had plenty of time. morrison kept on going, wishing he had brought a rifle with him. but that would have meant eight pounds more, which meant eight pounds less water. as he was pitching camp at dusk the eighth day, he heard a crackling sound. he whirled around and located its source, about ten feet to his left and above his head. a little vortex had appeared, a tiny mouth in the air like a whirlpool in the sea. it spun, making the characteristic crackling sounds of 'porting. "now who could be 'porting anything to me?" morrison asked, waiting while the whirlpool slowly widened. solidoporting from a base projector to a field target was a standard means of moving goods across the vast distances of venus. any inanimate object could be 'ported; animate beings couldn't because the process involved certain minor but distressing molecular changes in protoplasm. a few people had found this out the hard way when 'porting was first introduced. morrison waited. the aerial whirlpool became a mouth three feet in diameter. from the mouth stepped a chrome-plated robot carrying a large sack. "oh, it's you," morrison said. "yes, sir," the robot said, now completely clear of the field. "williams 4 at your service with the venus mail." it was a robot of medium height, thin-shanked and flat-footed, humanoid in appearance, amiable in disposition. for twenty-three years it had been venus's entire postal service--sorter, deliverer, and dead storage. it had been built to last, and for twenty-three years the mails had always come through. "here we are, mr. morrison," williams 4 said. "only twice-a-month mail call in the desert, i'm sorry to say, but it comes promptly and that's a blessing. this is for you. and this. i think there's one more. sandcar broke down, eh?" "it sure did," morrison said, taking his letters. williams 4 went on rummaging through its bag. although it was a superbly efficient postman, the old robot was known as the worst gossip on three planets. "there's one more in here somewhere," williams 4 said. "too bad about the sandcar. they just don't build 'em like they did in my youth. take my advice, young man. turn back if you still have the chance." morrison shook his head. "foolish, downright foolish," the old robot said. "pity you don't have my perspective. too many's the time i've come across you boys lying in the sand in the dried-out sack of your skin, or with your bones gnawed to splinters by the sandwolves and the filthy black kites. twenty-three years i've been delivering mail to fine-looking young men like you, and each one thinking he's unique and different." * * * * * the robot's eyecells became distant with memory. "but they _aren't_ different," williams 4 said. "they're as alike as robots off the assembly line--especially after the wolves get through with them. and then i have to send their letters and personal effects back to their loved ones on earth." "i know," morrison said. "but some get through, don't they?" "sure they do," the robot said. "i've seen men make one, two, three fortunes. and then die on the sands trying to make a fourth." "not me," morrison said. "i just want one. then i'm going to buy me an undersea farm on earth." the robot shuddered. "i have a dread of salt water. but to each his own. good luck, young man." the robot looked morrison over carefully--probably to see what he had in the way of personal effects--then climbed back into the aerial whirlpool. in a moment, it was gone. in another moment, the whirlpool had vanished. morrison sat down to read his mail. the first letter was from his jewel broker, max krandall. it told about the depression that had hit venusborg, and hinted that krandall might have to go into bankruptcy if some of his prospectors didn't strike something good. the second letter was a statement from the venus telephone company. morrison owed two hundred and ten dollars and eight cents for two months' telephone service. unless he remitted this sum at once, his telephone was liable to be turned off. the last letter, all the way from earth, was from janie. it was filled with news about his cousins, aunts and uncles. she told him about the atlantic farm sites she had looked over, and the wonderful little place she had found near martinique in the caribbean. she begged him to give up prospecting if it looked dangerous; they could find another way of financing the farm. she sent all her love and wished him a happy birthday in advance. "birthday?" morrison asked himself. "let's see, today is july twenty-third. no, it's the twenty-fourth, and my birthday's august first. thanks for remembering, janie." that night he dreamed of earth and the blue expanse of the atlantic ocean. but toward dawn, when the heat of venus became insistent, he found he was dreaming of mile upon mile of goldenstone, of grinning sandwolves, and of the prospector's special. * * * * * rock gave way to sand as morrison plowed his way across the bottom of a long-vanished lake. then it was rock again, twisted and tortured into a thousand gaunt shapes. reds, yellows and browns swam in front of his eyes. in all that desert, there wasn't one patch of green. he continued his trek into the tumbled stone mazes of the interior desert, and the wolves trekked with him, keeping pace far out on either flank. morrison ignored them. he had enough on his mind just to negotiate the sheer cliffs and the fields of broken stone that blocked his way to the south. by the eleventh day after leaving the sandcar, the traces were almost rich enough for panning. the sandwolves were tracking him still, and his water was almost gone. another day's march would finish him. morrison thought for a moment, then unstrapped his telephone and dialed public utility in venusborg. the video screen showed a stern, severely dressed woman with iron-gray hair. "public utility," she said. "may we be of service?" "hi," morrison said cheerfully. "how's the weather in venusborg?" "hot," the woman said. "how's it out there?" "i hadn't even noticed," morrison said, grinning. "too busy counting my fortune." "you've found goldenstone?" the woman asked, her expression becoming less severe. "sure have," morrison said. "but don't pass the word around yet. i'm still staking my claim. i think i can use a refill on these." smiling easily, he held up his canteens. sometimes it worked. sometimes, if you showed enough confidence, public utility would fill you up without checking your account. true, it was embezzling, but this was no time for niceties. "i suppose your account is in order?" asked the woman. "of course," morrison said, feeling his smile grow stiff. "the name's tom morrison. you can just check--" "oh, i don't do that personally," the woman said. "hold that canteen steady. here we go." * * * * * gripping the canteen in both hands, morrison watched as the water, 'ported four thousand miles from venusborg, appeared as a slender crystal stream above the mouth of his canteen. the stream entered the canteen, making a wonderful gurgling sound. watching it, morrison found his dry mouth actually was beginning to salivate. then the water stopped. "what's the matter?" morrison asked. his video screen went blank. then it cleared, and morrison found himself staring into a man's narrow face. the man was seated in front of a large desk. the sign in front of him read _milton p. reade, vice president, accounts_. * * * * * "mr. morrison," reade said, "your account is overdrawn. you have been obtaining water under false pretenses. that is a criminal offense." "i'm going to pay for the water," morrison said. "when?" "as soon as i get back to venusborg." "with what," asked mr. reade, "do you propose to pay?" "with goldenstone," morrison said. "look around here, mr. reade. the traces are rich! richer than they were for the kirk claim! i'll be hitting the outcroppings in another day--" "that's what every prospector thinks," mr. reade said. "every prospector on venus is only a day from goldenstone. and they all expect credit from public utility." "but in this case--" "public utility," mr. reade continued inexorably, "is not a philanthropic organization. its charter specifically forbids the extension of credit. venus is a frontier, mr. morrison, a _farflung_ frontier. every manufactured article on venus must be imported from earth at outrageous cost. we do have our own water, but locating it, purifying it, then 'porting it is an expensive process. this company, like every other company on venus, necessarily operates on a very narrow margin of profit, which is invariably plowed back into further expansion. that is why there can be no credit on venus." "i know all that," morrison said. "but i'm telling you, i only need a day or two more--" "absolutely impossible. by the rules, we shouldn't even help you out now. the time to report bankruptcy was a week ago, when your sandcar broke down. your garage man reported, as required by law. but you didn't. we would be within our rights to leave you stranded. do you understand that?" "yes, of course," morrison said wearily. "however, the company has decided to stretch a point in your favor. if you turn back immediately, we will keep you supplied with water for the return trip." "i'm not turning back yet. i'm almost on the real stuff." "you must turn back! be reasonable, morrison! where would we be if we let every prospector wander over the desert while we supplied his water? there'd be ten thousand men out there, and we'd be out of business inside of a year. i'm stretching the rules now. turn back." "no," said morrison. "you'd better think about it. if you don't turn back now, public utility takes no further responsibility for your water supply." morrison nodded. if he went on, he would stand a good chance of dying in the desert. but if he turned back, what then? he would be in venusborg, penniless and in debt, looking for work in an overcrowded city. he'd sleep in a community shed and eat at a soup kitchen with the other prospectors who had turned back. and how would he be able to raise the fare back to earth? when would he ever see janie again? "i guess i'll keep on going," morrison said. "then public utility takes no further responsibility for you," reade repeated, and hung up. morrison packed up his telephone, took a sip from his meager water supply, and went on. * * * * * the sandwolves loped along at each side, moving in closer. overhead, a delta-winged kite found him. it balanced on the up-drafts for a day and a night, waiting for the wolves to finish him. then a flock of small flying scorpions sighted the waiting kite. they drove the big creature upstairs into the cloud bank. for a day the flying reptiles waited. then they in turn were driven off by a squadron of black kites. the traces were very rich now, on the fifteenth day since he had left the sandcar. by rights, he should be walking over goldenstone. he should be surrounded by goldenstone. but still he hadn't found any. morrison sat down and shook his last canteen. it gave off no wet sound. he uncapped it and turned it up over his mouth. two drops trickled down his parched throat. it was about four days since he had talked to public utility. he must have used up the last of his water yesterday. or had it been the day before? he recapped the empty canteen and looked around at the heat-blasted landscape. abruptly he pulled the telephone out of his pack and dialed max krandall in venusborg. krandall's round, worried face swam into focus on the screen. "tommy," he said, "you look like hell." "i'm all right," morrison said. "a little dried out, that's all. max, i'm near goldenstone." "are you sure?" krandall asked. "see for yourself," morrison said, swinging the telephone around. "look at the stone formations! do you see the red and purple markings over there?" "traces, all right," krandall admitted dubiously. "there's rich stuff just beyond it," morrison said. "there has to be! look, max, i know you're short on money, but i'm going to ask you a favor. send me a pint of water. just a pint, so i can go on for another day or two. we can both get rich for the price of a pint of water." "i can't do it," krandall said sadly. "you can't?" "that's right. tommy, i'd send you water even if there wasn't anything around you but sandstone and granite. do you think i'd let you die of thirst if i could help it? but i can't do a thing. take a look." * * * * * krandall rotated his telephone. morrison saw that the chairs, table, desk, filing cabinet and safe were gone from the office. all that was left in the room was the telephone. "i don't know why they haven't taken out the phone," krandall said. "i owe two months on my bill." "i do too," said morrison. "i'm stripped," krandall said. "i haven't got a dime. don't get me wrong, i'm not worried about myself. i can always eat at a soup kitchen. but i can't 'port you any water. not you or remstaater." "jim remstaater?" "yeah. he was following a trace up north past forgotten river. his sandcar broke an axle last week and he wouldn't turn back. his water ran out yesterday." "i'd bail him out if i could," said morrison. "and he'd bail you out if he could," krandall said. "but he can't and you can't and i can't. tommy, you have only one hope." "what's that?" "find goldenstone. not just traces, find the real thing worth real money. then phone me. if you really have goldenstone, i'll bring in wilkes from tri-planet mining and get him to advance us some money. he'll probably want fifty per cent of the claim." "that's plain robbery!" "no, it's just the high cost of credit on venus," krandall answered. "don't worry, there'll still be plenty left over. but you have to find goldenstone first." "ok," morrison said. "it should be around here somewhere. max, what's today's date?" "july thirty-first. why?" "just wondering. i'll call you when i've found something." after hanging up, morrison sat on a little boulder and stared dully at the sand. july thirty-first. tomorrow was his birthday. his family would be thinking about him. aunt bess in pasadena, the twins in laos, uncle ted in durango. and janie, of course, waiting for him in tampa. morrison realized that tomorrow might be his last birthday unless he found goldenstone. he got to his feet, strapped the telephone back in his pack beside the empty canteens, and set a course to the south. * * * * * he wasn't alone. the birds and beasts of the desert marched with him. overhead, the silent black kites circled endlessly. the sandwolves crept closer on his flanks, their red tongues lolling out, waiting for the carcass to fall.... "i'm not dead yet!" morrison shouted at them. he drew his revolver and fired at the nearest wolf. at twenty feet, he missed. he went down on one knee, held the revolver tightly in both hands and fired again. the wolf yelped in pain. the pack immediately went for the wounded animal, and the kites swooped down for their share. morrison put the revolver back in its holster and went on. he could tell he was in a badly dehydrated state. the landscape jumped and danced in front of him, and his footing was unsure. he discarded the empty canteens, threw away everything but the testing kit, telephone and revolver. either he was coming out of the desert in style or he wasn't coming out at all. the traces continued to run rich. but still he came upon no sign of tangible wealth. that evening he found a shallow cave set into the base of a cliff. he crawled inside and built a barricade of rocks across the entrance. then he drew his revolver and leaned back against the far wall. the sandwolves were outside, sniffing and snapping their jaws. morrison propped himself up and got ready for an all-night vigil. he didn't sleep, but he couldn't stay awake, either. dreams and visions tormented him. he was back on earth and janie was saying to him, "it's the tuna. something must be wrong with their diet. every last one of them is sick." "it's the darnedest thing," morrison told her. "just as soon as you domesticate a fish, it turns into a prima donna." "are you going to stand there philosophizing," janie asked, "while your fish are sick?" "call the vet." "i did. he's off at the blake's place, taking care of their dairy whale." "all right, i'll go out and take a look." he slipped on his face mask. grinning, he said, "i don't even have time to dry off before i have to go out again." his face and chest were wet. * * * * * morrison opened his eyes. his face and chest _were_ wet--from perspiration. staring at the partially blocked mouth of the cave, he could see green eyes, two, four, six, eight. he fired at them, but they didn't retreat. he fired again, and his bullet richocheted off the cave wall, stinging him with stone splinters. with his next shots, he succeeded in winging one of the wolves. the pack withdrew. that emptied the revolver. morrison searched through his pockets and found five more cartridges. he carefully loaded the gun. dawn couldn't be far away now. and then he was dreaming again, this time of the prospector's special. he had heard about it in every little saloon that bordered the scorpion. bristly-bearded old prospectors told a hundred different stories about it, and the cynical bartenders chimed in with their versions. kirk had it in '89, ordered up big and special just for him. edmonson and arsler received it in '93. that was certain. and other men had had it too, as they sat on their precious goldenstone claims. or so people said. but was it real? was there such a thing as the prospector's special? would he live to see that rainbow-hued wonder, tall as a church steeple, wide as a house, more precious than goldenstone itself? sure he would! why, he could almost see it now.... morrison shook himself awake. it was morning. painfully, he crawled out of the cave to face the day. he stumbled and crawled to the south, escorted closely by wolves, shaded by predatory flying things. his fingers scrabbled along rock and sand. the traces were rich, rich! but where in all this desolation was the goldenstone? where? he was almost past caring. he drove his sunburned, dried-out body, stopping only to fire a single shot when the wolves came too close. four bullets left. he had to fire again when the kites, growing impatient, started diving at his head. a lucky shot tore into the flock, downing two. it gave the wolves something to fight over. morrison crawled on blindly. and fell over the edge of a little cliff. it wasn't a serious fall, but the revolver was knocked from his hand. before he could find it, the wolves were on him. only their greed saved morrison. while they fought over him, he rolled away and retrieved his revolver. two shots scattered the pack. that left one bullet. he'd have to save that one for himself, because he was too tired to go on. he sank to his knees. the traces were rich here. fantastically rich. somewhere nearby.... "well, i'll be damned," morrison said. the little ravine into which he had fallen was solid goldenstone. * * * * * he picked up a pebble. even in its rough state he could see the deep luminous golden glow, the fiery red and purple flecks deep in the shining stone. "make sure," morrison told himself. "no false alarms, no visions, no wild hopes. make sure." he broke off a chunk of rock with the butt of his revolver. it still looked like goldenstone. he took out his testing kit and spilled a few drops of white solution on the rock. the solution foamed green. "goldenstone, sure as sure," morrison said, looking around at the glowing cliff walls. "hey, i'm rich!" he took out his telephone. with trembling fingers he dialed krandall's number. "max!" morrison shouted. "i've hit it! i've hit the real stuff!" "my name is not max," a voice over the telephone said. "huh?" "my name is boyard," the man said. the video screen cleared, and morrison saw a thin, sallow-faced man with a hairline mustache. "i'm sorry, mr. boyard," morrison said. "i must have gotten the wrong number. i was calling--" "it doesn't matter who you were calling," mr. boyard said. "i am district supervisor of the venus telephone company. your bill is two months overdue." "i can pay it now," morrison said, grinning. "excellent," said mr. boyard. "as soon as you do, your service will be resumed." the screen began to fade. "wait!" morrison cried. "i can pay as soon as i reach your office. but i must make one telephone call. just one call, so that i--" "not a chance," mr. boyard said decisively. "_after_ you have paid your bill, your service will be turned on immediately." "i've got the money right here!" morrison said. "right here in my hand!" mr. boyard paused. "well, it's unusual, but i suppose we could arrange for a special robot messenger if you are willing to pay the expenses." "i am!" "hm. it's irregular, but i daresay we ... where is the money?" "right here," morrison said. "you recognize it, don't you? it's goldenstone!" "i am sick and tired of the tricks you prospectors think you can put over on us. holding up a handful of pebbles--" "but this is really goldenstone! can't you see it?" "i am a businessman," mr. boyard said, "not a jeweler. i wouldn't know goldenstone from goldenrod." the video screen went blank. * * * * * frantically, morrison tried to reach the operator. there was nothing, not even a dial tone. his telephone was disconnected. he put the instrument down and surveyed his situation. the narrow crevice into which he had fallen ran straight for about twenty yards, then curved to the left. no cave was visible in the steep walls, no place where he could build a barricade. he heard a movement behind him. whirling around, he saw a huge old wolf in full charge. without a moment's hesitation, morrison drew and fired, blasting off the top of the beast's head. "damn it," morrison said. "i was going to save that bullet for myself." it gave him a moment's grace. he ran down the ravine, looking for an opening in its sides. goldenstone glowed at him and sparkled red and purple. and the sandwolves loped along behind him. then morrison stopped. in front of him, the curving ravine ended in a sheer wall. he put his back against it, holding the revolver by its butt. the wolves stopped five feet from him, gathering themselves for a rush. there were ten or twelve of them, and they were packed three deep in the narrow pass. overhead, the kites circled, waiting for their turn. at that moment, morrison heard the crackling sound of 'porting equipment. a whirlpool appeared above the wolves' heads and they backed hastily away. "just in time!" morrison said. "in time for what?" asked williams 4, the postman. the robot climbed out of the vortex and looked around. "well, young man," williams 4 said, "this is a fine fix you've gotten yourself into. didn't i warn you? didn't i advise you to turn back? and now look!" "you were perfectly right," morrison said. "what did max krandall send me?" "max krandall did not, and could not, send a thing." "then why are you here?" "because it's your birthday," williams 4 said. "we of the postal department always give special service for birthdays. here you are." williams 4 gave him a handful of mail, birthday greetings from janie, and from his aunts, uncles and cousins on earth. "something else here," williams 4 said, rummaging in his bag. "i _think_ there was something else here. let me see.... yes, here it is." he handed morrison a small package. * * * * * hastily, morrison tore off the wrappings. it was a birthday present from his aunt mina in new jersey. he opened it. it was a large box of salt-water taffy, direct from atlantic city. "quite a delicacy, i'm told," said williams 4, who had been peering over his shoulder. "but not very satisfactory under the circumstances. well, young man, i hate to see anyone die on his birthday. the best i can wish you is a speedy and painless departure." the robot began walking toward the vortex. "wait!" morrison cried. "you can't just leave me like this! i haven't had any water in days! and those wolves--" "i know," williams 4 said. "do you think i feel _happy_ about it? even a robot has some feelings!" "then help me." "i can't. the rules of the postal department expressly and categorically forbid it. i remember abner lathe making much the same request of me in '97. it took three years for a burial party to reach him." "you have an emergency telephone, haven't you?" morrison asked. "yes. but i can use it only for personal emergencies." "can you at least carry a letter for me? a special delivery letter?" "of course i can," the robot postman said. "that's what i'm here for. i can even lend you pencil and paper." morrison accepted the pencil and paper and tried to think. if he wrote to max now, special delivery, max would have the letter in a matter of hours. but how long would max need to raise some money and send him water and ammunition? a day, two days? morrison would have to figure out some way of holding out.... "i assume you have a stamp," the robot said. "i don't," morrison replied. "but i'll buy one from you. solidoport special." "excellent," said the robot. "we have just put out a new series of venusborg triangulars. i consider them quite an esthetic accomplishment. they cost three dollars apiece." "that's fine. very reasonable. let me have one." "there is the question of payment." "here," morrison said, handing the robot a piece of goldenstone worth about five thousand dollars in the rough. the postman examined the stone, then handed it back. "i'm sorry, i can accept only cash." "but this is worth more than a thousand postage stamps!" morrison said. "this is goldenstone!" "it may well be," williams 4 said. "but i have never had any assaying knowledge taped into me. nor is the venus postal service run on a barter system. i'll have to ask for three dollars in bills or coins." "i don't have it." "i am very sorry." williams 4 turned to go. "you can't just go and let me die!" "i can and must," williams 4 said sadly. "i am only a robot, mr. morrison. i was made by men, and naturally i partake of some of their sensibilities. that's as it should be. but i also have my limits, which, in their nature, are similar to the limits most humans have on this harsh planet. and, unlike humans, i cannot transcend my limits." the robot started to climb into the whirlpool. morrison stared at him blankly, and saw beyond him the waiting wolfpack. he saw the soft glow of several million dollars' worth of goldenstone shining from the ravine's walls. something snapped inside him. * * * * * with an inarticulate yell, morrison dived, tackling the robot around the ankles. williams 4, half in and half out of the 'porting vortex, struggled and kicked, and almost succeeded in shaking morrison loose. but with a maniac's strength morrison held on. inch by inch he dragged the robot out of the vortex, threw him on the ground and pinned him. "you are disrupting the mail service," said williams 4. "that's not all i'm going to disrupt," morrison growled. "i'm not afraid of dying. that was part of the gamble. but i'm damned if i'm going to die fifteen minutes after i've struck it rich!" "you have no choice." "i do. i'm going to use that emergency telephone of yours." "you can't," williams 4 said. "i refuse to extrude it. and you could never reach it without the resources of a machine shop." "could be," said morrison. "i plan to find out." he pulled out his empty revolver. "what are you going to do?" williams 4 asked. "i'm going to see if i can smash you into scrap metal _without_ the resources of a machine shop. i think your eyecells would be a logical place to begin." "they would indeed," said the robot. "i have no personal sense of survival, of course. but let me point out that you would be leaving all venus without a postman. many would suffer because of your anti-social action." "i hope so," morrison said, raising the revolver above his head. "also," the robot said hastily, "you would be destroying government property. that is a serious offense." morrison laughed and swung the pistol. the robot moved its head quickly, dodging the blow. it tried to wriggle free, but morrison's two hundred pounds was seated firmly on its thorax. "i won't miss this time," morrison promised, hefting the revolver. "stop!" williams 4 said. "it is my duty to protect government property, even if that property happens to be myself. you may use my telephone, mr. morrison. bear in mind that this offense is punishable by a sentence of not more than ten and not less than five years in the solar swamp penitentiary." "let's have that telephone," morrison said. * * * * * the robot's chest opened and a small telephone extruded. morrison dialed max krandall and explained the situation. "i see, i see," krandall said. "all right, i'll try to find wilkes. but, tom, i don't know how much i can do. it's after business hours. most places are closed--" "get them open again," said morrison. "i can pay for it. and get jim remstaater out of trouble, too." "it can't be done just like that. you haven't established any rights to your claim. you haven't even proved that your claim is valuable." "look at it." morrison turned the telephone so that krandall could see the glowing walls of the ravine. "looks real," krandall said. "but unfortunately, all that glitters is not goldenstone." "what can we do?" morrison asked. "we'll have to take it step by step. i'll 'port you the public surveyor. he'll check your claim, establish its limits, and make sure no one else has filed on it. you give him a chunk of goldenstone to take back. a big chunk." "how can i cut goldenstone? i don't have any tools." "you'll have to figure out a way. he'll take the chunk back for assaying. if it's rich enough, you're all set." "and if it isn't?" "perhaps we better not talk about that," krandall said. "i'll get right to work on this, tommy. good luck!" morrison signed off. he stood up and helped the robot to its feet. "in twenty-three years of service," williams 4 said, "this is the first time anybody has threatened the life of a government postal employee. i must report this to the police authorities at venusborg, mr. morrison. i have no choice." "i know," morrison said. "but i guess five or ten years in the penitentiary is better than dying." "i doubt it. i carry mail there, you know. you will have the opportunity of seeing for yourself in about six months." "what?" said morrison, stunned. "in about six months, after i have completed my mail calls around the planet and returned to venusborg. a matter like this must be reported in person. but first and foremost, the mails must go through." "thanks, williams. i don't know how--" "i am simply performing my duty," the robot said as it climbed into the vortex. "if you are still on venus in six months, i will be delivering your mail to the penitentiary." "i won't be here," morrison said. "so long, williams!" the robot disappeared into the 'porting vortex. then the vortex disappeared. morrison was alone in the venusian twilight. * * * * * he found an outcropping of goldenstone larger than a man's head. he chipped at it with his pistol butt, and tiny particles danced and shimmered in the air. after an hour, he had put four dents in his revolver, but he had barely scratched the highly refractory surface of the goldenstone. the sandwolves began to edge forward. morrison threw stones at them and shouted in his dry, cracked voice. the wolves retreated. he examined the outcropping again and found a hairline fault running along one edge. he concentrated his blows along the fault. the goldenstone refused to crack. morrison wiped sweat from his eyes and tried to think. a chisel, he needed a chisel.... he pulled off his belt. putting the edge of the steel buckle against the crack, he managed to hammer it in a fraction of an inch. three more blows drove the buckle firmly into the fault. with another blow, the outcropping sheared off cleanly. he had separated a twenty-pound piece from the cliff. at fifty dollars a troy ounce, this lump should be worth about twelve thousand dollars--if it assayed out as pure as it looked. the twilight had turned a deep gray when the public surveyor 'ported in. it was a short, squat robot with a conservative crackle-black finish. "good day, sir," the surveyor said. "you wish to file a claim? a standard unrestricted mining claim?" "that's right," morrison said. "and where is the center of the aforesaid claim?" "huh? the center? i guess i'm standing on it." "very well," the robot said. extruding a steel tape, it walked rapidly away from morrison. at a distance of two hundred yards, it stopped. more steel tape fluttered as it walked, flew and climbed a square with morrison at the center. when it had finished, the surveyor stood for a long time without moving. "what are you doing?" morrison asked. "i'm making depth-photographs of the terrain," the robot said. "it's rather difficult in this light. couldn't you wait till morning?" "no!" "well, i'll just have to cope," the robot said. it moved and stood, moved and stood, each subterranean exposure taking longer than the last as the twilight deepened. if it had had pores, it would have sweated. "there," said the robot at last, "that takes care of it. do you have a sample for me to take back?" "here it is," morrison said, hefting the slab of goldenstone and handing it to the surveyor. "is that all?" "absolutely all," the robot said. "except, of course, that you haven't given me the deed of search." * * * * * morrison blinked. "i haven't given you the what?" "the deed of search. that is a government document showing that the claim you are filing on is free, as per government order, of fissionable material in excess of fifty per cent of the total mass to a depth of sixty feet. it's a mere formality, but a necessary one." "i never heard of it," morrison said. "it became a requirement last week," explained the surveyor. "you don't have the deed? then i'm afraid your standard unrestricted claim is invalid." "isn't there anything i can do?" "well," the robot said, "you _could_ change your standard unrestricted claim to a special restricted claim. that requires no deed of search." "what does the special restricted part mean?" "it means that in five hundred years all rights revert to the government of venus." "all right!" morrison shouted. "fine! good! is that all?" "absolutely all," the surveyor said. "i shall bring this sample back and have it assayed and evaluated immediately. from it and the depth-photographs we can extrapolate the value and extent of your claim." "send me back something to take care of the wolves," morrison said. "and food. and listen--i want a prospector's special." "yes, sir. it will all be 'ported to you--if your claim is of sufficient value to warrant the outlay." the robot climbed into the vortex and vanished. time passed, and the wolves edged forward again. they snarled at the rocks morrison threw, but they didn't retreat. jaws open and tongues lolling, they crept up the remaining yards between them and the prospector. then the leading wolf leaped back and howled. a gleaming vortex had appeared over his head and a rifle had fallen from the vortex, striking him on a forepaw. the wolves scrambled away. another rifle fell from the vortex. then a large box marked _grenades, handle with care_. then another box marked _desert ration k_. morrison waited, staring at the gleaming mouth of the vortex. it crossed the sky to a spot a quarter of a mile away and paused there, and then a great round brass base emerged from the vortex, and the mouth widened to allow an even greater bulge of brass to which the base was attached. the bulge grew higher as the base was lowered to the sand. when the last of it appeared, it stood alone in the horizon-to-horizon expanse, a gigantic ornate brass punchbowl in the desert. the vortex rose and paused again over the bowl. morrison waited, his throat raw and aching. now a small trickle came out of the vortex and splashed down into the bowl. still morrison didn't move. * * * * * and then it came. the trickle became a roar that sent the wolves and kites fleeing in terror, and a cataract poured from the vortex to the huge punchbowl. morrison began staggering toward it. he should have ordered a canteen, he told himself thirstily, stumbling across the quarter of a mile of sand. but at last he stood beneath the prospector's special, higher than a church steeple, wider than a house, filled with water more precious than goldenstone itself. he turned the spigot at the bottom. water soaked the yellow sands and ran in rivulets down the dune. he should have ordered a cup or glass, morrison thought, lying on his back with open mouth. beyond light by nelson s. bond venus was civilized ... so the universe thought! but deep in its midnight caverns ... beyond light, beyond the wildest imaginings of an ordered system ... dwelt horror. [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from planet stories winter 1940. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] they stood in the _orestes'_ tiny observation turret, mallory's defiant arm still tight about the slim and lovely girl, just exactly as bull-voiced captain lane had found them. the shimmering reflection of the planet venus, only a few thousand miles ahead, bathed the trim, hard-jawed man and the softly pretty girl in a gentle glow, but it failed to soothe the grizzled space ship skipper. "what in hell does this mean?" mallory, remembering an old forgotten saying--something about a soft answer turning aside wrath--spoke rapidly. "sorry if we gave you a shock, sir," he said. "but your daughter and i are engaged." few medical men would have guaranteed space captain jonathan lane a long life at that moment. his usually ruddy face was a violent mauve-scarlet, his eyes hot pin-points of anger, his lean, hard body was atremble with emotion. "engaged. _engaged!_" he made a convulsive motion. "did you say engaged? to this inane young fool. you're talking nonsense. go to your cabin, girl." dorothy lane sighed and looked hopefully up at mallory. tim mallory had forgotten his old and wise quotation. "why not engaged," he snapped. "what have you got against me?" "what," growled captain lane. "he asks me _what_!" he had a reason; one which he shared with all fond parents who have ever seen a beloved child slipping from their arms--jealousy. jealousy and grief. now his mind pounced on a substitute for the true reasons that he would not--could not--name. "well, for one thing," he said curtly, "you're not a spaceman. you're nothing but a blasted earthlubber!" mallory grinned. "you can hardly call me an earthlubber, captain. i spent two years on luna, three on mars; i'll be five or more on venus--" "pah! luna ... mars ... venus ... you're still a groundhog. i'll not see my girl married to a money-grubbing businessman, mallory." "tim's not a businessman," broke in dorothy lane. "he's an engineer." and anyone seeing her young fury would have smiled to note how much alike she was to her bucko, space captain father. "engineer! nonsense! only an astrogation engineer deserves that title. he's a--a--what is it you do? build ice-boxes?" "i'm a calorimetrical engineer," mallory answered stiffly. "my main job is the designing and installation of air-conditioning plants where they are needed. on airless luna, the cold martian deserts, here on venus. the simple truth is--" "the simple truth is," stated the skipper savagely, "that you're a groundhog and a damned poor son-in-law for a spaceman. you being what you are, and dorothy being what she is, i say the hell with you, mr. mallory! perhaps i can't prevent your marriage. but there's one thing i can do--and that is wash my hands of the two of you!" he watched them, searching for signs of indecision in their eyes. he found, instead--and with a sense of sickening dread--only sorrow. sorrow and pity and regret. and tim mallory said quietly, "i'm sorry, sir, that you feel that way about it." lane turned to his daughter. "dorothy?" he said hoarsely. "i'm sorry, too." her voice was gentle but determined. "tim is right. we--" then her eyes widened; sudden panic lighted them, and her hand flew to her lips in a gesture of fear. "something's wrong! venus! the ship--!" * * * * * captain lane did not need her warning. his space-trained body had recognized disaster a split-second before. his legs had felt the smooth flooring beneath him lurch and sway. his eyes had glimpsed, through the spaceport, the sudden looming of the silver disc toward which they had been gliding easily but now were plunging at headlong, breakneck speed. his ears howled with the clamor of monstrous winds that clutched with vibrant fingers the falling _orestes_. in a flash he spun and fought his way up a sharply tilting deck to the wall audio, thrust at its button, bawled a query. the mate's voice, shrill with terror, answered: "the dixie-rod, sir! it's jammed! we're trying to get it free, but it's locked! we're out of control--" "up rockets!" roared lane. "up rockets and blast!" "they're cut, sir! the hypo's cold. we'll have to 'bandon ship--." abandon ship! tim mallory did not need dorothy's sudden gasp to tell him what that meant to the trio caught in the observation turret. earthlubber he might be, but he knew enough about the construction of space craft to realize that there were no auxiliary safety-sleds anchored to this section of the _orestes_. venus was no longer a beaming platter of silver in the distance. they had burst through its eternal blanket of cloud, now; the world below was no longer a sphere, it was a huge saucer of green, swelling ominously with each flashing second. tempests screamed about them, and the screaming was the triumphant cry of hungry death. no ships. no time to seek escape. life, which had but recently become a precious thing to tim mallory, was but a matter of minutes. he saw the agony of indecision on captain jonathan lane's face, heard, as in a dream, the skipper delivering the only possible order. "very well, carter! 'bandon ship!" and the pilot's hectic query, "but where are you?" "never mind that. cut loose, you fool!" "no, captain! you're below. i can't let you die. i'll keep trying--" "'bandon ship, carter! it's an order!" and the faint, thin answer, "aye, sir!" silence. tim turned to dorothy, and from somewhere summoned the ghost of a smile. his arms went out to her, and as one in a dream she moved toward him. there was, at least, this. they could die together. and then captain lane was between them, bellowing, commanding, pushing them apart. "avast, you two! this is no time for play-acting. mallory, jerk down those hammocks. tumble in and strap yourselves tight! it's a chance in a billion, but--" tim swung into motion. the old man was right. it was a slim chance, but--a chance! to strap themselves into the pneumatic hammocks used by passengers at times of acceleration, hope that by some miracle the _orestes_ would not be crushed into a metal pancake when they crashed, pray that it might land on a slope, or some yielding substance. it was a breathless moment and a mad one. frenzied winds and the groan of scorching metal, the thick panting of captain lane as he strapped himself into a hammock between tim and dorothy, dorothy's voice, "tim, dear--" and his own reply, "hold tight, youngster!" then heat increasing, heat like a massive fist upon his breast, hot beads of sweat, salt-tasting on his lips, an ear-splitting tumult of sound from somewhere.... a swift, terrifying glimpse of solid earth rushing up to meet them.... the last, wrenching shudder of the _orestes_ as it plunged giddily groundward. heat ... pain ... flame ... suffocation.... then darkness. * * * * * out of the darkness, light. out of the sultriness, a thin, cool finger of breeze. out of the silence of death, life! tim mallory opened his eyes. and a thick, wordless cry of thanksgiving burst from his lips as he stared about him. the impossible had happened! the ship had crashed. its control-room was a fused and twisted heap of wreckage smoldering in the giant crater it had plowed. but somehow the observation turret, offset in a streamlined vane of the _orestes_, had escaped destruction. great rents gaped where once girders had welded together sturdy _permalloy_ sheets, purposeless shards lay strewn about, even the hammocks had been wrenched from their strong moorings, but he and his companions still lived! even as tim fought to loose the straps that circled him, captain lane groaned, stirred, opened his eyes. dully, then with wakening recollection. and his first word-"dorothy?" "safe," said mallory. "she's safe. we're all safe. i don't know how. we must bear charmed lives." he bent over the girl, loosened her straps, chafed her wrists gently. her eyes opened, and the image of that last moment of panic was still mirrored in their depths. "tim!" she cried. "are we--where's daddy?" "easy, sugar!" soothed tim. "he's here. it's all over. we pulled through. it was a miracle." he said it gratefully. but captain lane corrected him. the safety of his daughter assured, the old spacedog's next thought had been for his ship. he had walked forward, studied the crumpled ruin of the control-room. now he said, "not a miracle, mallory. a sacrifice. it was carter. he didn't bail out with the others. he must have stayed on in the control-room, fighting that jammed dixie-rod. it must have come clean at the last moment, slowing the ship, or we wouldn't be here. but it was too late, then, for him to get away--" his voice was sad, but there was a sort of pride in it, too. dorothy began to cry softly. captain lane's hand came to his forehead in brief, farewell salute to a gallant man. then he rejoined the others. "it was the first time," he said, "he ever disobeyed my orders." tim said nothing. there was nothing he could say. but for the first time he realized why captain lane, why all spacemen, felt as they did about their calling. because the men who wore space-blues were of this breed. for a long moment there was silence. then the old man stirred brusquely. "well, we'd better get going." "going?" tim stared about him. it was a far from reassuring scene that met his eyes. they had landed in the midst of wild and desolate country, on a plateau midway between sprawling marshlands below and craggy, cloud-created hills above. the shock of the crash must have stunned into silence all wild-life temporarily, for upon awakening, tim had been dimly conscious of a vast, reverberant quietude. but now the small, secret things were creeping back to gaze on the smoking monster that had died in their midst; small squeals and snarls and chirrupings bespoke an infinitude of watchers. the hour was just before dawn; the eastward horizon was tinged with pearl. "going?" tim repeated. "but where are we?" * * * * * captain jonathan looked at him somberly. "in the badlands," he said. "and the term is not a loose one; they _are_ bad lands, mallory." he pointed the hour hand of his wrist-watch at the pale mist of rising sunlight. "i don't know exactly where we are, or how far from civilization, but it's far enough." tim said determinedly, "then we'd better pack up, eh? hit the trail?" the skipper laughed scornfully. "what trail? we'd be committing suicide by heading into those marshes, those hills, or those jungles. our only chance of survival is to stay close to the _orestes_. five of the sailors bailed out, you'll remember. in safety-sleds. we've got to hope one or more of them will reach venus city, start a rescue party out after us." "but you said 'get going'?" "to work, i meant. we're going to need protection from the sun." again captain lane glanced at the sky, this time a little anxiously. "i know this country. after that sun gets up, it will be a bake-oven. a seething cauldron of heat. damp, muggy heat. steam from the marshes below, the raw, blinding heat blazing down from the rocks above. this is venus, mallory--" he laughed shortly; but there was no mirth in his laughter. "this isn't an air-conditioned home on earth. come along!" silently, tim followed him. they picked their way through the tangled wreckage of the _orestes_, stopping from time to time to salvage such bits of equipment as lane felt might be of use. flashlights, side-arms, vacuteens of clear, cold water, packets of emergency rations. through chamber after shattered chamber they moved, captain lane leading the way. tim and dorothy following mutely behind. everywhere it was the same. broken walls, bent and twisted girders, great rents in what had once been a sturdy spacecraft. and finally lane gave up. "it's no use," he said. "there's no protection in this battered hulk. shading ourselves in one of these open cells would be like taking refuge in a broiler." "then what can we do, daddy?" "there's only one thing to do. break out bulgers. they're thermostatically controlled. we'll keep cooler in space-suits than anything else. mallory, you remember where they were?" "yes, sir!" tim went after the space-suits, grateful for a chance to contribute in some way to their common good. the storeroom in which the bulgers had been locked was no longer burglar-proof; one wall had been sheared away in the crash as if cleft with a gigantic ax. he clambered into the compartment, broke out three bulgers, gathered up spare oxytainers for each of them. he had just finished lugging the equipment out of the storeroom, sweating from the exertion of lifting three heavy space-suits beneath a sun which was now glowing brazenly in an ochre, misted sky, when a sharp cry startled him. "daddy! behind you!" it was dorothy who screamed the warning. and then, "tim! _tim!_" "coming!" roared mallory. he was scarcely conscious of the weight of the bulgers now. in a flash he was plunging toward the source of the cry, tugging at the needle-gun in his belt. but before he had taken a dozen steps-"never mind, mallory!" roared captain lane. "stay where you are! back, you filthy--!" there came the sharp, characteristic hiss of a flashing needle-gun, the _plowp!_ of some unguessable, fleshy thing exploding into atoms. "stay where you are! we'll come to you. quick, dorothy!" * * * * * then their footsteps pounding toward him, dorothy rounding a bend of the ship, white-faced and flying, captain lane on her heels, covering their retreat with his gun. as mallory sprang to join them lane flashed him a swift glance and tossed curt words of explanation. "proto-balls! giant, filthy amoebae. pure proteid matter. _aaah!_ scorched that one! damned needle-guns won't stop 'em, though. just slows 'em down. only thing'll kill 'em is an acid-spray. we've got to get out of here!" "but where, daddy?" "got those bulgers, mallory? climb into 'em. and hurry. saw caves in the mountainside up there. they won't enter caves. need sunlight. _look out!_" again that sharp, explosive hiss. mallory leaped back, feeling the brief, furtive brush of something foreign across the toe of his boot. the attacking proto-balls were of all sizes; they ranged from huge, oily-glistening, foul-odored spheres to tiny globules the size of a baseball. one of the latter size had rolled swiftly toward him; for a second, before captain lane's gun splashed flame upon it, it had come in contact with mallory's foot. where it had touched was now a patch of crumbling gray that had been leather! "eat anything!" rasped lane. "didn't touch you, eh, mallory? good. start backing away. and get into the bulgers. move!" mallory climbed swiftly into his space-suit. its weight disappeared as he touched the grav control button; the heat which had begun to oppress him fled, too, when he closed the face-port. he touched lane's shoulder, thrust the remaining bulger at him. "i'll hold them while you get into it!" and he did. it was an unequal battle, though. the proto-balls were the next thing to imperishable. the needle-gun could not destroy them, it only slowed them down. an occasional perfect bull's-eye shot, striking a vulnerable spot, would burst a proto-ball into a thousand pieces--but when that happened, each of the pieces, amoeba-like, curled instantly into a tiny daughter proto-ball and surged forward again. yet there must have been some elementary nervous-system in these creatures, for while it could not kill them, still they seemed to fear the flaming ray of the needle-gun. and it was to this fear that the trio of earthlings owed their existence during those next hectic minutes while they stumbled, ever backward and upward, giving ground steadily, toward the cave-mouth captain lane had pointed out on the hillside. tim did not even know the cave was near. shoulder to shoulder with the old space-captain, he maintained a rear-guard defense against the proto-balls, gun flaming without cessation, his eyes aching from the strain of constant watchfulness against an unexpected flank attack. and then-and then, suddenly, incredibly, a shadow fell under his stumbling feet; at that line of division between glowing sun and somber shade the proto-balls stopped, quivering and oozing viscous droplets of slime, hesitated, and turned away. lane's roar was gleeful. "good work, young fellow! we made it!" they were safe in the black harbor of the cave. * * * * * when he turned to stare into the depths beyond him, at first he could see nothing but a great orange ball, which was his photo-image of the dazzling sunlight whence they had fled. then tortured nerves surrendered to the soothing dark and he could see that they stood at the mouth of not a cave but a great, many-corridored cavern that stretched--for all mallory could tell--clear down into the murky bowels of venus. jonathan lane was loudly exuberant. "this is fine!" he declared. "we owe those grease-balls a vote of thanks. this is an ideal refuge. shady and cool and safe--and look! we can even see the ship from the heights, here! if anyone--i mean, _when_ they come to rescue us, we can signal them." mallory hoped the slip had passed unnoticed by dorothy. "_if_ anyone--" the skipper had started to say. which meant that he, too, had misgivings as to the likelihood of rescue. but that was a question mallory would not press. he hurdled the awkward moment with a swift response. "we'll have to have something to signal with, sir. our bulger audios won't operate that far, will they? we'll have to build a fire, or at least have one ready to be kindled when they arrive." "right," agreed the skipper. "but we can't gather wood until those protos have gone away. we'll take care of that later. meanwhile--" he glanced into the jetty depths beyond them. "it will be some hours before we can expect to get relief. time to waste. why not amuse ourselves by exploring this cave?" "explo--" began tim. it was a childish idea. one _so_ ridiculous, in fact, that it was on the tip of mallory's tongue to make caustic rejoinder to lane's suggestion. but even as the comment trembled on his lips, his eyes met those of the captain--and in lane's shrewd, pleading glance, tim found a reason and an answer for this subterfuge. lane feared that very thing which he, himself, had dreaded. this cave might be their refuge for a long, long time! there might be no rescue party. if so, and since a trek across the badlands was suicidal, their only chance for ultimate salvation was to find a place where they could live. this cave was such a place. if it had water, and if it were undenizened by wild beasts; if in it, or near it, they could find food.... he hoped his voice was not too suspiciously hearty. "great idea!" he agreed. "splendid. it should be a lot of fun. what do you say, dorothy?" dorothy looked from her lover to her father, back to her lover again. and her voice was grave and fearless. "i say," she said quietly, "you are the two finest men who ever lived. but you're not fooling me for a moment. i know very well why we must explore this cave. and i say, let's start!" there came swift lightness and heart-warming humor to her tone. "after all, if a gal has to keep house in a place like this, she ought to know how many rooms it has!" tim looked at her long and gravely. and then, "you," he said, "are swell. once i called you wonderful. i didn't really know--then." "wonderful?" snorted captain lane. "of course she is! she's my daughter, isn't she? well, come along!" grinning, tim fell in behind him. and into stygian darkness, preceded by a yellow circle from the flashlight of the _orestes'_ skipper, moved the marooned trio. * * * * * the main cave opened out as they picked their path forward; the walls pressed back, the ceiling lofted, until they were standing in a huge, arched chamber almost two hundred feet wide and half as high. this amphitheater debouched into a half dozen or more smaller corridors or openings; for a moment captain lane stood considering these silently, then he nodded toward that on their extreme left. "might as well go at it in orderly fashion. we'll try that one first. no, wait a minute!" he halted tim, who had pressed obediently toward the corridor-mouth. "try not to be a groundhog all your life, mallory! you should know better than to stroll aimlessly around a place like this. a confounded labyrinth, that's what it is! if we got lost down here, we might spend the rest of our natural lives trying to find a way out." he slipped his needle-gun from his bulger belt, let its scorching ray play for an instant on the rocky floor of the cavern. hot rock bubbled, and a fresh, new groove shone sharply in the shape of an arrow. "every time we make a turn we'll do this. then we can retrace our steps." lane smiled sarcastically. "but a hot-and-cold engineer wouldn't think of a thing like that, i suppose?" tim made no reply. but he reproached himself secretly for not having considered this necessity; it did not make him feel much better that dorothy, standing beside him, pressed his arm in mute encouragement. the corridor was a short one, opening into another cavern like that which they had just quitted. similar, but not quite the same. for as lane played his light about the walls of this inner, deeper, chamber, all three adventurers gasped with the impact of sudden, breathtaking beauty. the ebon walls, warmed by the light, flashed into a glittering, scintilliscent miracle of loveliness; a galaxy of twinkling stars seemed to appear from nowhere and hang in dark space burning and gleaming. "it--it's magnificent!" breathed the girl. "what is it, daddy? jewels? it looks like the fabulous caves of ali baba." it was tim who supplied the answer. "they're not jewels. just nitre crystals protruding through a coating of black oxide of manganese. i've seen the same thing on earth--in the mammoth cave of kentucky." and they moved on. deeper and yet deeper into the lethean depths, pausing from time to time to char a signpost for their retreat. miracles without wonder they saw. domes huge enough to house a spaceship, stalactites lowering like great, rough fangs from ceilings lost in dizzy heights, twin growths springing, oftimes without apparent reason, from the cavern floor--stalactites formed by centuries of slow lime dripping from the roof. and gigantic columns, hoariest monsters of all, columns of strange, iridescent beauty. once they passed a pit so deep, so dark, that even the skipper's probing beam could not penetrate its majestic depths. from somewhere far below came the whispering surge of churned water; in the light of the flash there seemed to hover above the rim of this chasm a faint, white, wraithly film. lane frowned, unscrewed his face-port for an instant, sniffed, and hastily ducked back into the bulger. "ammonia," he said. "i thought as much. keep your bulger-ports closed. venus caves aren't earth caves. queer things here. no telling what we'll bump into." he didn't mention the all-too-obvious fact that so far they had not "bumped into" that thing which they sought. a fuel supply, a water supply, signs of an underground grotto wherein might be found food. nor had their winding way at any time moved them toward the surface, toward a possible second exit from the caverns. their movement was ever down, deeper into the bowels of this weird, faery wonderland. * * * * * once, for a heart-stopping moment, they thought they had found their desire. rounding a bend, they came upon a cavern alive with color; towering vines and trees laden with great clusters of grapes; bushes aflower with myriads of gorgeous buds. dorothy sprang forward with a cry of joy--but when she touched one of the mock roses it shattered to fine, white, powdery snow; upon investigation the trees, the vines and "grapes" turned out to be of the same, perishable nature. and tim remembered their name. "oulopholites," he said. "sulphate of magnesia and gypsum. mother nature _does_ repeat herself, you see. she uses the same forms, but these are lifeless mimicry." and he looked at his watch. "guess we'd better turn back, eh, skipper? we've been two hours on the prowl, and there doesn't seem to be anything in this direction. shall we go back and try another corridor?" lane nodded slowly. "i suppose so. but--oh, while we're this far, we might as well peek into that next cavern. won't take but a minute. and if there's nothing there--" the words died on his lips. as he spoke them, they had moved through a short archway; the yellow circle of his flashlight had swung about a cavern larger than any in which they had yet stood. the floor of this cavern sloped sharply downward, narrowing into a funnel. and at the end of that funnel.... "great gods of space!" whispered captain lane, awestruck. "am i crazy? do you see what i see?" for that upon which his lightbeam had ended, the incredible structure from which its glow was now reflecting in shimmering clarity, was--_a massive door of bronze_! golden in sheen, strong and secure, obviously the work of intelligent craftsmen, it met their wondering stares with bland imperturbability. and tim gave a great shout. "a door! venusians! we're all right now. food and rest ... they'll tell us how to get back to civilization...." and then-"quiet!" rasped captain lane. his flashlight beam faded abruptly, darkness closed in about them like a shroud. but only for an instant. because a new effulgence lit the scene. the massive door was slowly swinging open--and from its widening groove came a pallid, greenish glow. like some monstrous, hungry mouth the door opened wider and yet wider. dim shapes were shadows behind it, vague at first, dark and sinister.... and then, out of the ghoulish semi-gloom, suddenly two figures stood limned in stark relief. but they were not the figures of earthmen, neither were they fat, friendly shapes of venusians. they were tall, lean creatures, thin-faced and hungry-fanged, garbed with what appeared to be huge mantles covering them from their shoulder-blades to the tips of their long, prehensile fingers! two wobbling, awkward steps they took from the now completely opened door; for an instant tim heard the shrill, piping chatter of their speech--then their "mantles" spread and became huge, jointed wings on which they soared straight across the cavern toward the spellbound trio! captain lane's cry was thick with horror. "good god, mallory! shoot, and shoot quick! we've found the gates of hell. they're the bat-men--the vampires of venus!" * * * * * even as he spoke, he was tugging his own needle-gun from its holster; now its fiery beam lanced squarely at the foremost of the two attackers. nor was tim mallory slow in heeding. his weapon was out in one swift movement; its beam slashed a hole in the gloom as it sought one of the silently winging creatures above. but they might as well have taken aim at a will-o'-the-wisp. the dim glow from beyond the open door illumined only a portion of the cavern; the heights above were a well of jet, against which the crepuscular creatures were all but invisible. again and again the two heat-beams stabbed black shadows, once tim thought he heard a brief, whimpering cry, but no winged creature, charred in death, hurtled from the eyrie point of vantage. only the sound of great wings beating persisted--and once an ebon shape flung itself from an ebon shadow to rake sharp claws gratingly across tim's bulger helmet. it had glided away again, mockingly, before he could spin to flame a shot after it. then lane's free arm was thrusting at him. lane's voice was sharp, incisive. "out of here! dorothy first! maybe there are just two of these devils--_ooow!_ damn your rotten hide!" he had turned to speak over his shoulder. in that moment of inattention, one of the bat-men had rocketed down upon him, slashed viciously at his gun-arm with clawed hands. metal clattered on rock; captain lane went swiftly after the lost gun, groping for it blindly, down on his knees. tim had taken a backward step; now he moved forward again to cover the frenzied fumbling of the older man. his eyes were suddenly dazzled as lane, desperate, used his flash to search for the weapon. and the skipper groaned. "it's gone! it fell down that fissure! mallory--quick! do you have another gun? they're closing in--" beads of cold sweat had suddenly sprung out on tim mallory's forehead. not only did he _not_ have another gun--but the one he now held was about to become useless! a dim shape wheeled above him; he pressed the trigger, but no red flame leaped from the muzzle. just a spluttering, ochre ray that simmered into nothingness a few feet above his head! the gun's charge was practically exhausted. battle with the proto-balls ... the constant drainage of raying their route-turns ... these had done it! there were fresh capsules in his ammunition kit, but in the length of time required to recharge the gun.... "a minute!" he cried. "fight 'em off a minute! i have to--" and he reached for a new capsule. but the skipper, misunderstanding, impatient, turned peril into disaster with his next, impetuous move. "don't stand there like an idiot, you earthlubber!" he howled. "here--give that to me!" and he jerked the useless weapon from tim's hand! for a stark instant, tim was wrenched in a vise of indecision. to fight the winged demons without a weapon was madness. wisdom lay in hurrying back to the ship, equipping themselves with new guns. but--but lane had said these bat-men were vampires. the vampires of venus, he had said. and tim had heard stories ... the word "vampire" meant the same in any language, on any planet. but there was dorothy to consider, too. he groaned aloud. his instinct bade him plunge forward, weaponless or not; common sense advised the other course. and then, in a split-second, the decision became no longer his to make. for as if the victory of the first two bat-men had determined the action of the entire clan, out of the bronze gateway flooded a veritable host of the sickening winged creatures! then a battering-ram smashed him crushingly and he choked, gasped, felt the weakness of oblivion well over him like a turgid, engulfing cloud. he was conscious of raking talons that gripped his armpits, of sudden, swift and dizzy flight ... of a vast, aching chaos that rocked with hungry, inhuman mirth. * * * * * captain lane's voice was an aeon away, but it came closer. it said, "--be all right now. you must have been in a hell of a fight, boy!" and dorothy was beside him, too. there were tears in her eyes, but she shook them away and tried to smile as tim pushed himself up on one elbow. tim's head was one big ache, and his body was bruised and sore from the buffeting of the bat-men's hard wings. he looked about him dazedly. "wh-here are we?" the room was a low-ceilinged, square one. it had but one door, a bronze one similar in design, but smaller, than the gateway that had led to the city of the vampires. elsewhere the walls were hewn from solid rock. "where are we?" he repeated. he started to unscrew his face port, but the skipper stayed his hand. "don't, mallory! we tried that. it's impossible. the air's so ammoniated it would kill you. from that." he pointed to a trough-like depression in the room. a curious arrangement. probably for purposes of sanitation. liquid ammonia, or something akin, entered the trough from a gushing tube set low in one wall, transversed the room, and exited through a second circular duct. these were the only openings in the chamber, save for--tim glanced up, noticed several round holes. he studied these curiously. lane answered his unspoken query. "yes, that's right. ventilation. these devils may be inhuman in form but they're clever. they've built this underground city, equipped it with heat, light, ventilated it to maintain circulation--" there was something wrong there. tim frowned. "ventilation? yet you say that stream is ammoniated enough to kill a man. then how do they live?" "they're not men," replied lane bitterly. "they're vampires. heaven knows how they can breathe this atmosphere, but they can. the ingenious, murdering..." * * * * * he didn't complete the sentence. for at that instant there came the scrape of movement outside their dungeon door. the door swung open. a bat-man entered. his hooked claw signalled them to come forth. tim glanced at the older man. lane shrugged resignedly. "there's nothing else to do. maybe we can strike a bargain with them. our freedom for something they want." but there was no hope in his voice. tim threw an arm about dorothy's shoulders. they followed their guide out of the room. there a cordon of other bat-creatures circled them, and tim, for the first time, got an opportunity to see his captors at close range. they weren't much to look at. they were such stuff as nightmares are made of. tall, angular, covered from head to toe with a stiff, glossy pelt of fur. their faces were lean and hard and predatory; their teeth sharp and protruding. their wings were definitely chiropteric; the wing-membranes spanned from their shoulders to their claws, falling loosely away when not in use, and were anchored to stiff, horny knobs at clavicle and heel. they walked now, guarding their captives, but it was apparent that flight was their usual method of locomotion. anything else would be awkward, for their knees bent backward as did the knees of their diminutive earthly prototype. they turned, at last, into a huge chamber. and before them, perched obscenely on a platform elaborately laid with jewels and tapestries, was the overlord of the harpies. * * * * * no man, by the wildest stretch of the imagination, could have considered any of the vampires attractive. but of all they had seen, this monster was the most repugnant. it was not only that his frame was tauter, skinnier, than that of his fellows; it was not that his furry body was raw and chafed, as if from ancient, unhealed sores; it was not only that his pendulous nose-leaf perpetually snuffled, pulsed, above a red-lipped, vicious mouth. it was the unclean aura of evil about him that made tim feel dirty. as though by merely looking on this thing he had profaned himself in some strange, inexplicable fashion. dorothy felt it, too. she choked once, turned her face away. and captain lane growled a disgusted curse. "lord, what a filthy beast! mallory, i wouldn't mind dying if i could get one shot at that pot-bellied horror first!" he did not expect--none of them could have expected--that which happened then. there came a high, simpering parody of laughter from the thing on the dais before them. and the words in their own tongue-"but you cannot, man! for here _i_ am the master!" lane's jaw dropped; his eyes widened. tim mallory felt the small hairs at the nape of his neck tighten coldly. the bat-thing could speak! was speaking again, its cruel little mouth pulled into a grimace remotely resembling a grin. "you are surprised that i speak your language? ah, that is amusing. but you are just the first of many who will soon discover how foolish it was to underestimate the intellect of our ancient race. "with fire and flame you forced us to the caverns, man-thing. but we are old and wise. we built our cities here, warmed them against the dreadful damp and cold. soon we shall burst forth in all our might. and when we do--" he stopped abruptly; the tensing of his claws told the rest more eloquently than words. he rapped a command to one of the guards. "take off their garments! i would see what prizes have stumbled into our refuge!" obediently, the bat-creature shambled forward; his talons fumbled at captain lane's face-port. tim cried out, "no! don't let him! the atmosphere--" the vampire overlord grinned at him cunningly. "fear not, earthman. the air in this chamber will not harm you. we have other plans--" his wet, red tongue licked his lips. then lane's headpiece was removed, and his bulger was stripped from him. a dazed expression swept across his forehead. he said, "mallory--it--it's _hot_ in here! and the air is breatheable!" but by that time, tim, too, had been removed of his space-suit; he, too, had felt the sultry, oppressive heat of the cavern. it was incredible but true. the vampires had found a way to make their underground city warm as the surface from which men had hunted them. that then--it came to tim with sudden, startling clarity--that was why-the overlord was speaking again. his tone was one of gratification. "the men will do. we shall feast well tonight--_very_ well! the woman--" he gazed at dorothy speculatively. "i wonder?" he mused in a half whisper. "i wonder if there is not a better way of undermining earthmen than just crushing them? a new race to people venus? a race combining our ancient, noble blood and that of these pale creatures?" his eyes fastened on dorothy's suddenly flaming loveliness. "that is a matter i must consider. "that will do!" he motioned to his followers even as tim, white of lip and riotous with rage, took a forward step. "allow them to don their clumsy air-suits again; take them back to their dungeon. we shall bring them forth again when the time is ripe." strong claws clutched mallory, staying him. short minutes later, surrounded by their guards, they were once more on their way to the nether prison. * * * * * it was a grim-faced captain lane who paced the floor of their dungeon. there was anger in his eyes, and outrage, too. but beneath those surface emotions was a deeper one--fear! the dreadful, haunting fear of a powerless man, caught in a trap beyond his utmost devising. "if there were only something we could do!" he raged savagely. "but we're weaponless--helpless--we can't even die fighting, like strong men. i'd rather we had all died in the _orestes_ than that this should happen. you and i, mallory, a feast for such foul things. dorothy--" he stopped, shaken, sickened. dorothy's face was pale, but her voice was even. "there is one thing he overlooked, daddy. we still have the privilege of dying cleanly. together. we can take off our suits. here. before they come for us." lane nodded. he knew what death by asphyxiation meant; he had seen men die in earth's lethal chambers. but anything, even that, was better than meek surrender to the overlord's mad, lustful plan. "yes, dorothy. that is the only way left to us." he thought for a moment. "there is no use delaying. but before we--we _go_, there is one thing i must say--" and he looked at his daughter and her lover in turn. "i was wrong in forbidding your marriage. you're a _man_, mallory. it's too bad i had to learn that under such circumstances. but i want you to know--at the end--that if things had turned out differently, i--i'd change my mind." tim said quietly, "thank you, sir." but his thoughts were only half upon the older man's admission. there was a tiny something scratching at the back of his mind. something that had occurred to him, dimly, in the hot chamber above. he couldn't quite place his finger on it, but-"i still find it in me to wish," said captain lane, "that you had been a spaceman. but there's no use talking about that now. what might have been is past. there remains only time to acknowledge past faults, and then--and then--" he faltered. and dorothy took up the weighty burden of speech. "shall we ... do it now?" her hands lifted to the pane of her helmet. for an instant they hesitated, then began to turn. and then-"_stop!_" cried tim. he struck her hands away, spun swiftly to the older man. "don't do it, skipper! i've got it! got it at last!" lane stared at him dazedly. "wh-what do you mean?" tim's sudden laughter was almost hysterically triumphant. "i mean that this is one time a 'groundhog engineer' knows more than a spaceman. there's no time to explain now, but quick!--you have some gun-capsules, haven't you?" "y-yes, but--" "give them to me! all you have. and hurry!" * * * * * as he spoke, he was emptying his own capacious ammunition pouch. capsule after capsule poured from it, until he had an overflowing double handful. with frenzied haste he broke the safety-tip off the first, tossed the cartridge into the stream that ran through their prison. as it struck, it hissed faintly; bubbles began to rise from the fluid, and a thin, steamy film of vapor rose whitely. "do that to all of them. toss them in there! i'm right! i know i am. i _have_ to be!" bewilderedly, captain lane and dorothy began doing as he ordered. a dozen, a score, twoscore of the heat-gun cartridges were untipped, thrown into the coursing stream. the white film became a cloud, a fog, a thick, dense blanket about them, through which they could barely see each other. and still tim's voice cried, "more! faster! all of them!" then the last capsule had been tossed into the fluid, and their only contact with each other was by speech and the sense of touch. they were engulfed in rolling billows of white; vapor that frosted their view-panes, screened the world from view. for half an hour they stood there waiting, turn with a thousand mingled doubts. until, at last-"i can't stand it any longer, tim!" cried dorothy. "what is it? what do we do? what is this wild plan?" the vapor had thinned a trifle. and through gray mists, she saw a form loom before her. it was tim's shape, and his hand stretched out to her. his voice was tense. "now--" he said. "now we walk from our prison!" and he flung open the door. "careful!" cried captain lane. "the guards, son! 'ware the harpy guards!" but no guards sprang forward to bar their passage. there were guards, a dozen of them. but not a single one of them moved. and dorothy, wiping a sudden veil of hoar-frost from her view-pane, saw them and gasped. "dead!" she cried. "tim--they're all dead!" tim shook his head. "not dead, darling. just--sleeping! and now let's hurry. before they waken again!" * * * * * when they had reached the uppermost corridor of the caverns, they paused for a moment's rest. it was then that captain lane found time for the question that had plagued him. "you were right, tim. they were sleeping. i could see that overlord's nose-leaf quivering with slow breath just before i shot him. but--but what caused it? anesthetic? i don't understand." "no," grinned tim, "it was not an anesthetic. it was a simple matter of remembering a biological trait of bats, and applying a little technical knowledge. the knowledge--" he could not resist the dig. "the special knowledge of what you called a 'hot-and-cold' expert. refrigeration! "bats are hibernating creatures. and hibernation is not merely a matter of custom, tradition, desire to sleep--it is a physical reflex which cannot be avoided when the conditions are made suitable. "bats, like many other hibernating mammals, are automatically forced into slumber when the temperature drops below 46â°f. knowing this, and realizing that was the reason the harpies--bat-like in form and habit--kept their underground chambers superheated i applied an elemental principle of refrigeration to cool their city below that point!" dorothy said, "the--the ammonia--?" "exactly. the set-up was perfect. our apparatus was, perforce, crude, but we had all the elements of a refrigerating unit. ammoniated water, running in a constant stream, capsules of condensed and concentrated heat from our needle-guns--a small room which was connected, by ventilating ducts, with the rest of the underground city. "the principle of the absorption process depends on the fact that vapors of low boiling point are readily absorbed in water and can be separated again by the application of heat. at 60â°f, water will absorb about 760 times its own volume of ammonia vapor, and this produces evaporation, which, in turn, gives off vapor at a low temperature, thereby becoming a refrigerator abstracting heat from any surrounding body. in this case--the rooms above! "it--" tim grinned. "it's as simple as that!" captain lane groaned. "simple!" he echoed weakly. "the man says 'simple'! i don't understand a word of it, but--it worked, son! and that's the pay-off." "no, sir," said tim promptly. "what? what's that?" "the pay-off," persisted tim, "comes later. when we get back to civilization. you said something about removing your objections to our marriage, remember?" captain jonathan growled and stood up. "confound it, do you think of everything? well--all right, then. i'm a man of my word. but when we get back to civilization may be a long time yet." "i can wait," grinned tim. "but i've got a feeling i won't have to wait long. maybe i'm psychic all of a sudden. i don't know. but somehow i've got a hunch that when we get to the cave-mouth, we're going to find a rescue party waiting for us up there. i just _feel_ that way." "humph!" snorted lane. "you're a dreamer, lad! a blasted, wishful dreamer!" but it was a good dream. for the hunch was right. the victory of klon by wilbur s. peacock "behold, i bring my people light!" but it was a deadly triumph for klon, wriggling, slimy lord of eternally-veiled venus. [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from planet stories fall 1941. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] klon fled from fern to fern like a drifting shadow, circling the new clearing that had been torn in the steamy jungle by the gleaming monster that had come from the eternal fog that clothed his world. he halted now and then, slipped into the stagnant water that covered nine tenths of the planet, and listened for the slightest sound that would warn him of a hidden watcher spying on his movements. satisfied that he was alone in the jungle swamp, he edged closer to the clearing whose edge was a charred and ragged circle. his lidless eye gleamed phosphorescently in the darkness that never changed, bringing into sharp detail the shadows that were two shades of blackness for there were no colors on his earth. he slipped over the burned ground, wincing at the bruises given him by the unaccustomed hardness beneath his body. he hissed a bit in anger that he should suffer so, then went rigid as the thing happened again. an amazingly light shadow had suddenly come into being on the roundness of the gleaming visitor from somewhere above. klon wanted that shadow, wanted that thing that was brighter than anything he had ever seen--and his purpose was to gain it in any way possible. for possession of that light shadow would make him greater than anyone else on the planet. mightier even than valok. klon knew that his time was growing short; the nation would declare their new leader within a very short while, and he knew that possession of that light shadow was the one thing that would assure him of victory over his rival for leadership. his gills opened and closed automatically, involuntary muscles working even when his lungs worked on the damp air. he winced a bit from the lightness of the shadow, for never had his eye seen one that was so without blackness. and then klon was at the roundness of the thing, the touch of its coolness sending a thrill of dread through his heart. he moved slowly until he was just below the circle of lightness, then climbed upwards with his sucker-discs. slowly, carefully, instantly ready for flight to safety, he lifted his head until his eye was pressed against the light shadow. he felt tiny pains running through his eye, back into his head, and down into his body, but he gave it no heed. for he was seeing something that none other of his race had had the courage to face. he saw things but dimly, and the hideousness of the scene almost made him lose his hold. for nightmarish creatures moved within the gleaming thing, moving on stiff tentacles, gesturing with others, while above, on a thin neck, fanged mouths opened and closed in sickening motions. and the shadows of their skins were of shades of lightness and darkness that were terrifying to klon's senses that had never met the like before. he gasped audibly, swung back from the circle of lightness, shaking with horror at what he had seen. * * * * * inside the gleaming space ship, three men were seated on the collapsible bunks. kurt overland, his muscular body unclad except for shorts, was speaking in his even tone. "well," he said cheerfully, even his steady voice failing to conceal the burning eagerness within him, "we're finally ready. i've just made the last repair on the things broken by landing." frank barker grinned at him from across the cell-like room, stretched his six feet of blond-topped, lanky strength happily. "suits me," he said, "i'm tired of being cooped in this animated bullet that's been home for so long." "we had to wait," gray-haired professor kent said mildly, "after all, if we are met by hostile beings, we want to be able to escape." kurt overland grinned. "maybe you're right, professor," he said. "but i'd hate to return to earth and say that we'd been run off before we had a chance to bring back proof of our expedition's success." "that would be a calamity," barker broke in. "remember what a devil of a time we had getting permission to make this flight through space. the president told me, just before we took off, that because of the many deaths in faulty rockets a law was being passed to forbid any more flights. he said that it was only his influence that made it possible for us to leave earth on a trip to venus, and that if we failed to make good there would probably be no more flights for, possibly, hundreds of years." "so!" professor kent nodded his head. "then i am glad that we did not fail; for it is apparent that we are the vanguard of a new phase of our civilization." kurt overland stood, flexed his arms. "well, come on, let's go," he said. "it's time we took a look around." the three of them slipped into their space suits, each of them tight-breathed with eagerness to explore the second of the planets. they were strangely silent as they dressed. "better slip the cover over that radi-light," professor kent tried to keep his tone even. "there may be poisonous insects outside that would be attracted by it. we will go outside without lights, then switch them on when the port is closed." frank barker moved toward the radi-light, slipped the cover over its eternal brightness with a gloved hand. then he joined the other two at the port. for a long second the three of them stood shoulder to shoulder. "professor kent," kurt overland said softly, "please go first. it is your right that you should be the first to step onto a world made accessible only by your genius." professor albert kent's shoulders shook silently for a moment in great emotion, then straightened with pride. he nodded, swung shut his visor plate, dogged it securely. barker and overland followed suit, clicked on their radio receivers. they waited patiently for their leader, knowing the feelings that must have been his at the moment. and then, unsealing the port, clutching the american flag gently in his left hand ready for its planting on venus, professor kent stepped through the port, the first human to land on the veiled planet. behind him, following with a clumsy speed, came frank barker and kurt overland. "we three--" professor albert kent began. * * * * * klon dropped from the side of the ship. he paused for a moment over the lifeless bodies of the three intrepid explorers, then moved away, disgusted by his closeness to the horrible creatures he had slain so swiftly and casually. his every sense was alert for the slightest movement on the long gleaming thing beside him to retaliate in quick vengeance for the slaying of the things that lived within its belly. klon crouched there for moments, then moved toward the ship. he climbed into the port entrance, leaving a thick trail of slime in his wake. he moved eagerly toward the small hole in the opposite wall, his heart thudding with bursting eagerness. he had seen frank barker slip the shield over the shadow that was so unlike anything on his earth. and now he moved through the darkness of the space ship, slipping surely through a darkness that was natural to him and his fellow creatures. he lifted the small box from its recess, turned and sped from the ship, vague terror and superstition overcoming the courage that had taken so long to build to a white heat. he rushed past the men who slept the eternal sleep before the port of their ship, slipped into the warm water at the edge of the clearing, began his long journey to the meeting place at which a leader would be chosen. he clasped the box close to him as he raced through the swampy jungle, afraid that it might disappear before he could reach his destination. he did not pause to examine his prize, knowing that the time was growing short, feeling certain a longer wait would only make the globe of lightness more thrilling. * * * * * the people of klon's nation were gathered in the council clearing, silent as each of the candidates for leader extolled his own virtues and explained his qualification for the position as their leader. hisses of approval and sounds of disapproval greeted each candidate as he placed himself on the stone at the clearing's center. and then klon slipped into the clearing. he hissed greetings as he made his way to the central stone. still clutching the box tightly to his body, he climbed to the top of the stone, faced his nation. a respectful silence fell as his powerful body loomed high in the air over the heads of his people. klon stood for a moment, silently considering the short speech he intended to make. he caught the glance of valok's eye, looked away. his gaze travelled over the clearing, making out familiar features of his people. the crowd was not large, for klon's nation was a small one. it was large in the sense that no other group on the planet was as large. and it was the only race with useful intelligence. klon looked at his people, and pride made his heart beat even faster. "i am here to prove to you that i am the mightiest among you," he hissed. "i have here the thing that will prove what i say." he lifted the small box so that everyone could see. a wave of interested hissing grew in sudden applause, then a respectful silence fell again. klon hesitated for a moment longer, then continued: "i got this thing from the belly of the thing that came from the clouds, killing three horrible creatures single-handedly. thus i have proved that i am clever, brave and strong." "what is this thing you have brought us, brave klon?" valok's sneering hiss broke in upon klon's words. "a thing that is like nothing any of you have ever seen; it is a shadow lighter than anything on this world," klon said proudly, and placed the small box on the rock beside himself. he paused again, knowing the effect his wait would have on his audience. and then he whisked the cover from the radi-light, slid from the central stone. the radi-light flared with a dazzling, gleaming whiteness on the stone, bringing with it a light such as had never penetrated the always-present clouds that veiled venus. klon stood proudly to one side, drinking in the hissing applause and hisses of surprise and awe that greeted his showing of the globe of light shadow. he knew then that he had won the coveted leadership of his nation. "this," he hissed over the uproar of his people, "is the--" klon gasped in sudden intolerable agony, fiery fingers of pain tearing at every bit of his body, cutting off his speech almost at its very inception. he crumpled slowly to the ground, dimly conscious that other cries were echoing his own. he died then, hearing the agonized hisses of his friends, his last sight of life being that of the globe that burned with a white-hot light on the top of the central stone. and slowly, but with increasing speed, his people died too. they fell like tiny trees before a huge storm, falling even as they tried to find a reason for the death around them. like a wave eddying out from the central stone, death cut its merciless sweep. and within seconds there was no life in the clearing. within seconds an entire nation, every intelligent being on venus, was dead of the unleashed light rays, the like of which had never penetrated the miles of fog that lay between earth and the sun. the radi-light gleamed brightly on the central stone, shedding radiance over the last beings of intelligence ever to be on venus--perhaps forever! monopoly by vic phillips and scott roberts sheer efficiency and good management can make a monopoly grow into being. and once it grows, someone with a tyrant mind is going to try to use it as a weapon if he can- [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from astounding science-fiction april 1942. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] "that all, chief? gonna quit now?" brian hanson looked disgustedly at pete brent, his lanky assistant. that was the first sign of animation he had displayed all day. "i am, but you're not," hanson told him grimly. "get your notes straightened up. run those centrifuge tests and set up the still so we can get at that vitamin count early in the morning." "tomorrow morning? aw, for gosh sakes, chief, why don't you take a day off sometime, or better yet, a night off. it'd do you good to relax. boy, i know a swell blonde you could go for. wait a minute, i've got her radiophone number somewhere--just ask for myrtle." hanson shrugged himself out of his smock. "never mind myrtle, just have that equipment set up for the morning. good night." he strode out of the huge laboratory, but his mind was still on the vitamin research they had been conducting, he barely heard the remarks that followed him. "one of these days the chief is going to have his glands catch up with him." "not a chance," pete brent grunted. brian hanson wondered dispassionately for a moment how his assistants could fail to be as absorbed as he was by the work they were doing, then he let it go as he stepped outside the research building. he paused and let his eyes lift to the buildings that surrounded the compound. this was the administrative heart of venus city. out here, alone, he let his only known emotion sweep through him, pride. he had an important role in the building of this great new city. as head of the venus consolidated research organization, he was in large part responsible for the prosperity of this vigorous, young world. venus consolidated had built up this city and practically everything else that amounted to anything on this planet. true, there had been others, pioneers, before the company came, who objected to the expansion of the monopolistic control. but, if they could not realize that the company's regime served the best interests of the planet, they would just have to suffer the consequences of their own ignorance. there had been rumors of revolution among the disgruntled older families. he heard there had been killings, but that was nonsense. venus consolidated police had only powers of arrest. anything involving executions had to be referred to the interplanetary council on earth. he dismissed the whole business as he did everything else that did not directly influence his own department. he ignored the surface transport system and walked to his own apartment. this walk was part of a regular routine of physical exercise that kept his body hard and resilient in spite of long hours spent in the laboratory. as he opened the door of his apartment he heard the water running into his bath. perfect timing. he was making that walk in precisely seven minutes, four and four-fifths seconds. he undressed and climbed into the tub, relaxing luxuriously in the exhilaration of irradiated water. he let all the problems of his work drift away, his mind was a peaceful blank. then someone was hammering on his head. he struggled reluctantly awake. it was the door that was being attacked, not his head. the battering thunder continued persistently. he swore and sat up. "what do you want?" there was no answer; the hammering continued. "all right! all right! i'm coming!" he yelled, crawled out of the tub and reached for his bathrobe. it wasn't there. he swore some more and grabbed a towel, wrapping it inadequately around him; it didn't quite meet astern. he paddled wetly across the floor sounding like a flock of ducks on parade. retaining the towel with one hand he inched the door cautiously open. "what the devil--" he stopped abruptly at the sight of a policeman's uniform. "sorry, sir, but one of those rebels is loose in the administration center somewhere. we're making a check-up of all the apartments." "well, you can check out; i haven't got any blasted rebels in here." the policeman's face hardened, then relaxed knowingly. "oh, i see, sir. no rebels, of course. sorry to have disturbed you. have a good--good night, sir," he saluted and left. brian closed the door in puzzlement. what the devil had that flat-foot been smirking about? well, maybe he could get his bath now. * * * * * hanson turned away from the door and froze in amazement. through the open door of his bedroom he could see his bed neatly turned down as it should be, but the outline under the counterpane and the luxuriant mass of platinum-blond hair on the pillow was certainly no part of his regular routine. "hello." the voice matched the calm alertness of a pair of deep-blue eyes. brian just stared at her in numbed fascination. that was what the policeman had meant with his insinuating smirk. "just ask for myrtle." pete brent's joking words flashed back to him. now he got it. this was probably the young fool's idea of a joke. he'd soon fix that. "all right, joke's over, you can beat it now." "joke? i don't see anything funny, unless it's you and that suggestive towel. you should either abandon it or get one that goes all the way round." brian slowly acquired a complexion suitable for painting fire plugs. "shut up and throw me my dressing gown." he gritted. the girl swung her legs out of bed and brian blinked; she was fully dressed. the snug, zippered overall suit she wore did nothing to conceal the fact that she was a female. he wrapped his bathrobe austerely around him. "well, now what?" she asked and looked at him questioningly. "well, what do you think?" he burst out angrily. "i'm going to finish my bath and i'd suggest you go down to the laboratory and hold hands with pete. he'd appreciate it." he got the impression that the girl was struggling heroically to refrain from laughing and that didn't help his dignity any. he strode into the bathroom, slammed the door and climbed back into the bath. the door opened a little. "well, good-by now." the girl said sweetly. "remember me to the police force." "get out of here!" he yelled and the door shut abruptly on a rippling burst of laughter. damn women! it was getting so a man had to pack a gun with him or something. and pete brent. he thought with grim satisfaction of the unending extra work that was going to occur around the laboratory from now on. he sank back into the soothing liquid embrace of the bath and deliberately set his mind loose to wander in complete relaxation. a hammering thunder burst on the outer door. he sat up with a groan. "lay off, you crazy apes!" he yelled furiously, but the pounding continued steadily. he struggled out of the bath, wrapped his damp bathrobe clammily around him and marched to the door with a seething fury of righteous anger burning within him. he flung the door wide, his mouth all set for a withering barrage, but he didn't get a chance. four police constables and a sergeant swarmed into the room, shoving him away from the door. "say! what the--" "where is she?" the sergeant demanded. "wherethehell's who?" "quit stallin', bud. you know who. that female rebel who was in here." "rebel? you're crazy! that was just ... pete said ... rebel? did you say rebel?" "yeah, i said rebel, an' where is she?" "she ... why ... why ... she left, of course. you don't think i was going to have women running around in here, do you?" "she wuz in his bed when i seen her, sarge," one of the guards contributed. "but she ain't there now." "you don't think that i--" "listen, bud, we don't do the thinkin' around here. you come on along and see the chief." brian had had about enough. "i'm not going anywhere to see anybody. maybe you don't know who i am. you can't arrest me." * * * * * brian hanson, chief of research for venus consolidated, as dignified as possible in a damp bathrobe, glared out through the bars at a slightly bewildered pete brent. "what the devil do you want? haven't you caused enough blasted trouble already?" "me? for gosh sakes, chief--" "yes, you! if sending that damn blonde to my apartment and getting me arrested is your idea of a joke--" "but, my gosh, i didn't send anybody, chief. and this is no joke. that wasn't myrtle, that was crystal james, old man james' daughter. they're about the oldest family on venus. police have been after her for months; she's a rebel and she's sure been raising plenty of hell around here. she got in and blew out the main communications control panel last night. communications been tied up all day." pete lowered his voice to an appreciative whisper, "gosh, chief, i didn't know you had it in you. how long have you been in with that bunch? is that girl as good-looking as they say she is?" "now listen here, brent. i don't know--" "oh, it's all right, chief. you can trust me. i won't give you away." "there's nothing to give away, you fool!" brian bellowed. "i don't know anything about any damn rebels. all i want is to get out of here--" "gotcha, chief," brent whispered understandingly. "i'll see if i can pass the word along." "come here, you idiot!" brian screamed after his erstwhile assistant. "pipe down there, bud," a guard's voice cut in chillingly. brian retired to his cell bunk and clutched his aching head in frustrated fury. for the nineteenth time brian hanson strode to the door of his cell and rattled the bars. "listen here, guard, you've got to take a message to mchague. you can't hold me here indefinitely." "shut up. nobody ain't takin' no message to mchague. i don't care if you are--" brian's eyes almost popped out as he saw a gloved hand reach around the guard's neck and jam a rag over his nose and mouth. swift shadows moved expertly before his astonished gaze. another guard was caught and silenced as he came around the end of the corridor. someone was outside his cell door, a hooded figure which seemed, somehow, familiar. "hello, pantless!" a voice breathed. he knew that voice! "what the devil are you doing here?" "somebody by the name of pete brent tipped us off that you were in trouble because of me. but don't worry, we're going to get you out." "damn that fool kid! leave me alone. i don't want to get out of here that way!" he yelled wildly. "guards! help!" "shut up! do you want to get us shot?" "sure i do. guards! guards!" someone came running. "guards are coming," a voice warned. he could hear the girl struggling with the lock. "damn," she swore viciously. "this is the wrong key! your goose is sure cooked now. whether you like it or not, you'll hang with us when they find us trying to get you out of here." brian felt as though something had kicked him in the stomach. she was right! he had to get out now. he wouldn't be able to explain this away. "give me that key," he hissed and grabbed for it. he snapped two of the coigns off in the lock and went to work with the rest of the key. he had designed these escape-proof locks himself. in a few seconds the door swung open and they were fleeing silently down the jail corridor. the girl paused doubtfully at a crossing passage. "this way," he snarled and took the lead. he knew the ground plan of this jail perfectly. he had a moment of wonder at the crazy spectacle of himself, the fair-haired boy of venus consolidated, in his flapping bathrobe, leading a band of escaping rebels out of the company's best jail. they burst around a corner onto a startled guard. "they're just ahead of us," brian yelled. "come on!" "right with you," the guard snapped and ran a few steps with them before a blackjack caught up with him and he folded into a corner. "down this way, it's a short cut." brian led the way to a heavily barred side door. the electric eye tripped a screaming alarm, but the broken key in brian's hands opened the complicated lock in a matter of seconds. they were outside the jail on a side street, the door closed and the lock jammed immovably behind them. sirens wailed. the alarm was out! the street suddenly burst into brilliance as the floodlights snapped on. brian faltered to a stop and crystal james pushed past him. "we've got reinforcements down here," she said, then skidded to a halt. two guards barred the street ahead of them. brian felt as though his stomach had fallen down around his ankles and was tying his feet up. he couldn't move. the door was jammed shut behind them, they'd have to surrender and there'd be no explaining this break. he started mentally cursing pete brent, when a projector beam slashed viciously by him. these guards weren't fooling! he heard a gasping grunt of pain as one of the rebels went down. they were shooting to kill. he saw a sudden, convulsive movement from the girl. a black object curved out against the lights. the sharp, ripping blast of an atomite bomb thundered along the street and slammed them to the ground. the glare left them blinded. he struggled to his feet. the guards had vanished, a shallow crater yawned in the road where they had been. "we've got to run!" the girl shouted. he started after her. two surface transport vehicles waited around the corner. brian and the rebels bundled into them and took away with a roar. the chase wasn't organized yet, and they soon lost themselves in the orderly rush of venus city traffic. * * * * * the two carloads of rebels cruised nonchalantly past the administration center and pulled into a private garage a little beyond. "what are we stopping here for?" brian demanded. "we've got to get away." "that's just what we're doing," crystal snapped. "everybody out." the rebels piled out and the cars pulled away to become innocuous parts of the traffic stream. the rebels seemed to know where they were going and that gave them the edge on brian. they followed crystal down into the garage's repair pit. she fumbled in the darkness a moment, then a darker patch showed as a door swung open in the side of the pit. they filed into the solid blackness after her and the door thudded shut. the beam of a torch stabbed through the darkness and they clambered precariously down a steep, steel stairway. "where the dickens are we?" brian whispered hoarsely. "oh, you don't have to whisper, we're safe enough here. this is one of the air shafts leading down to the old mines." "old mines? what old mines?" "that's something you newcomers don't know anything about. this whole area was worked out long before venus consolidated came to the planet. these old tunnels run all under the city." they went five hundred feet down the air shaft before they reached a level tunnel. "what do we do? hide here?" "i should say not. serono zeburzac, head of mchague's secret police will be after us now. we won't be safe anywhere near venus city." "don't be crazy. that serono zeburzac stuff is just a legend mchague keeps up to scare people with." "that's what you think," crystal snapped. "mchague's legend got my father and he'll get all of us unless we run the whole company right off the planet." "well, what the dickens does he look like?" brian asked doubtfully. "i don't know, but his left hand is missing. dad did some good shooting before he died," she said grimly. brian was startled at the icy hardness of her voice. two of the rebels pulled a screening tarpaulin aside and revealed one of the old-type ore cars that must have been used in the ancient mines. a brand-new atomic motor gleamed incongruously at one end. the rebels crowded into it and they went rumbling swiftly down the echoing passage. the lights of the car showed the old working, rotten and crumbling, fallen in in some places and signs of new work where the rebels had cleared away the debris of years. brian struggled into a zippered overall suit as they followed a twisting, tortuous course for half an hour, switching from one tunnel to another repeatedly until he had lost all conception of direction. crystal james, at the controls, seemed to know exactly where they were going. the tunnel emerged in a huge cavern that gloomed darkly away in every direction. the towering, massive remains of old machinery, eroded and rotten with age crouched like ancient, watching skeletons. "these were the old stamp mills," the girl said, and her voice seemed to be swallowed to a whisper in the vast, echoing darkness. between two rows of sentinel ruins they came suddenly on two slim venusian atmospheric ships. dim light spilled over them from a ragged gash in the wall of the cavern. brian followed crystal into the smaller of the two ships and the rest of the rebels manned the other. "wait a minute, how do we get out of here?" brian demanded. "through that hole up there," the girl said matter-of-factly. "you're crazy, you can't get through there." "oh, yeah? just watch this." the ship thundered to life beneath them and leaped off in a full-throttled take-off. "we're going to crash! that gap isn't wide enough!" the sides of the gap rushed in on the tips of the stubby wings. brian braced himself for the crash, but it didn't come. at the last possible second, the ship rolled smoothly over. at the moment it flashed through the opening it was stood vertically on edge. * * * * * crystal held the ship in its roll and completed the maneuver outside the mountain while brian struggled to get his internal economy back into some semblance of order. "that's some flying," he said as soon as he could speak. crystal looked at him in surprise. "that's nothing. we venusians fly almost as soon as we can walk." "oh--i see," brian said weakly and a few moments later he really did see. two big, fast, green ships, carrying the insignia of the venus consolidated police, cruised suddenly out from a mountain air station. an aã«rial torpedo exploded in front of the rebel ship. crystal's face set in grim lines as she pulled the ship up in a screaming climb. brian got up off the floor. "you don't have to get excited like that," he complained. "they weren't trying to hit us." "that's what you think," crystal muttered. "those children don't play for peanuts." "but, girl, they're just venus consolidated police. they haven't got any authority to shoot anyone." "authority doesn't make much difference to them," crystal snapped bitterly. "they've been killing people all over the planet. what do you think this revolution is about?" "you must be mistak--" he slumped to the floor as crystal threw the ship into a mad, rolling spin. a tremendous crash thundered close astern. "i guess that was a mistake!" crystal yelled as she fought the controls. brian almost got to his feet when another wild maneuver hurled him back to the floor. the police ship was right on their tail. the girl gunned her craft into a snap immelmann and swept back on their pursuers, slicing in close over the ship. brian's eyes bulged as he saw a long streak of paint and metal ripped off the wing of the police ship. he saw the crew battling their controls in startled terror. the ship slipped frantically away and fell into a spin. "that's them," crystal said with satisfaction. "how are the others doing?" "look! they're hit!" brian felt sick. the slower rebel freight ship staggered drunkenly as a torpedo caught it and ripped away half a wing. it plunged down in flames with the white flowers of half a dozen parachutes blossoming around it. brian watched in horror as the police ship came deliberately about. they heard its forward guns go into action. the bodies of the parachutists jerked and jumped like crazy marionettes as the bullets smashed into them. it was over in a few moments. the dead rebels drifted down into the mist-shrouded depths of the valley. "the dirty, murdering rats!" brian's voice ripped out in a fury of outrage. "they didn't have a chance!" "don't get excited," crystal told him in a dead, flat voice. "that's just normal practice. if you'd stuck your nose out of your laboratory once in a while, you'd have heard of these things." "but why--" he ducked away instinctively as a flight of bullets spanged through the fuselage. "they're after us now!" crystal's answer was to yank the ship into a rocketing climb. the police were watching for that. the big ship roared up after them. "just follow along, suckers," crystal invited grimly. she snapped the ship into a whip stall. for one nauseating moment they hung on nothing, then the ship fell over on its back and they screamed down in a terminal velocity dive, heading for the safety of the lower valley mists. the heavier police ship, with its higher wing-loading, could not match the maneuver. the rebel craft plunged down through the blinding fog. half-seen, ghostly fingers of stone clutched up at them, talons of gray rock missed and fell away again as crystal nursed the ship out of its dive. "_phew!_" brian gasped. "well, we got away that time. how in thunder can you do it?" "well, you don't do it on faith. take a look at that fuel gauge! we may get as far as our headquarters--or we may not." * * * * * for twenty long minutes they groped blindly through the fog, flying solely by instruments and dead reckoning. the needle of the fuel gauge flickered closer and closer to the danger point. they tore loose from the clinging fog as it swung firmly to "empty." the drive sputtered and coughed and died. "that's figuring it nice and close," crystal said in satisfaction. "we can glide in from here." "into where?" brian demanded. all he could see immediately ahead was the huge bulk of a mountain which blocked the entire width of the valley and soared sheer up to the high-cloud level. his eyes followed it up and up-"look! police ships. they've seen us!" "maybe they haven't. anyway, there's only one place we can land." the ship lunged straight for the mountain wall! "are you crazy? watch out--we'll crash!" "you leave the flying to me," crystal snapped. she held the ship in its glide, aiming directly for the tangled foliage of the mountain face. brian yelped and cowered instinctively back. the lush green of the mountainside swirled up to meet them. they ripped through the foliage--there was no crash. they burst through into a huge, brilliantly lighted cavern and settled to a perfect landing. men came running. crystal tumbled out of her ship. "douse those lights," she shouted. "the police are outside." a tall, lean man with bulbous eyes and a face like a startled horse, rushed up to crystal. "what do you mean by leading them here?" he yelled, waving his hands. "they jumped us when we had no fuel, and quit acting like an idiot." the man was shaking, his eyes looked wild. "they'll kill us. we've got to get out of here." "wait, you fool. they may not even have seen us." but he was gone, running toward a group of ships lined up at the end of the cavern. "who was that crazy coot and what is this place?" brian demanded. "that was gort sterling, our leader," the girl said bitterly. "and this is our headquarters." one of the ships at the back of the cavern thundered to life, streaked across the floor and burst out through the opening crystal's ship had left. "he hasn't got a chance! we'll be spotted for sure, now." the other rebels waited uncertainly, but not for long. there was the crescendoing roar of ships in a dive followed by the terrific crash of an explosion. "they got him!" crystal's voice was a moan. "oh, the fool, the fool!" "sounded like more than one ship. they'll be after us, now. is there any other way of getting out of this place?" "not for ships. we'll have to walk and they'll follow us." "we've got to slow them down some way, then. i wonder how the devil they traced us? i thought we lost them in that fog." "it's that serono zeburzac, the traitor. he knows these mountains as well as we do." "how come?" "the zeburzacs are one of the old families, but he sold out to mchague." "well, what do we do now? just stand here? it looks like everybody's leaving." "we might as well just wait," crystal said hopelessly. "it won't do us any good to run out into the hills. zeburzac and his men will follow." "we could slow them down some by swinging a couple of those ships around so their rocket exhausts sweep the entrance to the cavern," brian suggested doubtfully. she looked at him steadily. "you sound like the only good rebel left. we can try it, anyway." * * * * * they ran two ships out into the middle of the cavern, gunned them around and jockeyed them into position--not a moment too soon. half a dozen police showed in brief silhouette as they slipped cautiously into the cavern, guns ready, expecting resistance. they met a dead silence. a score or more followed them without any attempt at concealment. then brian and crystal cut loose with the drives of the two ships. startled screams of agony burst from the crowded group of police as they were caught in the annihilating cross fire of roaring flame. they crisped and twisted, cooked to scorched horrors before they fell. a burst of thick, greasy smoke rushed out of the cavern. two of the police, their clothes and flesh scorched and flaming, plunged as shrieking, living torches down the mountainside. crystal was white and shaking, her face set in a mask of horror, as she climbed blindly from her ship. "let's get away! i can smell them burning," she shuddered and covered her face with her hands. brian grabbed her and shook her. "snap out of it," he barked. "that's no worse than shooting helpless men in parachutes. we can't go, yet; we're not finished here." "oh, let them shoot us! i can't go through that again!" "you don't have to. wait here." he climbed back into one of the ships and cut the richness of the fuel mixture down till the exhaust was a lambent, shuddering stutter, verging on extinction. he dashed to the other ship and repeated the maneuver, fussing with the throttle till he had the fuel mixture adjusted to critical fineness. the beat of the stuttering exhaust seemed to catch up to the other and built to an aching pulsation. in a moment the whole mass of air in the cavern hit the frequency with a subtle, intangible thunder of vibration. crystal screamed. "brian! there's more police cutting in around the entrance." brian clambered out of the ship and glanced at the glowing points in the rock where the police were cutting their way through outside the line of the exhaust flames. the pulsating thunder in the cavern crescendoed to an intolerable pitch. a huge mass of stalactites crashed to the floor. "it's time to check out," brian shouted. crystal led the way as they fled down the escape tunnel. the roaring crash of falling rock was a continuous, increasing avalanche of sound in the cavern behind them. they emerged from the tunnel on the face of the mountain, several hundred yards to the east of the cavern entrance. the ground shook and heaved beneath them. "the whole side of the mountain's sliding," crystal screamed. "run!" brian shoved her and they plunged madly through the thick tangle of jungle away from the slide. huge boulders leaped and smashed through the matted bush around them. crystal went down as the ground slipped from under her. brian grabbed her and a tree at the same time. the tree leaned and crashed down the slope, the whole jungle muttered and groaned and came to life as it joined the roaring rush of the slide. they were tumbled irresistibly downward, riding the edge of the slide for terrifying minutes till it stilled and left them bruised and shaken in a tangle of torn vegetation. the remains of two police ships, caught without warning in the rush as they attempted to land, stuck up grotesquely out of the foot of the slide. the dust was settling away. a flock of brilliant blue, gliding lizards barking in raucous terror, fled down the valley. then they were gone and the primeval silence settled back into place. brian and crystal struggled painfully to solid ground. crystal gazed with a feeling of awe at the devastated mountainside. "how did you do it?" "it's a matter of harmonics," brian explained. "if you hit the right vibratory combination, you can shake anything down. but now that we've made a mess of the old homestead, what do we do?" "walk," crystal said laconically. she led the way as they started scrambling through the jungle up the mountainside. "where are we heading for?" brian grunted as he struggled along. "the headquarters of the carlton family. they're the closest people we can depend on. they've kept out of the rebellion, but they're on our side. they've helped us before." * * * * * two days later, crystal and brian, weary, bedraggled and bushworn, stumbled on a rocky trail that twisted up through a narrow valley toward the carlton place. trails were scarce in the terrific venusian mountain country where nearly all communication was by air. crystal knew this path. "we're almost there," she said, and they pushed along faster. "listen! what's that?" brian stopped and they both heard the sound of aircraft taking off. the pulsing roar of the rocket drives approached and a v formation of five ships swept by overhead. crystal looked at brian with dawning horror behind her eyes. "police!" "good. they're just leaving; they were probably just checking up on the carltons." crystal shivered. "when serono zeburzac checks up on someone, there usually isn't much left. come on." she started at a run down the trail. they slowed at the sight of a clearing ahead. a faint sound reached them, a sobbing, inarticulate moan of unexpressible agony that froze them in their tracks. "what's that?" brian gasped. crystal's face was dead-white as they moved cautiously forward. they stared out into the clearing in dumb horror. the huge, rambling carlton mansion was a smoking heap of ruins. a giant venus thorn bush in front of the house was scorched and charred by the flames. one of its murderous, yard-long spikes carried a terribly gruesome burden. crystal whimpered and stumbled forward before brian could stop her. she collapsed in a sobbing heap in front of the gray-haired man impaled on the giant thorn. the figure stirred feebly. "he's alive," brian muttered. "crystal! snap out of it. get up and give me a hand. we'll cut him down." with crystal's help brian hacked off the thorn and gently eased the frail, old man to the ground. his breath fluttered out between lips flecked with pink-tinged froth. his eyes tried to smile his thanks through their haze of pain. crystal held the weakly gripping hands. "who did this to you?" the gray lips moved and worked, struggling painfully to form words. the whisper was almost inaudible: "serono ... zeburzac." crystal's face hardened to a mask of vicious cruelty as she fought her emotions down. "we'll get him." "no." the elder carlton seemed to gather strength. "get away--escape." crystal gripped his hands and seemed to hold him back from the edge of eternity by sheer strength of will. "where? where can we go?" the eyes fluttered open again, the shadow of death lurked in their depths. "go ... the place where the five valleys meet ... beware ... zeburzac." his breath drifted out in an effortless sigh. the tortured body was still. crystal rose unsteadily to her feet. she turned blindly and brian took her in his arms, trying to comfort her as her wild sobbing got out of control. he patted her shoulder awkwardly. "take it easy, kid," he muttered helplessly. his laboratory experience hadn't covered any such contingency as this. "brian, take me away. i can't stand this. hide me somewhere before that fiend comes back." "i thought we were part of a revolution that was going to clean them off the planet," brian reminded her grimly. "we can't fight this. we haven't got a chance. zeburzac has everything." "he hasn't got us yet. where's this five valleys place? can we get there?" "yes, but it will be no use. i want to quit now." brian's arms tightened around her. his voice was bleak and cold. "i'm not quitting. i'm going to get serono zeburzac." the girl in his arms was still for a moment. then she let go a long, trembling sigh of weary resignation. "all right, i'm with you. let's start traveling." * * * * * "the place where five valleys meet." crystal waved her arm out toward the tremendous green bowl of emptiness that curved away all round them. the sides of the gigantic cup had been cracked and split by some cataclysmic upheaval in the turbulent youth of the young planet. they stood at the mouth of one of the sheer, ragged slashes that had given the place its name. the other four were streaks of darker green against the distant walls. beneath the eternal-night cloud level the air was clear. directly across from them a tremendous, sharp-prowed promontory sheered up from the depths. capping it, against the somber green of the valley walls, the snow-white structure of a dream palace rose in airy splendor. in the dark setting, the walls were radiant with breath-taking beauty, so perfect in balance and line that it concealed the huge massiveness of the buildings, postponed for a moment the realization that the great structure was a glorious ruin. brian let his breath go. "i didn't know there was anything like that on venus," he said in open admiration. "who built it?" "the martins. they used to operate the mines in this district, but they were worked out years ago and the family scattered. they still own this place. nobody lives in it officially, but there must be some help here or grenville carlton wouldn't have told us to come. maybe the rebels are using the old hangars." "well, there's only one way to find out. we gotta climb." * * * * * "there's somebody here, all right," brian said as they entered the great courtyard through a ruined gateway. "look, there's a couple of ships over there." "and they're our people, too." there was a lilt in crystal's voice. "that far ship is jimmy thornton's--i'd know it anywhere." they approached the huge main doors of the great, white mansion. one door swung partly open and a swarthy, powerful man stepped hastily out. he carried an atomic projector. "halt!" he commanded. "who are you?" "oh, you don't need to get excited, we're rebels, too," crystal told him. "who's here?" "who is it, max?" a pleasant voice inquired from the dim hallway. "two more of the rebels, sir," the guard replied woodenly. "oh--rebels? oh, yes, of course. show them in, max." the guard stood respectfully aside as crystal and brian entered the huge, echoing chamber. "to your right," the guard directed and they entered a small, exquisite room. the man behind the desk seemed to fit perfectly into this cultured setting, he was small and neat, silver hair frosted his temples, framing gentle, delicate features. he smiled with pleasant, disarming frankness as he rose to greet them. "you'll have to excuse max, we didn't know you were coming, of course. just make yourselves at home. young jim thornton arrived a short while ago. you'll be able to see him presently. you'll be hungry, of course. max, bring some refreshment." "have many of us arrived?" crystal asked anxiously. "i'm sorry to say, very few. just jim thornton and his party and you and mr. hanson." brian started. "how do you now know my name?" he asked in surprise. "oh, we've all heard of you, mr. hanson, and how you got miss james out of venus city. brilliant work, i must say, and the way you routed the police in the caverns was truly a remarkable accomplishment. but--what made you come to this place? we've not been established here long." "grenville carlton told us about it," crystal said briefly. "carlton? old grenville. how is he?" "he's dead." crystal's face hardened to a white mask of hatred at the memory. "we found him impaled on a thorn bush in front of the ruins of his own house." her words were brutally blunt with the tremendous surge of emotion behind them. "impaled ... _tut tut tut_ ... my goodness, how terrible! do you know who could have done it?" "yes. we found carlton before he died. it was that rat serono zeburzac who killed him." "oh--do you know what this serono zeburzac looks like?" "we've never seen him," crystal cut in grimly, "but my father did, over the sights of an atomic flame projector. serono zeburzac has no left hand." "oh--" the gray-haired man behind the desk was interrupted by a terrible scream of human agony. "no ... no--" the words rose in a tortured frenzy. "oh, god!... not that again.... aaaaaaaaa--" * * * * * crystal leaped to her feet. "jim--that was jim thornton! what's happened--" her eyes turned in startled question to the slight, calm figure behind the desk. his benign expression of quiet peace had not been disturbed in the slightest by the soul-rending cry. he placed his fingertips precisely together. "are you sure zeburzac was missing his left hand?"--he flexed the fingers of his own left hand for emphasis--"and not--his right?" there was a sickening click in the sudden, dead stillness of the room as he twisted at his right hand. it came away at the wrist, the thumb dropped lifelessly down. the fingers of his left hand curled around it. the wrist of the severed member was pointed toward them. in fascinated horror they stared down the muzzle of a tiny, short-range, atomic projector concealed in the artificial hand. crystal recoiled, one faltering step. "serono--grenville was trying to warn us!" brian caught her before she fell. "there is no cause for excitement. sit down, please." the quiet courtesy of serono's voice did not alter, but the steel thread of command was subtly woven into his words. "you have been very clever, hanson, too clever. i thought, almost, you had escaped me, but no one ever does. my enemies are delivered into my hands; soon there will be none on venus." the moment of shock passed. brian's superlatively keen faculties keyed acutely to the emergency. they needed time first. "how do we rate as your enemies?" he stalled. "mr. hanson, we are not children. you know why you are my enemy. i recognized you years ago, you are far too brilliant a man to have against me, and you would never be with me. your loyalty to venus consolidated made you dangerous." "my loyalty? what about yours? i thought you were working with mchague and the company." "oh, of course, as long as it suits my purpose." "suppose someone got word to the earth council. you wouldn't last long, then." "perhaps not, but venus consolidated controls all communication with earth and soon i will control venus consolidated. but i'm sure you must be tired. max will show you to your quarters." the guard ushered them out with the muzzle of a projector. * * * * * they started across the huge, ruined hall. crystal stumbled blindly over a fragment of broken masonry. she sagged to her knees. the guard stopped abruptly. "don't try nothin', you guys," he snarled warningly. "quit being a fool, you idiot," brian barked to cover crystal's quick whisper of instructions. "this girl's sick. give me a hand. you take her feet," he directed, as he lifted her shoulders. the guard hesitated doubtfully; his instructions didn't cover this. "o. k., but just don't try nothin'." he hung the projector on his belt and bent down. one startled yelp gurgled and died in his throat as crystal's feet slammed into his jaw and brian's clenched hands rabbit-punched down on the back of his neck. "that ought to hold him," crystal muttered as she struggled to her feet. brian picked up the projector. he recognized it; it was a new model, two of this type had been sent to his laboratory for testing before the company invested in them. "well, what are we waiting for? c'mon, we'll go shoot serono's other hand off," crystal suggested grimly. "d'you think that'd stop them? us with one projector against what they've got?" "well, it would make it interesting for a while. you don't think we have a chance of getting away from here, do you?" "i don't know," brian said thoughtfully. "but when we were testing this model projector one of them kind of blew up in our face. i think it developed a short that converted it into the old-type regenerative circuit. we never were sure about it; there wasn't enough left to find out. those old regeneratives are always dangerous, they were liable to heat up and explode at any time if you didn't watch them. if we'd been testing the model with a full charge of fuel, i wouldn't be here in this mess now." he slid back the inspection cover of the projector's compactly complicated ignition circuit and started poking experimentally at the system of tiny coils and delicate wires. "damn!" he swore briefly as a white-hot spark jabbed at his fingers, but he held on and the wires fused together. "that should do it. now we're all set. where's a hole to get out through?" "how do you like that one?" crystal suggested, indicating a ragged gap in the broken, ancient wall of the hall. "that's big enough to fly through and there's two guards out there in the courtyard with nice, shiny, new projectors ready to make smoke out of us. want to go and interview them?" "no. if we make enough noise here, they'll come and see us," brian muttered as he closed the firing switch of the projector. there was no stab of flame from the muzzle. he heaved the weapon back into the middle of the hall. "as soon as that warms up there should be considerable distraction taking place in here." "why? what's going to happen?" crystal asked. "c'mon. get over by the wall and be ready to run." they started for the gap in the wall. a dull, heavy rumble got under way behind them. it built to a terrific, thundering crash as the universe split in a sheet of roaring flame. they were lifted and hurled bodily outward. they sprawled in a tangled heap on the pavement. brian struggled to his feet in a choking swirl of dust and yanked crystal with him. the progressive explosion of the projector's fuel battered the ancient structure, the wall bulged and cracked. the startled guards gawped stupidly at the two figures that had erupted so violently. masonry crashed to the pavement. the guards climbed over each other in a mad scramble to escape. crystal and brian staggered groggily after them, heading for jim thornton's ship. brian boosted crystal in, scrambled after her and slammed the hatch shut. the drive spluttered and roared to life, the ship ripped crazily into the air. * * * * * arnold mchague, director in chief of venus consolidated, swung his heavy body around in fearful expectancy. just a faint snick as though a lock had sprung, but there was no door on that wall. a panel slipped noiselessly aside. "serono--" the half-voiced question hung on a note of fear. "no, it's not serono, mchague." a tall, ragged figure, followed by a smaller one, stepped from the opening. "hanson!" a surge of relief sounded in mchague's voice, then died out. brian hanson was a rebel. he fumbled vaguely for the panel of call buttons on his desk, but his hand froze as he saw the projector trained on his expansive middle. "i couldn't miss your stomach from here," brian told him softly. "what do you want?" "i want to get to earth and i want your private getaway ship." "i don't know anything about any ship." "it's no good, mchague. the drive tests for that ship were run in my laboratory." "there's no fuel on board. it's in no condition to fly," mchague said hopelessly. "it had better be ready to take off. serono doesn't trust you any more than you trust him. about your only chance of living is for me to get to earth and bring enough of the planetary patrol to head serono off." "i can't help you. i'm in this with zeburzac. if the police get him, they've got me." "you can be on our side. the way i'll tell it on earth you were just stringing serono along till i could get clear." mchague shook his head. "i wouldn't live for a day if i helped you. you don't know zeburzac. his family ran venus in the old days. he means to restore that rule with himself as absolute dictator. i wouldn't be safe even on earth." "you'll just have to take that chance." "we're wasting time," crystal cut in sharply anxious. "come on." her words brought mchague reluctantly to his feet. "i'll do it," he muttered thickly. "come with me." * * * * * the misty gloom of a venusian night shrouded the jungle as three figures forced their way along an almost completely overgrown trail. the lights of venus city gleamed dimly through the night murk behind them. mchague stumbled and swore in the lead as the trail twisted down the steepness of the ridge. he came to a halt on a long, level bench. "this is the place." "i don't see anything," crystal said doubtfully. "you didn't think i was going to leave the ship where zeburzac could find it, did you?" mchague scrabbled around in the roots of a bush, found what he wanted, a metal lever hardly distinguishable in the tangle, and yanked it up. his action was followed by a slight vibration underfoot, a heavy, dull ripping of roots sounded in front of them as the ground parted before their eyes. two balanced sections tilted upward, away from each other, revealing the stygian blackness of a pit. "it's a ventilating shaft of one of the old mines. the ship's down there about two hundred feet. it's got a nordenfeldt control panel. can you handle it?" "sure, but how can i get down?" "there's a ladder--but wait a minute, hanson." mchague's heavy-jowled face was ghastly in the dim light. "you've got to play this straight, see. i'm giving you a chance and you've got to stand by me. if serono knew i was doing this--you've got to get those police here--" "don't worry," brian told him grimly. "serono is no friend of mine, either. where's this ladder?" "just over the edge on this side." crystal laid her hand on brian's arm. "good luck." she started to smile encouragingly, but she couldn't quite make it. "brian--" her voice choked up. "oh, brian, be careful--" it was almost a sob. then she was in his arms. he held her for a moment and buried his face in the soft, silver glory of her hair. "i'll be all right. you take care of yourself till i get back. i won't be long, then we'll get this mess cleaned up." he disengaged himself gently. crystal watched in silence as brian clambered over the edge and disappeared into the blackness of the shaft. minutes dragged slowly by. "oh, i hope he makes it," crystal murmured. "he probably will. mr. hanson is a very resourceful man." the soft, quiet voice was just behind her. crystal turned in slow, hopeless terror. "serono--" mchague's breath sucked in in a startled gasp of horror. "zeburzac!" "but, of course. i wanted to be here to wish mr. hanson _bon voyage_. i hope he has a pleasant flight--although it will be a short one." "what do you mean?" mchague whispered. "why, mchague, my dear friend, you didn't think i would overlook a simple thing like this?" "you knew?" "oh, yes. i visited this place several times. i supposed you might be leaving me some time, so, of course, i made arrangements." the silky softness of serono's voice, changed to a sinister rasp, "that ship will be blown apart fifty seconds after it takes off!" "no--" crystal screamed, "brian!" she turned and stumbled toward the shaft, then staggered back as a tremendous, roaring rush of flame fountained madly upward behind the screaming flight of the escaping ship. the exhaust trail towered magnificently into the night, arching gracefully over as the ship swung smoothly into its first acceleration orbit. "brian ... brian--" crystal sobbed hopelessly. the burning streak of fire traced steadily across the sky--then abruptly it ended in a bursting nova of flaming incandescence. the light faded slowly into the twilight darkness. "he's gone," mchague whimpered. serono laughed softly. "oh, don't sound so disappointed, mchague. you'll soon be with him." the dry click of serono's artificial hand crisped in mchague's ears. "no... no... serono... wait... wait a minute--" mchague babbled. half paralyzed with terror, he sidled desperately away from the hideous weapon in serono's hand. "he held a gun on me.... i had to--" mchague's stumbling words trailed off as he read "death" in serono's eyes. his terrified scream ripped out as he turned blindly and plunged down the yawning blackness of the shaft. serono's dry chuckle stirred like the rustling wings of a bat. "and now, crystal james--" he turned. there was nothing but the impassive stillness of the jungle; the girl was not in sight. * * * * * "--and that, gentlemen, completes my report on the present status of venus. this folder contains the vital statistics for the period since your last inspection. you will find there the reason for me presenting this report instead of governor mchague. he was killed, together with mr. hanson, chief of research for venus consolidated, in an explosion during an experiment in rocketry which mr. hanson was conducting." "ah, thank you, zeburzac." chief inspector nathan accepted the final folio of the voluminous annual report on venus. he sat with the other members of the board of inspection in the governor's offices as they carefully sorted through the stacks of report form and record sheets. "hm-m-m--i see you have a crystal james listed here as killed in an aircraft accident. was she one of the old venusian family of james?" serono nodded regretfully. "yes, i believe she was the last of them. i knew them well." "that is too bad," inspector nathan said softly. "they were a fine, old family. well, that cleans up the report, zeburzac; everything seems to be perfectly in order." "thank you, inspector." of course, it was. he had spent three months on those reports and everything had run smoothly on schedule. in a few more hours this inquisitive crew of inspectors would be gone and venus would be his. the mild gentleness of serono's face revealed nothing of his dictatorial intentions as he listened to inspector nathan's closing remarks. in a moment they would be offering him the governorship, legalizing the power he already possessed. with venus in his hands to be forged into a weapon, the easy-going democracy of earth would be no serious obstacle. what one clever man could do--nathan was speaking. "there is one item here, however, that seriously affects several of these reports. this mr. hanson--" "hanson? yes, i think i mentioned, he died. a very violent explosion." chief inspector nathan's formal politeness melted abruptly in the sudden fire of his rage. "explosion? i know all about that explosion, you blundering murderer. come in here, hanson!" "hanson!" serono stared in shocked unbelief at the grim figure of a man who should have died, but only for a moment. then he leaned back and relaxed, his fingertips met and tapped rhythmically. "mr. hanson--hm-m-m--this is almost unbelievable." "next time you plant a time bomb in a ship, don't connect it through the lighting circuit, it shows on the ammeter," brian told him grimly. "and if you want to keep people on venus, you should watch your freight ships more closely." "oh, i wasn't as careless as you might think. that trap was set for mchague. i would have made other arrangements if i had known you were to be present. as it was i thought i had got you. however, i can remedy that slight omission almost immediately." serono twisted abruptly to his feet. his right hand snatched at his left. the spluttering crackle of a projector flame lashed out. serono screamed as he dropped the red-hot wreckage of his artificial hand. "we'd been told about that, too, and i can still shoot," inspector nathan growled. serono stared stupidly at the empty socket on his left arm. his face grayed lividly. he staggered against the desk, threw out his hand for support and vanished. there was a moment of stunned silence in the room. * * * * * "it's a trapdoor!" brian yelled and leaped for the opening. he caught a glimpse of a descending chute as the section of floor swung solidly back into place. "where does that lead to?" nathan barked. brian didn't answer; he was already on his way. nathan and the rest of the board of inspectors pounded along behind him. they thudded down two flights of stairs. "there he goes!" the pack of inspectors let out a howl and raced down the corridor behind brian. zeburzac, racing for his life, started to draw away from them. they saw him stop. there were men in the corridor ahead of him, half a dozen of them. they were on him! serono screamed terribly, once, as a swinging knife ripped him open. he was slammed to the floor, his head beaten in by the vicious blows of his assailants. one of them lunged viciously at the prostrate form. brian felt sick as he saw the crushed and bloody form of zeburzac stabbed through the middle with the yard-long spike of a giant venusian thorn bush. having finished their business the killers calmly faced the projectors in the hands of inspector nathan and his crew. "who are you?" nathan demanded. "my name's carlton. we're rebels. you better hurry up and shoot, it'll save you trouble." "these men are all right," brian defended hastily. "serono murdered some of the carltons." nathan grunted. "well, thanks, boys. you saved us a job." he slipped his atomic projector back into its holster. "we're inspectors from earth. we'll have to arrest you for murder, but i guess it's up to governor hanson here to decide what to do with you." "governor?" "yeah. that was decided before we left earth. where was zeburzac heading? where does this corridor lead to?" "to his apartments. maybe he had something there. i'll go and see." brian started down the corridor. governor! governor of this young, green frontier planet. there should have been a thrill in it somewhere but he felt as though he had come to the end of a pointless journey. he opened the door of serono's apartment and stepped inside. there was no one in the luxurious room. brian's scalp tingled; he felt that he was not alone. he shuddered as he remembered serono's ghastly death, then stepped quickly to the bedroom door. he opened it cautiously, then moved in and shut it noiselessly behind him. he stiffened as something prodded him in the middle of his spine. "don't move!" the voice was thin and vicious with hate. it stopped incredulously--"brian!" he swung around in amazement, and in synchronism as perfect as a trained chorus, he and crystal james cried: "you! i thought you were dead!" their next moves were in perfect synchronism, too. martian terror _a novelet of revolution among the venusians_ by ed earl repp lolan, the martian sub-commander, had no choice. he sorrowed for princess mora's beaten, x-ray starved subjects. but when the desperate venusians raised their empty fists, duty commanded him to cut loose his force-bolts. [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from planet stories spring 1940. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] lolan's pen made the only sound in the stuffy barracks room. the words took shape reluctantly beneath the official army letterhead, even as his mind had fought against framing them. he sat alone at his desk, the open window behind him crowding in the dank heat of a venusian summer night. the collar of his ornate, iridite-crusted uniform was open, but a dark ring of perspiration stained its top. lolan laid the pen down and looked at what he had written. his violet-gray eyes became stony. this letter might mean demotion to the ranks, or even court-martial, but the things in him had festered there too long. "herewith i tender my resignation as sub-commander of the martian army of occupation on the planet venus," he read. "if it is the wish of the council-royal, i desire immediate transfer to some post on mars. i can no longer blind my conscience to the brutal treatment venusians are receiving at the hands of us, their conquerors. "when i accepted this post two years ago, i understood that, under commander arzt, i would be endeavoring to control a savage, half-wild people scarcely more intelligent than beasts. i found them gentle, intelligent, cheerful, demanding only the treatment we accord our slaves at home. but do they receive it? no! we dole them food not fit for swine. we work them fifteen hours a day in their own iridite mines, in the sulphur holes, at whatever other work is beneath a martian soldier. their population has been reduced twenty percent during the twenty years since mars conquered them. disease is prevalent in their poorer quarters--little better than the 'improved' sections--to such an extent that few officers ever venture into these pestilential streets except to put down an occasional uprising. "because i feel that to continue in this post would demean--" lolan scowled at the unfinished sentence. he went to the window and stood staring out, his eyes not seeing the low clouds brushing the barracks roofs, nor the jagged tracery of lights a half-mile below, where areeba sprawled in miserable squalor over the foothills. before him was the vision of a girl's sober face--the face of a venusian, high-caste woman. princess mora ... princess only in name, but beloved of her people--and of lolan. but for her, that letter would have been written and handed in a year ago. but somehow the young martian could not leave venus while she and her father, old ex-emperor atarkus, were still here and under continual threat of death. there could never be any more intimate relation between them than that of master and slave--yet lolan kept a forlorn flame of hope guttering in his heart. there were two good reasons why he was a fool to let mora be a factor in his staying on venus. in the first place, inter-marriage was strictly forbidden by arzt, high commander of the army. second--and more important to lolan--biology entered in. years ago, a few martian soldiers had taken native wives, with tragic results. although the two races were almost alike in appearance, except for the deeper coloring of the invaders, the children resulting from such unions were ugly, half-witted little monsters. fortunately, none of them lived for more than a few years. lolan's lean young features hardened. why fight it any longer? he couldn't have mora, couldn't help her people without being a traitor to his own race. with an oath he pivoted from the window. it was then that he saw the indicator on his tele-screen flashing angrily. quick strides carried him there, a flip of the thumb made the silver screen a window to the outside world. the brutal face of irak, captain of the secret service, took shape. "--repeating:" came the tail end of his announcement. "two minutes ago the house in which ars lugo is hiding was entered by two persons. i am in an upstairs room across the street. i could not be sure of their identity, but i believe we are on the verge of breaking the secret of the recent revolution rumors. haste is imperative if we are to trap them together...." excitement tingled through lolan. ars lugo, a condemned revolutionary lately escaped from the sulphur holes, had contacted friends. arzt had been right in deliberately letting him escape and tracking him to a hideout. "rotten meat draws flies quickly," was his way of putting it. now the flies had been drawn. but an unknown terror kept lolan from even guessing at their identities--swiftly he hurried from the room as somewhere the officers' alarm began chiming. a small, silent gravity-repulsion ship set eight men in the uniform of high martian officers down a few blocks from the slum in which captain irak was tensely waiting for them. lolan emerged with set face. around him on the flat roof of the building where they had landed were grouped the others. the voice of arzt came harshly through the quiet. he was a short, immensely powerful man, with reddish features stamped with the cast of brutality. there was a slovenliness to him, a brutal arrogance that was betrayed by every ugly twist of his mouth as he spoke. "lolan, you'll give the order," he snapped. "these filthy revolutionists won't be looking for trouble if you handle it right. we'll have them before they know what's happened. i told you ars lugo would get in touch with his cronies as soon as he thought he wasn't being watched. come on!" they left the ship on the roof and groped down an outside stairway to the narrow street. a light fog hung yellowish in the streets. for a moment after their feet touched the slimy cobblestones, the eight martians huddled together by a single impulse--revulsion at the sordidness of the lower-class quarter. sickly gleams kindled on their uniforms where stray beams from dingy windows found them. the stench of rotting offal insulted their nostrils, mingled with the musty, revolting odors peculiar to the south side of areeba, principal city of venus. a place of drunken, tottering buildings and vice and sickness that festered like a raw sore, the south side was the abode of the diseased, the degenerate, the lawless. with a muttered curse, lolan swung down the street. it didn't have to be like this. it was commanders like arzt who let the venusians suffer for their own enrichment. inwardly, a resolution was taking possession of the young officer that this was his last duty on venus. tomorrow ... his letter of resignation would be handed in. * * * * * in a dark alley across the street from a crumbling, one-story hovel, he slipped into the shadows. his eyes were riveted to the yellow cracks of light opposite him, where bolted shutters guarded some furtive scene within that house. then he was moving swiftly backwards as two forms reeled from the fog. his eyes narrowed to careful slits that raked the pair. they had not seen him, nor, apparently, the other hidden martians they had just passed. their bellies were so full of cheap martian _gyla_ that all they could see was the heaving stones under their feet. lolan's slim, dark fingers fell from the _sadon_ pistol at his side. the fog swallowed the derelicts. ragged nerves leaping, lolan strode across the street, knocked softly at the door. frightened gasps found their way through the portal. someone gruffed: "who is it? what do you want?" lolan pressed his lips against a crack in the door. "lugo--you've got to get out! they know you're here! i heard two of them talking. let me in, will you! i can't stand here shouting." a bolt scraped in its bed and the door inched back the width of a man's black eye. from both sides of lolan, burly, powerful shapes lunged at the door. the man behind it cried out a single shrill warning as he was hurled to the floor. six martian officers clanked inside. arzt loomed up with captain irak, gripped lolan's arm. "good work!" he grunted. "now we'll have these dirty venusian rebels where we want them, eh?" hard-jawed, lolan made no answer but strode in. one glimpse of the room's interior sent shock through his vitals like a sword. a single, whispered word parted his bloodless lips: "mora!" the girl across the room glanced at him in hurt surprise. quickly she looked away. she stood erect and pale under the soldiers' eager glances. she was tall, for a venusian, with slim, strong limbs and golden hair lying soft about her shoulders. her garments were of the roughest cloth, but dignity and courage were in the flash of her eyes and the spots of color in her cheeks. during those first moments lolan was conscious only of a growing ache in his throat. he wanted to ask mora and her father, standing there beside her, why they had come here, since they knew it meant death to consort with revolutionists. but he sensed that their kind of courage would laugh at the question. in lolan's breast, a cold, dead thing had taken the place of his heart. the ex-emperor stood fierce and tall, a shaggy-headed man of sixty-five. he was a living skeleton dressed in hanging garments. most of the life in him seemed to be concentrated in his blazing eyes. there was force in his countenance, but his voice came in the cracked accents of an old man. "what's the meaning of this? can't a man and his daughter call on their friends without being watched like criminals?" arzt swaggered close, his stubby legs moving stiffly. "not when they'd like to see a revolution as much as you two!" he taunted. "you admit conspiracy with this rebel?" ars lugo stood between two hulking officers, scowling at the commander. "conspiracy!" he spat. "don't hang that crime on them. i was out of food and money and knew they could help me a little. i sent for them." arzt smashed a thick palm across the man's face. contempt twisted his ill-formed features. he jerked a thumb at the well-like hole, guarded by a low rim, in a far corner, where refuse was thrown in such cheap hovels as this. "another of your filthy lies and you'll go down the sewer. in the underground rivers you'll have plenty of time to think up better ones. now, you two--" he grinned wickedly at mora and atarkus. "there's a little matter of a map i've heard rumors of. who's got it--one of you, or lugo?" "you talk like a fool!" raged atarkus. "we've got no map, you vile butcher." arzt's struggle for self-control was evident in the working of his jaw muscles. presently he relaxed. he drew on his feeble powers of sarcasm. "the matter has been brought to my attention," he purred gutturally, "that one of your esteemed countrymen, a garbage-boy in the barracks, has been making a map of the buildings. i had the extremely painful duty--painful to him--of cutting his body here and there and pouring in burning sulphur; but the lad would not talk. but since he carried no papers, i judge he passed them on earlier. now, you bag of bones--" he roared suddenly, "where is that map?" "you are screaming into the wrong hole to get an echo," mora replied coldly. "we know nothing." "nothing, eh?" a small knife flashed into arzt's fingers. he caught atarkus in a vicious hug and placed the blade just under his ear. "then remember it, before your father strangles on his own blood!" lolan stiffened, his hand dropping to the _sadon_ pistol. the weapon was halfway out of its holster when a new voice intruded obsequiously. "commander--i wouldn't do that!" ii it was scrawny little captain irak who had spoken. an apologetic smile bracketed his lips and he was shaking his head slowly. lolan knew a warm rush of gratitude toward him. ugly as he was, he was intelligent and less sadistic than many of the officers. he said little--which made the sub-commander suspect he knew much. arzt grunted, puzzled, "you wouldn't--? why not, you grinning, ugly little ape?" irak kept on smiling blandly. "look outside," he advised. arzt did, but still kept his hold on the old man. there were a score of shabby venusians peering in from the dark street like wolves around a fire on the high martian steppes. they fell back under the impact of so many eyes. irak closed the door. "kill atarkus tonight and by morning we'll have a first-class revolution on our hands," he said. "these people worship atarkus and his daughter. if he is to die, it must be otherwise ... secretly, perhaps, in the dungeons where no one will ever learn." arzt's hands fell to his side. "there's wisdom in what you say," he begrudged. "especially ... the last part. but if i find the proof i need of their guilt tonight, there'll be no waiting. we can try, and execute them, publicly. search the woman, lolan. i'll search this ancient blasphemer myself." lolan hesitantly fell to the task. "i'm sorry!" he whispered. she gave no sign that she had heard, no indication that it meant any more or less to her that he must perform the job than anyone else; nor had lolan ever known if she returned his feelings. their meetings had been few, when they had come to arzt's court-martial occasionally to plead for their countrymen on some matter. with his pulses racing, he searched her gown thoroughly and found no suspicious articles. he was red-faced and perspiring when arzt barked: "then that devil's got it! search lugo, men!" that order was the cue for the lanky venusian to hurl himself from the arms of his captors. "the sewer!" lolan gasped. lugo was heading for the black-mouthed hole to hurl himself into the underground river two hundred feet below ... himself and anything he carried! the young martian did not stop to reason that ars lugo might be carrying the evidence that would send mora and her father to their deaths. he acted purely by instinct, flinging himself upon the revolutionary and dragging him to the floor. but lugo was up again, like a released spring. lolan crawled frantically after him. he grabbed a heel, brought the venusian spinning about while he lurched to his feet. a jabbing fist sent him reeling back. in the next moment ars lugo was diving feet first down the hole! lolan's muscles had been leaned to spring-steel tautness in rigorous martian military exercises. it was only that whiplash power of them that enabled him to grasp one of ars lugo's hands as he vaulted the low rim. in a flash he knew his error. the venusian's weight was hauling him across the smooth floor and into the pit of death! * * * * * there was a moment of un-thinking panic, of hearing the distant roar of tumbling black water and the savage grunts of the man dangling below him. someone grabbed his feet and his headlong plunge was arrested. arzt was shouting: "hold him! don't let him get away with that paper!" lolan fought the burning numbness of his forearm. ars lugo had ripped off a belt-buckle and was slashing at his knuckles with it. the men above kept shouting encouragement while they fought for leverage. every sinew in the martian's body stood out in ridges and knots. sweat bathed his flesh, and he knew that moisture was causing lugo to slip still further. "hurry!" he groaned. "i can't--" with startling abruptness he was flying out of the hole, while ars lugo, with strips of skin under his fingernails that he had ripped from lolan's hand, went spinning down into black nothingness. pain had beaten determination. ars lugo had won--death! horror held the officers around the hole like statues, staring down. it was during that interval that lolan felt a hard, slippery object in his hand. he opened it to see the bracelet ars lugo had worn, which he had somehow torn loose. a curious, heavy ornament of iridite crystals and onyx, and on the inside of it strange scratchings, like-like a map! some impulse caused lolan's fingers to clamp on the bracelet. arzt was staring. "and there goes our chance for a quick disposal of these other two," he grunted sourly. "if you could have ... well, it's done now." briskly he gave an order. "take them home. but remember this, venusians--your consorting with revolutionaries has marked you for death! at any day, any hour, i may have you seized and brought back." atarkus paused scornfully on the threshold. mora had already gone, her head high and eyes straight ahead. "we don't frighten easily," the old ruler flung back. "when you live in hell as we do, one more pit of damnation merely serves to bore us. may you boil in your own lard, martian pig!" arzt swore at him and half-drew his pistol. sneering, then, he relaxed and turned to fix lolan with a burning glance. "your failure tonight intrigues me," he offered suggestively. "you never seemed to be hindered by pain to that extent before." lolan showed him his bleeding fingers, from which great drops of blood were falling. "it was the shock," he murmured. "you don't think i let him escape on purpose--!" "i hardly imagine you could be so foolish. at any rate, you'll be given a chance to redeem yourself. sometime in the next three or four days i want those two killed, very quietly and--very thoroughly. the honor is to be yours." lolan's shocked eyes flashed to a pair of burning, amused ones. arzt's broad lips were smiling fixedly. the young officer tried to mask his horror. "let someone else do it," he countered. "killing women is out of my line." "killing _that_ woman, you mean!" the commander pounced on him. "i've known what was in your mind all these months. i hoped you'd see the foolishness of it. you're too good a man to lose inside the execution chamber. what's the matter with you, lolan? are you deceiving yourself that these damned venusian dogs are good enough for a martian officer?" hatred swept lolan suddenly like a flame. with difficulty he held his voice to a flat, deadly hiss. "good enough! too good, if you ask me! i'm sick of driving sick men into mines reeking of sulphur fumes, to dig iridite for us to decorate our uniforms with. tired of seeing them live like animals, in filthy shacks ready to fall in on them or in tenements crawling with vermin. if cracking a bloody whip is what being a martian officer means, i'm ashamed of being one. i'd change my sub-commander's rank here for that of a private back on mars!" arzt's face grew hot and red with a dark suffusion of blood. "the only transfer i'll give you is to rock island, on the fluorine sea," he grated. "would that suit you better?" lolan's spine crawled. rock island was a tiny hump of land in the middle of a sea perpetually blanketed in fogs--fogs laden with deadly fluorine. but someone had to keep the light on that island to guide incoming space-ships. the keepers usually lasted about six weeks. "in other words, i stay here or i die!" he stated flatly. "exactly. so let's hear the last of this. if you complain again i'll take it as treason. remember my orders: in four days i want to see their bodies in the dead-house. if i don't--it will be yours i'll see there!" * * * * * lolan's first chance to examine the bracelet was in the solitude of his room an hour later. he drew all the shades, while a feeling of tension built stiflingly within him. under the soft glow of a lamp he studied it. plainly he traced the outlines of all the buildings in the rambling system of barracks that sprawled over the hill. rooms had been marked in by someone who knew the set-up. the martian received a stiff jolt at seeing his room, and arzt's, marked with x's. marked for death, he knew! lolan's fist closed on the bauble. he let his glance go to the curtained window, seeming to see through and beyond it. a tumult of jarring thoughts rang harsh discordance in his mind. but clear and sharp sounded one note, that his hands must slay mora and her father or he himself would die. no night-long brain-wracking was needed for him to know that he preferred death to carrying out arzt's orders. but perhaps ... there was another way! lolan stood rigid, letting the idea revolve in his mind. abruptly, he swung from the window, jamming the bracelet onto his own wrist. he left his room silently, and through the dim corridors he found his way to the commissionary. his private keys unlocked the dark vaults. carefully shutting the door, he switched on the lights. piles of goods were everywhere, looming in long rows before him and filling great bins. the martian's nerves set up a raw tingling as he found a box and hurried to a bin. five nervous minutes passed, with lolan piling preserved foods of all kinds into the box. as a last item, he buried a pair of _sadon_ pistols in the mass of foodstuffs. grim resolution was in the hard set of his jaw when he switched off the lights, re-locked the place, and left by a back entrance. he was able to reach a pursuit ship in the hangar and load his stuff in without being observed. panic struck at him, then ... a sentry's running feet sounded outside! lolan sprang to the door. he eased through it, to be speared by the man's torch. casually, he nodded to him. "oh! sorry, sir, i didn't realize it was an officer," the sentry apologized. "taking your ship out this late?" lolan said crisply, "official business down below. go back to your post. i can manage it alone." the sentry clicked his heels, saluted, and departed. lolan's knees shook a little. he rolled the battered pursuit ship out and hurriedly entered it. hope that the guard didn't realize he wasn't taking his private ship tonight kept him glancing around at the dim form of the sentry. on that fact hinged his life. then he was slamming the accelerator on full. the ship screamed upward, borne aloft on the green mushroom of flame. almost immediately he had crossed the city and gained the plains beyond. in a broken expanse of rock and sand just outside the lower quarter, he set the craft down gently. no one saw him enter the city. he threaded the tortuous alleys of the squalid section with his heart hammering in his ears. at last he was stopping across from a large, five-story building. it was a ponderous, gabled affair full of reminiscences of former glory--elaborate cornices crumbling away, great, metal doors green with age, once white walls now streaked with black and gray. in carved venusian characters, a plaque over the door lamented: "hall of justice." lolan was thinking of that sad commentary as he ascended to the top floor. justice--when the man who once ruled this entire planet now lived on crusts in a tiny room in the tower! it was princess mora whose hand opened the door at his knock. in the dim light of the room, her face showed sad and accusing. "what?" she asked bitterly. "haven't you done with persecuting us for one night?" atarkus looked up from a table where he had been poring over old venusian books, a pair of spectacles perched on his beak-nose. "well, speak!" he shrilled finally. "what miserable errand brings you here?" lolan's face was hard. he kept his glance on mora's widening eyes as he took off ars lugo's bracelet and extended it to her. "ars lugo died trying to hide this," he growled. "i thought you might like to save it. but as a favor--would you mind taking the black cross off my quarters?" iii atarkus was on his feet, shaking. mora let the martian place the bracelet in her hand before she gasped: "you--you knew! and didn't tell! why?" lolan lowered himself into a chair. he sighed despondently: "i don't know. if i'd valued my own life i'd have turned it over to arzt. but i've had my fill of watching you venusians tortured." the girl's eyes glowed. she said softly: "that was your only reason?" lolan's heart thumped. his face flamed, and he tried to hide his embarrassment by springing to his feet and pacing to a window. "it's reason enough," he muttered. he swung suddenly to face them across the room. "but that isn't why i came here tonight. it's something more important than that. you've got to leave areeba immediately!" atarkus' face folded into grim lines. "you mean arzt has decreed our death?" "that's it. you might have expected something like this for being seen with men like ars lugo." mora looked up into the officer's face. "i can't understand you, lolan. you're supposed to be second in command of the race that oppresses us. yet you risked death to hide that bracelet, and undoubtedly you've taken the same risk to come here." "don't try to understand me. simply do as i say. arzt has appointed me to execute you within four days. i--i can't do it, that's all. so i'm going to try to dodge the issue by letting you escape. beyond the city there's a pursuit ship loaded with food and a pair of pistols. with that outfit you can make it to lyna or some other settlement where you won't be known. but you've got to do it tonight!" atarkus snorted. "leave our people when they need us most? never!" lolan's eyes narrowed. "when they need us most," the ex-emperor had said. why were they needed especially now--because of a coming revolution? he drove the question from his mind. "don't quibble!" he snapped. "i can't promise you more than a few hours' leeway. you've got to leave within the hour." "it's no use," mora smiled wearily. "our people look up to us for the answer to every problem that arises. what would they think of us if we ran out now?" "what good will you be to them dead?" lolan argued desperately. "arzt means to have you out of the way once and for all. you're dangerous and he knows it. get your things together and let's go!" the flush of repressed fear colored the flat angles of his jaws. his mind was a whirlpool of hope and regret--regret at losing mora forever, though he could never own her; a deep soul-sickness at the idea of sending a force-charge into her lovely body.... but mora was shaking her head and atarkus had smashed his fist on the table. "arzt can't scare us!" the aged monarch scorned. "they say we venusians are weak, that we don't know how to fight. some day soon the butcher will learn differently." his eyes grew softer. he laid his bony hand on lolan's hard forearm. "i know your position, young man. you have taken a liking to us for some reason--i think i know what it is--and the thought of killing us disturbs you. perhaps you won't have to perform that duty--" suspicion and wonder blended into the creases of lolan's forehead. "then you won't go?" he breathed. "we can't," mora told him. "but you have our gratitude for all you've done." lolan straightened. he tried to keep his voice clipped and emotionless. "you are foolish--and brave. good night!" when he reached the boulder-hidden rocket ship it was still safely masked in its hiding place. the fog had torn apart for a few hours, and through the ragged holes in it he could see stars blinking solemnly down at him. the young martian's heart leaped at the thought of leaving for one of those far-off worlds; no one would miss him before morning and he could stock up on supplies and leave right away. but a leaden despondency kept that idea from gaining much headway. gloomily he climbed into the ship. it was when his fingers had sent the rocket car tearing up into the low clouds that arzt's voice, just behind him, made his blood turn to water and his lips go dry. "you're heading the right way, sub-commander. over the hill to the sulphur holes. tonight's warning was my last." * * * * * in the gleaming black disk of one of the space-ports lolan could see arzt's reflection, then, looming squat and dangerous three feet in back of him. he had quietly removed lolan's pistol and held it on the back of his head. "planning a trip, were you?" the taunting voice went on. "i found quite a store of food here. the only trip you'll be making now is into the bottom dungeon of the holes. by the gods, lolan, you're a fool!" "am i? it might as well be now as four days from now. you know i couldn't kill them." "i knew this: that if you couldn't, you weren't fit to be a martian officer. now i'll have to do the job myself. because you're going to die tomorrow!" silence piled up between them. too soon the gaping slash on the planet's surface known as the sulphur holes was pivoting beneath them as they circled to a landing. here, where subterranean forces had carved a series of natural dungeons and rock-bound gases still seeped through the holes in a stifling mist, the least fortunate of arzt's prisoners were imprisoned. burly guards came running up to take charge of lolan. arzt stood back with fists on hips. "take him to the bottom level," his guttural command came. "watch him closely. the devil's been conspiring with venusians for a revolution!" he watched coldly while they jostled his former chief officer into the little rock house that housed the elevator. he stood there stolidly until a deep-pitched sigh emanated from the structure, denoting that one more soul had been carried down ... to hell. a fierce grin twisted his lax features. he was so engrossed in his own thoughts that he did not hear the closing of the storage-hatch on the pursuit ship they had come in, nor did he see the spidery form that slid from it to the shelter of some rocks. deeply and sadistically satisfied, commander arzt turned and departed. for the first ten minutes after his captors had left him, lolan sat on the edge of a hard, filthy cot with his head buried in his hands. the cell was low-ceilinged, with eroded sandstone walls studded with sharp metal crystals. through the barred door drifted stringy tendrils of gas--sulphur smoke, belching up from the planet's bowels. from nearby cells came horrible moans, a ragged scream, the rattling of a door as some hapless prisoner shook it and shouted for food. the soft plod-plod of someone pacing the floor like a caged beast reached the martian's ears. lolan's lungs seemed filled with acid. he coughed until tears streamed from his eyes. finally he fell back in despair on the cot. but even in his desperate physical pain he was far more conscious of acute despair over the failure of his plans to save mora and atarkus. he felt that no torture could be worse than imagining what devilish end arzt would find for them. the grating of a key in the lock brought lolan to a sitting posture. then he had sprung to the door as captain irak, spindly, grinning little imp that he was, flung the door open and dodged in. "irak--what the devil are you doing here?" lolan coughed. the other pressed something hard and cold into his hand--a gun. "no questions now!" he rapped. "follow me and use this if you need it--which you will!" "but the keys--how did you get them?" irak closed one shoe-button eye in a sly wink, and gestured with his gun. "come on!" he jerked his head. roughly he shoved the younger man into the tunnel. not understanding what it all meant, lolan fled through the corridors beside him. hope was kindling like a fire in his breast. once the captain paused before a cell and through the bars tossed the bunch of keys. "use them yourself and pass them on!" he laughed at the astonished prisoner. up ahead the elevator loomed out of the wisps of gas. irak plunged into it and lolan followed. there was silence until they had almost reached the top. "be on your guard," irak snapped. "i killed the turnkey to get the keys. if they've found his body--" the automatic door flew open, light from the guard-house flooded their figures and they stiffened. the shouting of angry men reached their ears from outside. irak looked at him in somber decision. "we'll try a run for it out the back. there's a rocket car in the field. it's our one chance." lolan grinned boyishly, ready for anything. "lead the way!" he offered. "i'm with you!" * * * * * but they had not gone forty feet when a harsh shout arrested them. "there they go--_get them_!" five men sprang up from where they had knelt about the body of a dead martian. captain irak stuck a skinny leg between lolan's running feet and sent him sprawling in the dirt. lolan was puzzled, until he felt the searing impact of force bolts inches over his head. the movement had saved his life. instantly he had twisted about to sight down the chrome-steel shaft of his pistol. it roared, jarred heavily against his hand. and one of the men staggered back with his head and shoulders half torn off. irak chuckled fiendishly. his own gun blasted twice, destroying a man at each shot. the remaining pair spread out and came at a low run for them, with guns crackling blue lightning over the terrain. lolan's eyes were hard and narrow, his jaw was firm. the impact of deadly charges exploded all around him, making his ears ring with the terrific concussion. he cuffed at his coat-sleeve as blobs of molten earth splattered on it. some of the fiery stuff bit through to his skin. the martian's hate-twisted countenances were plain now, thirty feet away. with a simultaneous impulse they flung themselves prone and leveled their guns. lolan squeezed the trigger of his weapon. he kept it pulled back until the gun grew hot and smoking and the last bolt had been launched. irak had done the same. a grisly silence came down over the field. horror gripped lolan as the smoke drifted away and showed two shapeless masses of burning flesh on the ground before them. doggedly he turned away, getting to his feet. from nearby came the clamor of hurrying guards. "quick!" irak's voice crackled. "into the ship." they made it none too soon. force charges were exploding under their soaring ship like blue balloons that swelled to magnificent proportions and then exploded. not until they had gained thirty thousand feet altitude did lolan relax from the controls. his face was sweaty and grinning. "am i crazy or are you, irak? i thought you were captain of the secret service, sworn to track down rebels like me--not help them escape!" irak was lighting a martian cigarette. he paused with the lighter held to the cylinder's tip. "quite true," he smiled. "that is my job. but when the rebel is a fellow-venusian, i am tempted to reverse the usual order of things!" iv lolan's mouth hung open. had he heard aright? "you said--a fellow _venusian_? didn't you mean...." "i mean venusian. and by the way--congratulations on your escape, _prince lolan_!" somewhere in him a pulse began throbbing, as lolan fumbled to put the controls on automatic. then he twisted about on the seat and gripped his knees with his hands. "let's get this straight," he suggested impatiently. "i'm sub-commander lolan--ex-sub-commander, i should say. you're captain irak--also 'ex', i'm afraid. we're both martians and neither of us has so much as a drop of royal blood of any race coloring his veins. starting from that basis, would you mind explaining your remarks?" irak leaned back in his chair. "not at all. you are prince lolan, of the house of sarn. twenty years ago, when you were two years old, all of your people were killed in the martian invasion. among fifty other venusian children, you were taken back to mars. the war chiefs wanted to experiment, to find out what difference the martian atmosphere had on the development of a child of venus. all of those other children were killed due to lack of care on the return voyage. you alone lived ... to become a high-ranking martian officer!" the blood had drained from lolan's face, leaving it a sickly color. his hands shook a little. it was too much to grasp at once. "irak, you're telling the truth?" he gasped. "but you can't be. look at me: i'm dark, like a martian ... so are you, as far as that goes. and why would they let me hold such a responsible position?" "of course you're dark!" irak laughed. "who wouldn't be, after eighteen years of blistering martian suns? as far as their letting you gain position is concerned, they had two reasons for doing it. in the first place, they found that you were developing into a brilliant, scholarly youth who could go far if allowed to. you had something no other venusian before you had: initiative and the ability to fight like a bulldog on any problem you attempted. perhaps the ultraviolet rays so strong on mars and so feeble here have something to do with that. at any rate, you are strong and determined where the rest of our race is vacillating, good-natured, and pliable. their other reason for letting you fight your way to the top in their own army was that, to their cruel minds, it seemed a good joke to let a venusian have partial charge of his own down-trodden people. but the joke may backlash...." "and you?" lolan murmured. "where do you come in?" "i went back on the same ship that took you, but as a stowaway. i hid in the upper part of the ship where the constant, harsh light of the sun soon blackened my fair skin as dark as theirs. i killed a soldier one night and took his uniform. it wasn't hard to take his place. they were a motley crew from all over mars, a sort of foreign legion, and few knew each other. by the time we reached mars i was able to mingle safely with the men. and as years went on i completed my martian education, vied with others for honors. i gained those honors for one purpose--to fight again in a venusian army, to wipe the scourge from the face of our planet. now we are ready!" lolan sank back. he felt like a man who has had too strong a dose of some powerful drug. "now i can explain a lot of things," he murmured. "i've had the feeling so many times that i've been a certain place before, yet i never understood why." he got up, began pacing the tiny cabin with restless tread. when he spoke again, at last, he seemed to be talking to himself. "then it must be true. i'm not one of arzt's bloodthirsty race, i'm a venusian--one of mora's race!" abruptly, he whirled on the little intelligence officer. "well, what now? where are we going?" irak let a thin smile curve his lips. "to the old palace. there we'll meet mora and atarkus and many others. you will see things you haven't dreamed existed on this planet. areeba is ready to strike for freedom!" lolan's eyes sparkled. but it was not entirely the revolution he was thinking of. "they knew about me?" he jerked. irak nodded, made an adjustment in the flight. "but none of us ever dared tell you of our plans until we knew exactly how you stood. if you had become a true martian, we wanted you always to remain ignorant." silence came into the rocket ship. they were soaring along above a thick blanket of yellowish clouds. irak's hand sent them plummeting down into the clear air beneath. directly below them a cluster of crumbling buildings topped a hill in the north section of the city. ruin had laid its bony hand over all, tumbling towers and cornices back into the dust from which they had sprung. squarely in the midst of it the ship settled to a landing. memory troubled lolan at sight of the old palace. irak sprang out. "follow me!" he shot at lolan. they hurried into a roofless room of magnificent size, passing through it into a small room still partially covered. the captain found a ring in the floor, beneath a litter of rubbish. it yielded to insistent tugging, to reveal a flight of stairs sliding away into dim obscurity. irak flashed a light into the depths and descended. wondering strangely, lolan followed. a half hour passed, while steps blended into winding corridors and corridors changed back into stairs. lolan's head was spinning by the time they reached a heavy bronze door. irak flashed a smile. "now--watch!" he breathed. his thumb flattened on a button. seconds dragged out. nothing happened. but ... was the door moving? a crack of light split down the middle of the portal. it widened, and suddenly the two parts drew wide and light and sound flooded through them. lolan started. dumbly he moved ahead. what he saw made his legs wobbly with astonishment. * * * * * below them, in a spacious, high-vaulted hall, thousands of men were at work with various machines. at one end of the room a continual stream of venusians filed through one door, past a long table where workers were doling out some kind of apparatus, and back through another door. the clank of stamp machines, the scream of drill-presses, the whine of lathes, blended into a confused wail. and over all was the roar of the underground river, that flowed between black banks squarely through the middle of the cavern. questions sprang to lolan's lips, but irak stifled them. "come along," he ordered. "others can explain better than i." a winding path led down the wall of the place. at the bottom they turned left and found their way to where a large crowd of men were in noisy conference with two persons in their midst. irak raised his voice in a triumphant shout. instantly the babble broke. irak bowed low as atarkus emerged from the crowd. "it is done, emperor! i bring you--prince lolan!" unnameable feelings swept over lolan as a great cry went up. before he could move, he was surrounded by a laughing, shouting crowd that grew steadily larger. their words were only a confused sound in his ears, but he knew what they meant: that he was whole-heartedly welcomed back into the race from which he had been stolen so long ago! mora came to his side, then, flushed and happy. "we sent for you," she said, "as soon as we learned you had been imprisoned. we have wanted so long to tell you of our plans. we--we need you." "but we were afraid," atarkus frowned. "it is with joy that we receive you, prince, but ... sadness has awaited your coming." the exuberance that had buoyed lolan up fled from beneath him and left him on the rock-bottom of unpleasant reality. "for what part i've had in your misery, i humbly beg forgiveness," he apologized. "but--this cavern ... the machines: what do they mean?" atarkus' thin form drew up stiffly. his eyes swept the length of the vast room. "they mean the revolution is here! tomorrow--at high noon!" through the crowd ran a tremor of excitement. faces that wore graven looks of hopelessness flamed eagerly. tired eyes sparkled. "revolution!" lolan's word was a harsh, incredulous gasp. "but you have no weapons! no--no chance, against arzt's legions of trained murderers!" "we have weapons," atarkus grunted. "but i wanted more time. now, word has come that since your escape that butcher is running wild. men and women are being shot down in their homes while soldiers search for you. the slightest word of reproach is sufficient to condemn a man to the holes, or to instant death. we can wait no longer. in a few days my people will be so cowed even i cannot lead them to the battle." "but your weapons?" lolan inquired eagerly. atarkus led the way to where the line of hurrying venusians were being given small, copper-colored articles like tiny drum-majors' batons. he picked one up and handed it to lolan. "try it!" he offered. the prince regarded it curiously. he found a small trigger on one side. training it on the wall twenty feet away, he fired. after a moment a round spot of phosphorescence appeared, that gradually turned red, then crumbled away. slowly he handed the gun back to atarkus. "well?" the emperor inquired eagerly. "do you think we're unarmed now, with four out of five venusians owning one of these?" lolan drew his own weapon and directed it on the wall. he fired, the charge instantly crashing against the wall and tearing a ragged hole in it. he was white-lipped when he turned back. "there is your answer. against these--these toys of yours, the martian guns will be like long-range cannons. no, my friends. if this is the best you have to offer, the revolution is doomed before it starts!" v the shocked hush seemed to reach to all parts of the room. lolan's thoughts were bitter ones. they concerned the thing that had cursed his people for centuries. their childish inability to think a problem through, their pathetic attempts to fight back against their aggressors. now those qualities had doomed them again to misery. atarkus was muttering to himself. "we--we thought they would work if we could get within ten or fifteen feet of them." "but how are you going to approach that close when _their_ guns are effective at two hundred feet?" lolan countered. idly he glanced at the piles and piles of ray pistols still being doled out. "how do they operate? draw on the martian power station, i suppose?" mora pointed at a massive apparatus at the upper end of the hall. "electronic power," she told him. "we generate our own power. as long as the turbines are running, the guns will operate." lolan's eyes went a little wide at that. he scratched his head, scowled, then walked off a little. he whirled about and came back to them. "that gives me a clue! the martian guns also draw from a central station. only it's a radioactive type of power. underneath the barracks there's a huge mass of _radite_. if that stuff were carried off, they'd have guns no more effective than water pistols!" irak snorted. "who's going to carry it off? it weighs tons. i've seen it. it's like a great lump of radium. if you get too close, even, you'll be poisoned." "we couldn't carry it off--in its present form! but there is a large, unused sewer hole in a room near it. if we could break it up, using workmen's lead suits, it might be possible to drop it into the underground river. contact with the water would result in an explosion that would destroy its radioactivity." atarkus licked his lips. "would this be possible? could anyone get that close to it without being caught?" "we could try!" lolan gave back. "if the plan succeeded--well, we number twenty thousand in areeba to the martians' two. once their weapons were destroyed, the city would be ours!" "then it must be attempted!" atarkus raised his fist high. "irak--call the leaders. we must lay our plans tonight, for the struggle tomorrow!" they met in a little alcove off the main room, ten men whose grim countenances stamped them as men ready to die for the cause. lolan sensed immediately, as they took places around a long table, that he was being looked to as their leader. and old atarkus willingly fell away to make room for younger, more dynamic blood. when all were quiet, prince lolan stood up. it came to him strongly, the feeling that everything, the fate of every soul on venus, hinged on what happened in this little room tonight. his voice came gravely, freighted with importance. "i won't try to deceive you for one instant that our battle is going to be easy," he told them sternly. "it isn't. the odds are a hundred to one against us. but i will tell you this: the game is worth it! if we win areeba, all venus is ours. with improved weapons, the martians' own, we'll be able to descend on the smaller settlements and conquer them before they know what has happened here. then there will be the task of building up a space fleet. we can do it. if mars sends a new army out to re-capture us, they'll find us ready, trained in their own modes of warfare and as brutal as they themselves. i have a theory that once we have won our independence, progress on venus will be different. my experience has proved that all the venusian lacks for a complete, balanced fighting personality is an abundance of ultraviolet light. we can provide that artificially, in street-lights, in the nursery, everywhere. it will be the beginning of the greater venus. yes, the game is worth the risk. we have all to win ... nothing to lose!" vesh-tu, a squat, hairy little man, leaned forward. "but how are we to do it, prince? the _radite_ is guarded, is it not?" "i have a plan--" lolan murmured thoughtfully. "we can enter, i believe, by the sewers, following the river upstream to the holes and climbing them by their ladders. they will probably know immediately what we are doing, when their machines and guns begin to lose power. but by that time i hope to have the army mostly concentrated on the south side." "how?" irak demanded flatly. "by starting fires, riots, dynamiting buildings--everything we can think of. then, when the soldiers have been decoyed into the midst of our people, we will have destroyed the last of the _radite_ and the revolution will begin in earnest!" atarkus rubbed his hands. "suppose we set a zero hour--say twelve o'clock, for the time for fighting to begin. it would make for a concerted, simultaneous outbreak all over the city." lolan nodded grimly. "twelve o'clock. i will need three men to help me. irak, vesh-tu, and you, atarkus. the rest of you had better go back, now, to pass the word. we strike at high noon--and we strike hard!" * * * * * dawn came, but only by their watches did those four who fought their way up the treacherous, slippery banks of the subterranean river realize it. they stumbled along in darkness complete except for the feeble glow of hand torches. at ten o'clock they reached a spot where refuse of all kinds had collected on the bank. they sent light spraying the roof of the cavern. a honeycomb of holes broke its rough expanse. lolan read the labels crudely painted beside each. his heart gave a bound as he found the one he sought. nimbly he ran up the iron rungs in the wall, then swung hand over hand to the hole and paused in its entrance, over the roaring torrent below. the others were following more slowly. atarkus came haltingly, handicapped by his years. at length all were ascending the inky tunnel. four times they were forced to stop and rest. it was gruelling work. their hands were rubbed raw by the pitted surface of the iron ladder. over an hour had elapsed when they reached a flat iron plate that covered the hole. eleven o'clock! an hour left. lolan trembled with impatience. wedging himself securely on the ladder, he forced upward on the plate. dim light flowed into the tunnel. with his nerves crying for caution, he shoved the plate aside and crawled forth. gun in fist, he shot his glance about the small room. the others emerged with bloody hands and dirty clothes, tired to the bone, but eager for whatever lay ahead. prince lolan paced to the door. "we're in luck!" he hissed. "no guards around. now to find protective armor and go to work!" * * * * * they found the heavy suits used by workmen in a room near the ramp leading down to the _radite_ deposit. when they had crawled into them, they could hardly walk. constructed of heavy rubber and slabs of lead, each one weighed over two hundred pounds. helmets provided poor vision through thick, murky glass. but the outfits would be all that stood between them and death in the _radite_ pit. now they were staggering down the ramp and through a wide door. all four recoiled from the sight that struck their eyes. on gigantic insulators, a huge lump of blazing diamond seemed to repose. even through colored glass it pained the eyes to look at it. the walls and floor all about it glowed with the same supernal brilliance. tiny white flame ran ceaselessly over the jagged surface of the stone. lolan squinted at his watch. "eleven-fifteen!" he blurted. "can we do it in forty-five minutes?" "we can if we've got to!" vesh-tu grunted. "how do we move the blessed thing?" the prince drew his gun. "stand back," he snapped. "this should break it down into convenient sizes!" he levelled the gun, squeezed the trigger twice. a convulsive roar shook the very walls. for an entire minute, every man in the room was blinded. when they could see again, it was to regard the crumbled remains that strewed the floor. no pieces larger than a good-sized book remained. but when they tried to lift them, they discovered the chunks weighed as much as corresponding pieces of gold! staggering under their burdens, they ascended the ramp with their small loads and hurried to the sewer opening. one after the other, four pieces tumbled in. tensely they waited for the detonation. it came, a rumbling roar that drove a blast of air into their faces. lolan grinned bleakly. "their guns are just that much less powerful!" he promised. "now if we can just clear up all that stuff in time--" at a wabbling run they staggered back to the job. it went like that for a half hour, while the litter of shattered _radite_ grew smaller and smaller. lolan's watch showed a quarter to twelve. he thought of the thousands of venusians out on the streets, waiting to act ... thought of mora, ready to lead her little group. then there came the sound that drove all other thoughts from his mind. the tramp of running feet! lolan acted instinctively. "keep it up!" he shouted through his mask. "irak and i have guns. we'll stand them off somehow!" fear shot through the pit like an electric charge. lolan and irak struggled for speed as they ran up the incline. the sound of voices and footfalls was louder. they made it past the room where the _radite_ was being disposed of. that door must be kept available, or arzt's victory was certain. on down the hall they plunged, around a turn, into another.... their running steps locked in a halt. arzt and his crew were racing toward them a hundred feet ahead! * * * * * the shooting broke out simultaneously. rock dust filled the tunnel from the battering of force-bolts. arzt's voice struck through the sounds, bellowing orders. lolan and irak were back of the corner, now, waiting-two martians raced up, prodded by their leader's hoarse screams. they never fired their guns, for the venusians chopped them down in full stride. lolan tore his mask off. "won't need these any more," he grunted. "the job's up to them now. if i go out, it's not going to be in that smelly thing." in back of them he could hear atarkus and vesh-tu's labored breathing. from time to time there came the deep, thunderous explosions that meant the work was going on. lolan darted a glance at his watch. five minutes to twelve! now they pressed back against the wall in wait for another pair who raced up. the martians plunged into their sights. triggers were squeezed, guns steadied. but the shots, when they came, were feeble. beside lolan the wall shuddered slightly and a trickle of rocks slid down it. he watched the man he had hit stagger back, screaming. it took another shot to finish him. a new tenseness came into the tunnel. every man present, martian or venusian, knew what was happening. the last of the _radite_ was being disposed of. in another five minutes arzt's hordes would be no more than a handful among an army of vengeance-driven natives. the seconds slogged slowly through prince lolan. he was waiting, hoping--then his hopes were dashed as twenty-five martians raced concertedly for the pair of them. arzt was sacrificing everything to stop them. irak began to swear excitedly. "this gun--the thing won't work fast enough, lolan! can't stop them with these." "then we'll use the new guns!" the idea took him so swiftly he fumbled through two seconds getting his little copper disintegrator into position. a long blue serpent of flame licked out at the martians. where it touched, men withered and went down without a sound. arzt roared his anger. he flung his useless weapon with all his might at his former subordinate. "damn your venusian heart!" he screamed. "you can't stop us! can't--" the words choked off. irak had cut him down with a single shot. silence dwelt in the tunnel, and through it came a hoarse cry: "lolan! it's done! the last of it's gone. were--were we in time?" lolan sank back against the wall. he let his eyes fill with the ghastly remains of his former underlings. "yes," he muttered to himself. "yes! they're--finished!" * * * * * there was jubilation throughout all areeba that day. the scene in the tunnel had been duplicated everywhere. martians, one minute brutal and ruthless, became craven cowards the next. there was not a man of them alive by night. at sundown, lolan stood with mora, atarkus, and the others high in command at the ruins of the palace. the sun had broken through the perpetual clouds to cast a golden fog over everything. the beauty of it seemed to hold them all. "it's symbolic," lolan told the emperor. "symbolic of the grandeur to come for venus. i see a future for you as the greatest emperor our world has ever known." atarkus shook his head. "not for me, my boy. for you! i am old, ready to leave the struggle to the young. irak, who could be a more fitting ruler for venus than the prince we lost and gained again?" irak's ugly face grinned. "no one. but an emperor must have an empress! could that not be arranged too?" atarkus saw the flush on his daughter's face, the corresponding color in prince lolan's cheeks. "arranged!" he grunted. "that's been done a long time. it was arranged the day lolan came back from mars!" the star-master by ray cummings docile, decadent venus was easy pickings for that twenty-first century hitler's dream of cosmic empire. [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from planet stories summer 1942. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] my name is arthur frane. you who read this story now, of course are familiar with momentous events into which i was unexpectedly plunged--momentous for all mankind. i write this narrative now to add the true details to what you have all read and heard blared by the newscasters around the world. i have been extolled as a hero although i did nothing except try to keep from getting killed. i was twenty-six years old last summer, in june of 2003, when fate so strangely brought venta and me together. my family is wealthy, as you have heard. do not envy me for that. an income of ten thousand decimars, however nice it may seem in theory, is in reality no advantage to a young man of twenty-six. i am a big blond fellow whom the newscasters have been pleased to call viking-like and handsome as a god. i'm much obliged. but whatever truth there is in it, that too has been a disadvantage. the weird events began in july, last summer, when with jim gregg i went hunting in that adirondac forest. jim and i were in government college together. i left to spend my income and become a dawdler--the disadvantage of money; and jim joined the crime prevention bureau of the new york shadow squad. we got a one-day hunting permit. jim took his official crime-tracker equipment, with an extra flash-gun for me; we flew to the adirondac mountain slope which our permit named and hopefully set out on foot to try our luck. but we had no luck. a few birds, which even the minimum pencil-ray flash had all but burned to a crisp, were all we had bagged. evening came, with twilight settling so that the forest glades were deepening into purple. and then suddenly it seemed that we heard a rustling in the underbrush--a rustling which ought to be a deer. we crouched in a thicket, waiting. the sound stopped. "let's try the listener," i whispered. jim got out his little eavesdropping gadget. but he had no time to connect it. the rustling began again. it was obviously up a short slope no more than a hundred feet from us--some wild animal which seemed now to be retreating. "i'll take a chance," i muttered. "if that's a deer, we'll lose it if i can't drill it now." we knew it could not be a human, since our permit for today barred anyone else from the twenty square miles of government preserve allotted to us. i fired at the sound, with my violet pencil-flash eating through the underbrush at the top of the slope. there was a startled, weird outcry; and from the summit of the little rise a shape broke cover. a girl! she came bursting from a thicket no more than three feet to the side of the swath my flash had burned, and for a second or two she stood poised on a rock with the open evening sky a background above and behind her. a slim shape of bare legs and arms with a brief drape from shoulders to her thighs. the starlight and fading daylight gleamed on her bronzed skin as though she were a metal statue. "well--i say--" jim muttered. * * * * * thoughts are instant things. there was in my mind the vague idea that here, by some wild circumstances, was a girl in a fancy-dress party costume or something of the kind. but the thought, and jim's muttered words of astonishment, were in another second stricken away. she paused for that instant on the rock, and then she leaped. amazing, incredible leap! it carried her in a flat arc some ten or fifteen feet above the ground and twenty feet away, where light as a faun she landed on the toes of her bare feet. nearer to us now; and seeing us, perhaps for the first time, she stood and stared. i could see the silvery streaks running through the black hair that framed her face. it was a queerly beautiful face, apparently devoid of normal cosmetic-make-up. negroid? oriental? in that second i had the thought that it was neither--nor anything else that i could name. a girl with a mysterious wild beauty which stirred my pulses. "well--good lord--" jim muttered again. he too was staring, with a hand in his shock of bristling red hair, and i can imagine the look of numbed astonishment on his freckled, pug-nosed face. "good lord, how did she jump like that?" i heard myself stammering, "you--up there--what in the devil--" like a terrified fugitive the girl abruptly swept a look behind her; and then she leaped again, and landed almost beside us. "you--you--oh you mus' help me! there was a flash that tried to kill me--" english! with weird, indescribable intonation, she gasped the english words. "i--shot at you," i stammered. "sorry--we thought you were an animal. no human is allowed here today but us." somehow it seemed futile, incongruous that i should try to explain anything rational to a girl so weird as this. but she smiled. "oh--i thought--i thought--" "someone is after you?" jim said quickly. "yes. i thought--but i guess not now. oh you are good earthmen--not like curtmann. i escaped, and i have come long long a way from my poor terrified people." i saw jim glance at me significantly. we both had the same thought, of course. a girl demented; with painted skin and fancy dress--trappings of insanity; and she had escaped from some asylum? but those leaps were far beyond the power of any trained athlete! "what's your name?" i murmured. "venta. i was a prisoner--and now i have to tell someone of importance here on earth. i did escape when i was brought here by curtmann." she babbled it out, breathless, terrified. "i did not know what to do, he is so bad to my people--to the midge--to all of us. and i--i do not love him. i am afraid of him. in shan he rules--and my family now are all in the great forest city. and curtmann will capture that too." blankly jim and i exchanged glances. and suddenly with a muttered oath, jim gasped, "my god, art! look at that--thing! there--behind you!" i whirled. but whatever he had seen, or thought he saw, was gone. "behind me? what?" "why--why--" jim could only gasp. the girl was staring at us blankly. jim was stupified into incoherency. "why--why--a little thing--it ran--" and then he raised his left wrist with another muttered gasp. "what in the devil?" i demanded. "are you crazy too?" "electro-eavesdropper on us! look--" an eavesdropper detector was on his wrist, connected with his watch. part of his s.s. equipment and he always wore it. the underplate was glowing now, its warmth against his flesh attracting his attention. an eavesdropper being used against us! i knew it was illegal for anyone but a federal man to have one; but criminals had them, and most of the other s.s. devices and weapons, of course. some criminal was near here, listening to us now! "someone not far away!" jim gasped. "look at that dial!" his little detector-needle was swaying violently, in the range of one to two hundred feet. then it swung back to normal as the ray evidently was shut off. i snatched out my flash-gun. jim and i crouched with the numbed, terrified girl between us. "oh--" she muttered. "they have come, and they will kill us." "there it is again!" jim's hand gripped my arm. "my god--that little thing!" * * * * * the purple shadows of night were deepening in the forest now. but in the gloom i saw it. on the bole of a tree no more than six or eight feet from us a tiny figure stood peering at us. the glistening, brown-bronze figure of a man; a broad-shouldered, stocky little figure no more than a foot high! i had an instant glimpse of a powerfully-muscled body, a tiny hairless round head, then the creature leaped to the ground, recovered its balance and ran. in another second it was lost in the gloom. the girl too, had seen it. "a midge! here? why--then curtmann's men are here, too!" she stopped abruptly. from the leafy darkness something hurtled into a tree beside us. there was the faint tinkling of fragile glass, then a sickening sweet smell assailed us, and sticky liquid splattered on us. "anesthesia-bomb!" jim gasped. "get away from here--grab the girl!" my head was reeling, with senses fading so that the dim scene was blurring around me. jim and i dragged the girl through the thickets. then came a shot at us, the sizzling flash just missing us, shriveling the foliage over our heads. jim's shot answered it. i saw a skulking figure by a nearby tree, and fired quickly. my shot caught him full; he went down. in front of me, jim had dropped prone into the brush. his voice warned: "they're here. get down." we had no chance to fight them off. i drilled a shape that appeared in front of me; but another pounced on my shoulders as i crouched. blurred by the drug, i squirmed, reached up and grabbed him by the throat. but another man was on us. jim's shot sounded again; and then as i fought, i saw several dark shapes leaping on him. his panting oaths mingled with the girl's scream. in the melee glass hit my face, breaking with the sticky drug oozing out on me. a man's fist followed it, with a crack that made my head burst into roaring light before i drifted off into an abyss of nothingness.... ii i came to with the sound of distant throbbing in my ears. it seemed that i was lying on a metal grid-floor; and as i stirred, a familiar voice sounded. "thank the lord, you're coming out of it at last." it was jim, here on the floor with me, bending anxiously over me in a luminous darkness. his pug-nosed face grinned down at me. "i sure thought you might never come back, art. you been a day, sleeping off that damned drug." dizzily i tried to sit up as he held me. "what--what happened? where the devil are we?" then i remembered the fight. "venta--" i murmured. "she's all right. i've seen her, and talked with her." i could see that jim and i were alone in a small, triangular metal apartment. a closed door was to one side. and to the other, there was a round bull's-eye window. it was black out there, with bright white points of stars. the thrumming was a faint distant electronic throb, off in this strange interior. i could feel my strength rapidly coming back. i sat up, shoving jim away. "i'm all right now. where are we?" he grinned wryly. "hold your breath for a shock. we're out in space, plenty far. i guess, by now, we're on our way to venus!" out in space! how often, like everyone else in our modern world of science, i had envisaged it, and wondered why it had never been made possible. "on the way to venus?" "so they tell me, an' lord knows i wouldn't doubt it. if you don't believe me, come take a look." with his arm around me, i staggered dizzily to the bull's-eye porte. it was an amazing scene! the heavens everywhere were a black vault, strewn with myriad white gems of the blazing worlds. filling one whole side, the familiar earth hung motionless. it was mottled with clouds, beneath which the configurations of the oceans and continents were plainly visible. i stared, awed, wordless; and then, still weak and dizzy with the cold sweat of the drug chilling me, i was glad enough to sit down on the couch, with jim beside me. "who's got us?" i asked presently. "a fellow named curtmann and his band. a dozen or more of them here on board. i've talked with one of them--they're all earthmen--this ship was built on earth. would you believe it? a damned scientist from mid-europe built it secretly. he never told the world about it, but gathered a bunch of crooks and beat it off." "not so fast," i murmured. "don't get incoherent." * * * * * i tried to sort it out as he breathlessly told me what he had learned. some eight or ten years ago, among the captive people of mid-europe under police domination of the anglo-american federation, a fellow named karl curtmann had built this hundred foot cylindrical space-flyer. the same old urge for world conquest. but this fellow curtmann had known that on earth he had no chance. this was not 1915, nor 1939. and so he had gathered others like himself; all english-speaking, since their racial language had been banned by the federation before they were born, and with his ship and his men, they had adventured into space. "seems they landed on venus," jim was saying. "it was a fertile field for a world-conqueror, by what i hear! peaceful, simple people, with these earth cutthroats jumping on them. they used a bunch of our shadow squad weapons, which was enough and plenty." once established there as a conqueror, curtmann had gone back to earth on several trips, for supplies and more weapons and men. "i guess there are several hundred of 'em on venus now," jim went on. "built themselves a little city, and made slaves out of the venus-people. you can imagine what this style earthman would do when he's a conqueror with nothing to challenge him! and the venus-people are on the down-grade. dying out, except for the midges." "midges?" "they're the little people of venus. they serve. they believe that all earth men are gods, or something." jim shrugged. "don't ask me. we'll find out soon enough." the midge! i remembered that little bronze man-figure which had peered at us. "and venta?" i prompted. "her father--no, i guess it's her grandfather--he's a leader on venus. religious leader, or something. he and some others have escaped to a forest city. curtmann had venta. venta says he's just trying to make her love him--make her see how wonderful he is. curtmann, the man of destiny--i can't wait to meet him!" he had taken venta on one of his forays to earth, and she had escaped from him. "an' they got us along with her," jim finished wryly. "damned lucky we didn't get killed. we will yet, most probably." a little rasp here in the darkness made us turn. a doorslide had opened; a man's heavy-featured face scowled in at us. "at last you have recovered," he said to me. his voice was the heavy, guttural timber of a mid-european. he was a villainous-looking fellow, his slack-jowled face bluish with a week's growth of beard. "yes," i said. "fortunately for me. are you curtmann?" "he's frantz," jim put in. "he's been feeding me." "tell your master i want to see him," i said. "and take me to the girl, venta." the fellow leered. "you talk like you own the ship," he commented. the doorslide closed. his footsteps retreated, but presently they came back. he opened the door. "the great-master says, bring you," he said with an ironic grin. "come on. you can both come." * * * * * silently we followed him down a narrow metal corridor. "this way--" i saw our captor now as a bulky six-foot fellow clad incongruously in a crudely plaited robe of dried vegetable fibre, draped upon him like a roman toga. he stood aside at an oval doorway; and jim and i went into a small triangular room. starlight filtered into it from a side bull's-eye. clad still in her brief garment, venta sat on a square pad on the floor. as we entered she flung me a look, and then stared straight ahead. "so? this is the fellow who thought he would steal my little venta? come in, frane. stand over there; i want to look you over." karl curtmann. he was seated in a small, straight-backed armchair. he was a smallish, slim fellow, not over forty perhaps. a vivid blue toga encased him; sandals were on his feet. at our entrance he raised one of his bare ornamented arms with a gesture. the costume was queerly incongruous to a modern earthman; but upon curtmann there was an immense dignity, a sense of the consciousness of his own greatness. more than mere conceit, it seemed to radiate from him. on his heavy, square-jawed face there was a look of amused contempt as he regarded me. "my little venta has asked me not to kill you," he added. his voice was soft and suave. english was his native language, taught him exclusively by government decree. but the inherited timbre was guttural. "that is fortunate, is it not?" "yes," i agreed. "very. i thank her." his eyes twinkled; his immaculate hands with jeweled fingers, brushed his crisp blond hair. "you can also thank me. i am permitting you to join our life. you know now, of course, that i am master of venus? it is their good fortune. always i shall protect them from any harm, and teach them the life that is good for them." he was utterly sincere. his eyes were gleaming with his fervour. man of destiny. he believed it with the faith of a child. and now his gaze went to venta. "her people--" he was still talking to me, though he stared at her. "some of them still are misguided. old prytan, her grandfather, is a very wicked old man, frane. he has fled to the forest city. he defies my rule. i shall have to punish that forest city." suddenly his face contorted; his arm shook as he pounded his fist on his chair. "i shall not tolerate it. they are all to die. nor in the city of shan itself will i have rebellion. i am a man of peace--there shall be no strife. and each year, from earth, more of my men will come to mate with the venus women. the new race. the new empire of curtmann. is it not a wonderful future, venta? i shall make you empress." "yes," she murmured. "race of the gods," he said. "and i--karl curtmann--" he checked himself. there was a little sound of beating wings here in the dim starlit room. i turned as through the door a tiny shape came like a fluttering bird through the air. a footlong bronze man-shape. one of the midge! again my mind leaped back to that little figure in the adirondac forest. it had had wings, though then i had not noticed them. this one came and poised on the arm of curtmann's chair. "what is it, rahn?" he said. the midge's voice was tiny, but clear. "the flight-master has asked that you come now to check his calculations of our course." the english words, taught to this midge, were quaintly intoned. the voice was gentle, humble. curtmann stood up. "all right. i shall go." he waved an arm at the burly frantz who was standing silently to one side. "our captives can remain here, frantz." he turned, smiled gently at venta, and strode from the room. * * * * * as the days passed we were allowed a fair freedom of movement. a freedom to plan--what? i must confess that jim and i had no conception of what we might do in circumstances like these. once venta had whispered to me, "we shall escape from here--it can be done." escape from this curtmann, join venta's grandfather--old prytan--out there in the venus forest city.... certainly it was all that jim and i could hope for. and then came that night when the misty lead-grey ball of venus had grown to a monstrous disc beneath us, with the cone of its shadow blotting out the sun as we dropped down into the heavy venus atmosphere. there came a moment when venta, jim and i were alone, and from the dim corridor with a little beat of wings, rhan, the midge, came to join us. he was carrying an oxohydro heat-torch. amazing little man-shape. the alumite torch was as big as himself, and heavier. his diaphanous, dragonfly wings struggled with it. like a giant flying ant, with an ant's monstrous strength in proportion to its size. panting, he fluttered heavily and laid it at my feet. "you, the great god," he said. "i serve you. here it is." he stood now by the torch he had brought. the muscles on his broad chest heaved under the sleek bronzed skin with his panting breath. "for you," he added. "no one saw me. i got it for you. i did well, seyla venta?" "oh yes. thank you, rhan." venta was trembling now with excitement. "when we get lower into the atmosphere, we'll go to one of the pressure-portes at the bottom of the hull. there are space suits there, if we can get to them." "let's close this door," jim said quickly. "not so loud, venta." we planned it, as the ship settled down through the heavy, sullen-looking venus clouds and then burst out into the lower atmosphere with the dark surface of venus far down beneath us. rhan watched and reported that curtmann and most of his men were forward by the control turret. then jim, venta and i were able to get down through one of the dim corridors, down a little catwalk ladder into the lower hull. the metal pressure porte door was locked. i stood at the bottom of the ladder. above me the voices of curtmann's ruffians were audible. every moment i expected that we would be missed. "hurry it," i murmured. the porte doorlock melted as jim held the torch upon it. we slid into the porte, closed the door after us. venta, on the voyage to earth, had been trained by curtmann in the use of these pressure-suits, and in a moment we stood in them, helmeted, with the air bloating the suits so that we were shapeless monsters. i opened the outer doorslide. a little at first, and then wider. in the rarified atmosphere of venus at this fifty mile height, the air of the little porte went out with a rush. it blew us out with it. i had a sickening sensation of falling into nothingness. then it seemed that my head steadied. i fumbled with a hand upon the anti-gravity mechanisms by which the fall could be guided. above me the dark finned shape of curtmann's space ship was drawing swiftly upward and away. head down, with the bloated shapes of jim and venta beside me, we plummeted like falling meteorites through the sub-stratosphere darkness. iii "a rainbow storm is coming," old prytan said. "we shall have to wait until it is passed before trying to get to the broken city." we were in the depths of an orange-blue forest of giant, spindly vegetation that rose in fantastic shapes from the soft, porous ground five hundred feet or more into the air. pods and vines hung upon the lacery of trees. there were huge vivid flowers, redolent with a perfume exotic, cloying in the heavy humid air. everything, particularly at first, to me was heavy, oppressive. venus is denser than the earth, and the gravity is a full third heavier. it made walking, to us earthmen, a panting labor. i felt that i weighed, not my normal hundred and eighty pounds, but almost two hundred and fifty. for us to run seemed impossible. i had seen but little of this forest city. it was a group of perhaps a thousand dwellings, all seemingly built of slabs of the porous forest trees, with walls and roofs of thatch. the houses nestled between the great fantastic trees. some were like birds' nests in the branches, with vine-ladders from the ground leading up to them. the colors of the thatch were vivid blue, red and yellow. it was a fairyland of woodland fantasy, peopled by the humans of this scattered, futile venus-race. i had seen gaping groups of them as venta and i pushed through them, heading for old prytan's dwelling. men, women and children crowded the flower-lined, crooked little city streets. they were all gaudily-dressed in toga-like fabrics made from the vivid-colored, dried vegetable fibres. a few of them had fled here from shan where they had picked up a little english from the earth-conquerors. but most of them babbled at me in their own weird tongue. they were a gentle people. the lack of struggle, lack of accomplishment for generations now, had stamped them with a futility. here in the benign climate of venus they had grown content with simple wants. love-making, music--that was enough for them. the midge attended their every want. decadence perhaps, but who shall say but what it is to be preferred to the bloody upward struggles of our own earth's history? all that too, had been upon venus. far ahead of earth in the life-cycle of its humans, there had been great scientific civilizations here. the science of war had risen into all its ghastly power and then had destroyed itself, with mankind at last coming to realize its tragic futility. there were ruins of great cities here, with the silt of centuries upon them and the forests growing lush amid their wreckage. "you two earthmen are not quite like curtmann and his fellows," old prytan said to me. his eyes twinkled beneath his shaggy white brows. his seamed old face wrinkled with a smile. "no," i said. "we hope not." "but your earth still struggles, with each man wanting more than his neighbor." we were in a room of a huge, crudely-built dwelling of thatch. a thousand midges had woven it in a day. venta was here; and draped on the floor at her feet was the graceful, gaudily-clad figure of a young venusman. his name was jahnt. he was her cousin, i understood. a handsome fellow with longish, bushy dark hair; an oval face with pointed chin, hawk nose and eyes with an almost oriental slant. he spoke english as fluently as venta. i don't know why i took an instant dislike to him, save that he always seemed to want to be beside venta. a rainbow storm was coming. i could see the premonitory signs of it. the room here was lighted with little braziers--seemingly the caged bodies of tiny insects which were luminous as fireflies. through the oval window-openings the night outside was turgidly dark. but wind now was pattering the trees, and there were distant flares of weird opalescent lightning. a tenseness was here in this room of old prytan's home--and it was everywhere about the little city. like an aura of terror it seemed to envelope us. all this day that had passed, midges by hundreds had been flying in from shan. and now, this evening, the big people themselves had begun coming. fugitives. terrified people who had escaped from shan; rebellious, wanting to do something to rid venus of these cruel conquerors, coming to prytan as their leader; helplessly throwing themselves upon him, asking him what they should do. groups of people milled in the streets, eyed the coming storm. rebellion against the earth-conquerors. but it was more than that. among us all, here in this eerie opalescent room there was the feeling of impending disaster. curtmann had returned to shan. in a rage at the loss of venta, he had learned that the rebellion against him was growing. would he wait for old prytan to organize some attack? certainly i doubted it. and my mind swept back so that again i seemed to hear his grim words: "i shall have to punish that forest city!" was curtmann planning to strike at us now? "... but until the storm is over we can do nothing," old prytan was saying. even then, what could we do? in somber voices that seemed to echo dully through the rustic room and mingled with the weird storm-noises outside, we discussed it. one of the great broken cities of by-gone days was only some ten miles away. in it there was hidden away a cache of ancient weapons of science. "i have kept them workable," prytan said grimly. "and my father before me also attended them. and before him, his father. but never did we really think the horrible time would come when they should be used." * * * * * but whatever we could do, certainly must be done soon. the news from shan every moment was more serious. upon curtmann's return, open disorder had broken out in the capital city. as punishment, a thousand or more of the young venusmen of the city had been summarily killed by the diabolic flash-guns of the earthmen. "only our men he kills," young jahnt put in ironically. "why not? our women are very beautiful. like you, is it not so, venta?" i tensed at the glance with which he swept her. "i shall bring in the supper," venta said. his gaze followed her as she rose and left us. "i tell you all this about our hidden weapons," prytan was saying to me in his cracked treble voice. "we can trust you, even though you are earthmen?" "yes," i agreed. "listen," jim put in. "these young men you've got here--well, no offense meant--on earth we'd call them ladylike." his gaze barely touched the gaudy figure of jahnt and then went back to prytan. "my business, sir, on earth is to deal with criminals. i'm pretty good in a fight. you just give me some of your weapons." "i trust you," prytan agreed. "never, until tonight, has anyone but myself known about the weapons. if curtmann knew it--" "he won't," i said. "we'll get them tonight. we--" i checked myself. the beat of wings sounded, and a midge came through the window, and landed on prytan's shoulder. "well, meeta," he said, "you come with more bad news?" a female midge. it was the first one i had seen except at a distance. she was a fairylike little creature--a ten-inch high miniature of venta. her flesh was like pink-white satin, glistening in the insect-light. her wings thrummed to balance her as she poised. "english?" she said in her tiny voice. "yes," prytan nodded. "these are good earthmen." her pixie-like, tiny face turned toward me. i saw then, in those tiny glowing eyes, the leap of her instinctive adoration for my giant size. here a new god for her to worship and serve. "english, yes," she agreed. "master, there have been still more killings. they kill our men now for no reason; and those of the women who are young and beautiful they have herded together into a harem." prytan's old body trembled with anger. "we must stop it. and meeta, have you told the midge to meet us in the broken city?" "master, yes. they will be there when the storm is passed. we cannot fly in the wind, and even now it is very strong." i could hear it, crackling through the giant foliage outside. then there was a monstrous flare of color as though a rainbow had burst around us. "it gets bad," young jahnt muttered. he went to one of the windows; then sauntered to a door-oval and disappeared. meeta, i understood now, was one of the leaders of the midge. it was her brother who had aided us to escape from curtmann's ship. i told her about it now as she perched on my hand, with her soft eyes roaming my face and her tiny lips parted with eager breath as she listened. "oh i am glad of that. rahn so wants to do what is right in serving our gods. but it is confusing, gods here on venus who fight with one another--" through the window, upon a blast of storm-wind another little figure came fluttering. another female midge, like meeta. with beating wings she hovered a second and then fell to the floor at our feet. "mela!" old prytan gasped. "what is it?" the storm had tossed her against a tree. one of her wings was broken; blood was on her body. but she had struggled on to us, bringing her news. "what is it?" old prytan demanded. "curtmann comes! he and all his men--his army, coming now to attack the forest city!" curtmann coming to attack us! a dozen little male midges here on the floor of the room heard it and scurried away. "curtmann coming?" prytan gasped. "why--why we will not be ready for him." it stunned us. within a minute, out in the city, the news was spreading with cries of the frightened people. a panic was beginning here. that would have to be controlled. "they've left shan already?" i demanded of the little midge. "no. perhaps not. but they are ready--the storm may hold them off." * * * * * i was on my feet. old prytan was trembling with the palsy of his confused terror. by what jim and i had seen of the young men of the forest city, there was not one who could be counted on to do anything constructive in this crisis. if the venus-people were to have any leadership, it would have to be jim and me. "send word that the women and children are to stay in their homes," i said. "there must be no panic. have the young men come here. storm or no storm we shall have to get to the broken city, and get those venus-weapons." "how far is it from here to shan?" jim put in. "twenty earth-miles perhaps," old prytan stammered. "if curtmann and his men should start now--" "maybe they won't," i said. "the storm is still going strong." "where is venta?" prytan stared helplessly about the room. "she said she would bring us food. what use of that? we have no time to eat it now." he suddenly raised his shaking old voice. "venta. venta, where are you?" there was no answer from the nearby interior door-oval through which venta had gone. just blank, stark silence. horror struck at me. jim and i were on our feet. jim gasped, "i'll go see." but before he could move, we heard a woman's moan, followed again by silence! jim broke it with an oath. i tossed little meeta into the air with a flip of my hand as i ran toward the crude kitchen, out there beyond the dim door-oval. thank god, it was not venta. on the packed loam of the floor an old serving woman lay sprawled. her throat was a ghastly welter of crimson, and near her a midge lay dead. the old woman was still alive. she tried faintly to gasp in english as i bent over her. "he--took her--venta--" "who took her?" "jahnt--he--" the blood choked her. but i had no interest in hearing more. jahnt! "why--he's got the secret of those weapons now!" jim gasped. "get the idea, art?" the commotion had brought others. they all stood milling, helpless, frightened. jim and i shoved them away. "he'd probably head for the broken city," jim said. "it's much closer to here." "that he might do," prytan agreed. "and where is his midge--you people--you have seen little ort lately?" "jahnt could send that midge flying to shanga to tell curtmann about the weapons," i suggested. old prytan could only stammer assent to the possibility. and if curtmann and his ruffians got to that cache before we could get there, that indeed would be the end of any possibility of overcoming him. "where is meeta?" i demanded. "meeta knows the location of the broken city." she fluttered from behind me at the sound of my voice. "master i am here. what i can do to serve?" "we're going after jahnt," jim said. "he can't have gotten far." "but you run so heavily," old prytan murmured. "my young men here--" they were all standing looking frightened and confused. jim swept them with a glance and drew me past them. it occurred to me that we might use the three spacesuits in which we had escaped from curtmann. with their anti-gravity mechanisms and tiny rocket-streams we could propel ourselves over the forest. but we found now that they were gone. precious minutes were passing. we would have to go on foot. at the door we paused, appalled by the wind and a chromatic burst of glaring light. meeta fluttered in the air beside my head, and as the wind hit her she was tossed back. "you can't fly out into that, meeta?" "no, i am afraid it's not possible now. but you can carry me." she fluttered to my shoulder, crouching with a tiny hand gripping my coat collar. with jim beside me we plunged out into the roaring riot of the rainbow storm. iv "guess we'll have to wait a bit longer," jim murmured. "but it seems to be easing, don't you think?" in a sheltered recess of the forest we were crouching, forced to wait for the weird storm to pass. there had been no possible chance of finding the fleeing jahnt. we could only hope now that he would go on to the broken city. the storm seemed to be lessening but still it was a roar of wind which cracked through the spindly giant trees, often bringing down great segments of branches which it had torn loose. a lull came at last, and through a ragged, littered forest jim and i pushed our tortuous way. meeta could fly now. she guided us, and with little forays hummed ahead and to the sides, seeking some signs of jahnt and venta. but there were none. the storm had been a torture of delay. in my heart now i had no thought that we would be able to locate jahnt and venta. i could only hope that they might be in the broken city. had curtmann received news of the venus weapons? my mind was upon venta, but still i could envisage that bloodthirsty band of earth cutthroats advancing upon the forest city. "i say, is it much further?" jim demanded suddenly of meeta. "this is tough going for us." "master, no. it is ahead, just down that slope." the dim forest glade was descending into a great shallow area of deeper shadow. and presently we could see the ruins of tumbled, broken buildings lying here, half buried by the rank forest growth. in the turgid dimness, with a faint orange luminosity that seemed inherent to the great trees, it was an eerie place of colored shadows. great buildings were everywhere around us now, weird of shape and substance, some of them still partly erect with the spindly trees growing through them. it was a place of the ghosts of venus' past. "it is down in here," meeta said, pointing. a littered rocky depression was before us. a ruined amphitheatre, with its walls almost gone and the forest like a monstrous clump in its middle. we descended into it. the ground in places was rocky. some natural cataclysm must have torn this ground since the original arena was built. then we saw the cache of weapons. it was half a demolished room in some broken structure that now was unrecognizable; an apartment partly open at the top, of some two hundred feet diameter. a little light filtered down from the lurid greenish-yellow storm-clouds high overhead. "no one here ahead of us, jim?" in the darkness, with meeta perched again upon my shoulder, we stood peering and listening. there was only silence. "where are the weapons?" jim demanded. meeta led us. "there in that little recess, master. many old broken boxes are filled with them." we stood before the rock-shelves, numbed with disappointment and horror. the crumbling old metal boxes were here. but they were strewn about; broken open; empty! the weapons were gone! * * * * * "gone!" jim gasped. "that damned jahnt!" abruptly meeta cried, "look! he is over there!" with his hiding place discovered, jahnt leaped suddenly erect from the shadows of a rocky niche. a knife was in his hand. i was nearest to him. i leaped. but i had miscalculated my abnormal heaviness. i hit the rocks a few feet short of him, stumbled, almost went down. as my arms flailed i saw him over me, his pointed face demoniac with lustful triumph, his knife stabbing at my chest. there was a whirring of wings, and a glistening body went past my head. meeta. the ten inches of her elfin form flapped and struck jahnt in the face. he hit wildly at her with his left hand, went off balance, with his knife-thrust going wild; and collided against me so that i was able to fling my arms around him. then my left hand caught his wrist, twisted and the knife fell away. we went down, locked together, rolling. and suddenly i felt the knife hit my hand. meeta with swift agility had retrieved it and brought it to me. the lithe jahnt, far stronger than he looked, was momentarily on top of me. i seized the knife, stabbed upward into his chest; and with a choked cry he went limp, fell forward on me. i scrambled to my feet. jahnt wasn't quite dead, but obviously dying. jim and i bent over him. "you got away with the weapons?" jim muttered. "or are they still around here?" "curtmann has them. my little midge flew to him, and came back with some of curtmann's men. they left just a little while ago. i--showed them how to use the weapons. you will--be defeated by curtmann. you damned--" again little meeta suddenly called us. "here! here is venta!" she was lying, bound and gagged, but unharmed in the recess of some crags nearby. jim and i rushed to her. the three spacesuits were with her. jim had gone back to the dying jahnt and he called me. blood was gushing now from jahnt's mouth; he was gasping, but still he was trying ironically to smile. "i--did not tell curtmann's men that i had venta. why should i be in the battle? i just thought i would stay here with venta, and if curtmann won, then i would join him." "has he started from shan?" jim demanded. "oh--yes. he and his men must be half way to the forest city by now. i am sorry now i did not go with them." i had a sudden thought. "is he planning to use that spaceship of his?" jahnt was choking now with the blood in his throat. then he gasped, "no--his men said they--could not handle it--so close to the ground--such a--short distance. they are on foot--in the forest--" venta was with us now, bending down over the dying jahnt. his glazing eyes saw her, and he murmured, "you--if you had loved me--this would not have happened. i'm dying--you'll all die when--curtmann uses those weapons against you. i'm--glad of that--" his body twitched. horribly the blood rattled in his throat, choking him; and then in another moment he was gone. "they're half way to the forest city," jim muttered. "good lord, we've got to stop them. but how? how can we do it, art?" venta was standing apart from us, with the tiny meeta on her shoulder. they were murmuring together, and abruptly meeta flew to me. "she says it is right and it can be done. we midges--serve the gods, and surely now we know the good gods from the evil." * * * * * an army of the little people! jim and i stood blankly listening while venta told us what she and meeta had been planning. a myriad of midges could be rallied now. and they had human intelligence.... only a foot high, or less. but, especially the females, they could fly with the agility of humming birds. "and we can be armed," meeta cried. she hummed away, came back in a moment. in her tiny hand there was a thorn. it was no more than two inches long, but to her it was a sword, stiff and sharp as a needle. "the poisoned enta-thorn!" venta exclaimed. "but i did not know that any of the enta-shrub was near here." "i found it," meeta said proudly. "there is much of it." "what's that noise?" jim abruptly demanded. with my nerves taut, i stood tense. a faint thrumming was audible. we had left the cave where the weapons had been hidden, and were out in the broken amphitheatre with the ruined ancient buildings like spectres around us. far overhead there was a little starlight, straggling faintly down. the thrumming grew louder. a tiny blurred shape came down through the darkness.... and then another--and another. the midges were arriving from shan, expecting to carry the venus-weapons from here to the forest city. in a moment a dozen were here, then a hundred. they came in little groups, males and females, keeping separate in the flight. like huge insects they thrummed around us, and then settled and stood awaiting our commands. then meeta was among them, telling what had happened and explaining that they must fight for the lives of the forest city people. for a moment there was awed silence; then a tiny blended chorus of voices, and little shapes humming away to get the thorns. jim gripped me. "by the lord, it's our only chance! you can see that, art." "yes. you and i in the spacesuits, if we can maneuver them. an army in the air--the midges and you and i to plan their battle--direct them." "and i shall be with you," venta cried. vaguely i had thought to leave her here, or send her off to the forest city on foot. she persuaded me at last. "you talk of planning the battle," she cried. "but almost none of the midges speak your language. i shall give your commands to them." once we had decided, a desperate haste was on us. midges were arriving here now from the forest city. some of them had seen the oncoming columns of curtmann's men, down in the forest. they were more than half way from shan. occasionally their earth-flash weapons would stab into the forest ahead of them. within ten minutes or so we were ready. i had sent a few of the swiftest-flying midges back to the forest city to tell prytan what had happened. his young men were to arm themselves as best they could, and take position. in a ring around the city, prepared to make a last stand, if we should fail. all the midges now in the forest city were to arm themselves with the poisoned thorns, and come to join us in the battle as fast as they could. then venta, jim and i had donned the spacesuits. no need to inflate them now; we only needed the anti-gravity mechanisms, and the rocket-streams for balancing and for lateral movement. we rose presently into the air, up into the starlight with the ruined piles of the broken buildings and the forest dropping away beneath us. at five hundred feet we poised. in thrumming groups the midges, more than two thousand of them now, circled around us. then, with jim, venta and me leading, our bodies in the baggy spacesuits poised almost horizontal in the air and the midges strung out in long thin lines like insects behind us, we plunged forward to the battle. v "there they are!" jim called. five hundred feet below us the forest tree-tops were a fantastic matted mass of vivid vegetation. and suddenly, down in a glade, the line of curtmann's men was visible. more than i had thought--there seemed a full four hundred of them. in two columns they plodded slowly forward. with them was a great wheeled cart, like a clumsy barge. evidently curtmann had built it in shan. it toiled forward, with the marching men in advance of it and behind it. we could see that it was drawn by harnessed lines of midges--hundreds of the tiny figures plodding on the ground, bending hunched as they pulled the huge creaking vehicle. the top of the cart was uncovered and a dozen men were riding in it. groups of them were seated, around a little raised platform on which was mounted what seemed a huge projector. "keep the midges high," i called to venta who was near me. "wait until i give the signal." our midges were circling, wildly excited now that the enemy was in sight beneath them. jim and i had discussed our tactics. in groups of about a hundred we would send the midges plummeting down. each would try to stab one of curtmann's men and then come up again. the enta-poison, venta had told us, was deadly--sure death if enough of it got into the blood-stream. but it did not act at once; five minutes or more was necessary before the victim would feel its lethal effect. we made a great sweeping half-circle, plunging down as though to attack and leveling at above two hundred feet. as we passed over the lines of watching men and the cart, two or three bolts stabbed up, fell short. then a man's voice roared orders to withhold the fire. curtmann. as we passed at the lower altitude over the cart i saw him standing on a raised platform near its front. we swept past, and up again. "we better swoop now," jim urged. "this is as good a place to attack as any we'll ever get." that was obvious. the lines of men were in an open glade. a few hundred feet ahead of them, the forest was dense again. it would be far more difficult for our midges to swoop down and attack amid the enveloping lacery of vegetation. and curtmann, even though probably he had not as yet the least fear of us, already was starting to advance again. the men in front were marching on. orders were being roared at the harnessed midges. the cart went into motion. and the forest city certainly was no more than a few miles ahead. curtmann's murderous band would be there in an hour or two. but still i hesitated to give the signal. little meeta hovered before me. "the master-god will order us down now?" she pleaded. "we will serve you well." my heart was pounding. i nodded, with a lump in my throat that choked my voice as i shouted the signal sending so many of them to die. * * * * * a designated quarter of them swooped down. from up at this height, venta, jim and i hovered, with the rest of the midges in a gathered group around us. all of us staring down. the cloud of some five hundred midges swooped, circled, and then plummeted. for a second or two the startled curtmann men merely seemed to stare upward. then the midges were upon them, fluttering into their faces, jabbing at them. the men's arms wildly failed to fend off the viciously attacking little bodies. some of the midges were caught, bashed into pulp and hurled away with a single flailing blow. some were caught in huge hands, squeezed to death and flung to the ground. the oaths of the startled men came up, mingled with the cries of the midges, then the tiny fluttering shapes were rising again. a shot stabbed at them, its crackling bolt stabbing through a group of them. it was like a monstrous blow-torch stabbing into fluttering moths. it left a trail of wisps of light as their bodies were consumed. the rest of them came up and joined us, panting, flopping. "good enough," jim murmured. "five minutes more and we'll see what really happened." but i was cold inside. no more than half the midges had come back. two hundred or more of them gone already. and here in the air, some of them, wounded, were bravely struggling not to fall. the men and the huge cart down in the glade had started forward again. suddenly it was apparent that the harnessed lines of midges on the ground were in revolt. they milled in confusion, struggling to cast off the lines that held them. we heard curtmann roaring threats at them. and then he fired a bolt horizontally through them. it cut a ghastly swath; a burst of trailing little wisps of fire. beside me, venta gasped in horror; and jim murmured, "fool! with what's left of those midges that heavy cart will never move again." the cart had stopped. curtmann, doubtless regretting his shot of exasperation, was roaring more orders. the straggling columns of his men came toward the cart, and all of them bunched around it in a solid group, out there in the center of the open glade. "got them stalled," jim said grimly. "much better for us." if the poison would work. but would it? at three hundred feet we were still circling in great humming sweeps while again i withheld my signal. did i dare send the midges down for a general attack? every shot cut them so horribly into nothingness. off to the side, in the direction of the forest city, other midges were appearing now. little groups of them, males and females, humming toward us, joining our circling ranks. reinforcements. in a minute or two it seemed that a new thousand were here to swell our weird little army. "look!" jim suddenly cried triumphantly. "the enta-poison!" up to now, in these tentative exchanges, curtmann and his men doubtless had contemptuously figured that this engagement was harassing, but certainly nothing worse. some of his men had been stabbed by little thorns. what of it? but down there now a new confusion was apparent. one of his men on the ground beside the cart suddenly staggered and fell. then another. in the cart a group of them called with startled questions. two of them by the big projector abruptly slumped in their seats with their fellows bending anxiously over them. a moment of startled confusion. a dozen stricken men. and then others. what was happening must have dawned on curtmann. in the starlit dimness down there on the cart we saw the blob of his figure leap erect. and then curtmann, at last realizing the deadliness of this menace, went into action! from the cart there was a little puff, with the hissing, popping sound of it coming up to us a few seconds later. a small round blob rose toward us, went harmlessly through us and burst up in the starlight. an electrolite-flare. it glared with a lurid, prismatic splash of color in the sky, illumined brightly the tiny flying dots of our midges. just that few seconds and then the great projector hurled its missile at us--a blob coming slowly up in an arc. the blob burst. it seemed as though suddenly there was an earthquake in the air-split columns of air rushing together with a deafening thunderclap. the air rocked me, hurled me sidewise; the brief roar was deafening. "a thunder-thrower!" venta gasped as she clung to me. in the cataclysm of air the cloud of midges was hurled into chaos, their bodies knocked together, whirling end over end, some of them dropping with broken wings. just a few seconds, and now the blue-white starlit night had been transformed into a chaos of glaring light and roaring, clapping sound. flares were bursting everywhere; the cracking thunderclaps came one upon the other in a chaos of prismatic horror. curtmann's hand-flashes were stabbing recklessly up through it. one of longer range burned a wide swath with the bodies of midges bursting into a myriad pin-points of light. in the rocking turmoil i heard jim shouting, "good god, we can't stay up here!" * * * * * half our midges already were gone! everywhere little broken dots were drifting or falling down. "down!" i shouted. "venta--meeta--tell them! everyone down. don't come back up--everyone for himself, now!" [illustration: _downward plunged the weird armada._] in the roaring chaos of pyrotechnic glare what was left of our midges swooped to the attack. with the rocket-streams at last righting my whirling body, head down i plummeted. the glare from above revealed curtmann's men far more plainly now. everywhere the men were staggering. in the cart some of them had fallen, but others were still erect, frantically working the projectors and stabbing with the hand heat-flashes. our midges were among them now, desperate fluttering little figures, stabbing at their faces. on the ground some of the staggering men were trying to get into the forest underbrush. i plummeted toward a group of them. i hit the ground in the midst of a staggering group, with a thump that all but knocked the breath from me. two of the men staggered at me. i was unarmed. my fist knocked one down, and i gripped the other as he half fell upon me. he was still clutching his flash-gun. i seized it, knocked him away and rose again into the roaring tumult of the air. "art! you got a gun? so did i." jim was here with me; side by side we rose. i saw the cart directly underneath me. his figure painted lurid, the desperate curtmann was still erect. almost the last one now. and i saw that he was struggling with a projector which had not yet been in use. a tiny figure flapped against my face. little meeta. she gripped my shoulder, clung, and her tiny voice gasped in my ear. "that weapon curtmann has--the big molecule-melter--very long-range--the forest city." with a burst of numbing horror i understood it. this projector would cut the forest and the ground into a leprous molten swath, out to the forest city itself. i plummeted down, with meeta still clinging desperately to my neck. curtmann saw me coming. with a wild oath he dropped the projector and fired at me with a hand-flash. it missed. there was just a second when i leveled off, heading horizontally at him. the glare was on his sweat-bathed face, contorted with his lust; but i saw a look of despairing terror there as my flash drilled him and he fell as i swooped close over him. we rose at last, high into the starlight. so pitifully few of us, gathering in a little broken, circling group. beneath us now there was only a lurid red-yellow fire-pit of molten bubbling rocks where the forest glade had been. then the heavy turgid smoke and gas-fumes settled upon it like a shroud. almost silently we struggled back through the starlight to the forest city. jim and venta and little meeta were here with me, but our little midges were struggling to keep aloft. dozens of them were clustering upon jim and venta and me. their tiny, gasping voices were horrible. and we were the victors! it came to me then that surely whatever has been said and written of the futility of human killing, can never adequately picture it. * * * * * i think that is all i need recount. you have all heard how we returned to earth, and the stir that my news brought. i should have been considered a charlatan perhaps, with my wild tale. but there was the spaceship; and jim, venta, and little meeta. scientists have inspected venta now. it was an ordeal. but mostly they have been interested in meeta. that is passed. there are others on venus like venta, and others like our little midge. we are living now on earth, with jim near us. certainly neither here, nor on venus, do we want any turmoil. with jim for my friend, and the adoration of little meeta who thinks me in very truth, a god--and the love of my dear wife--certainly i am a mortal very singularly blessed. the blue behemoth by leigh brackett shannon's imperial circus was a jinxed space-carny leased for a mysterious tour of the inner worlds. it made a one-night pitch on a venusian swamp-town--to find that death stalked it from the jungle in a tiny ball of flame. [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from planet stories may 1943. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] bucky shannon leaned forward across the little hexagonal table. he knocked over the pitcher of _thil_, but it didn't matter. the pitcher was empty. he jabbed me in the breastbone with his forefinger, not very hard. not hard enough to jar the ribs clean loose, just enough to spring them. "we," he said, "are broke. we are finished, through. washed up and down the drain." he added, as an afterthought, "destitute." i looked at him. i said sourly, "you're kidding!" "kidding." shannon put his elbows on the table and peered at me through a curtain of very blond hair that was trying hard to be red. "he says i'm kidding! with shannon's imperial circus, the greatest show in space, plastered so thick with attachments...." "it's no more plastered than you are." i was sore because he'd been a lot quicker grabbing the pitcher. "the greatest show in space. phooey! i've wet-nursed shannon's imperial circus around the triangle for eleven years, and i know. it's lousy, it's mangy, it's broken-down! nothing works, from the ship to the roustabouts. in short, it stinks!" i must have had the pitcher oftener than i thought. nobody insults buckhalter shannon's imperial circus to buckhalter shannon's face unless he's tired and wants a long rest in a comfy fracture-frame. shannon got up. he got up slowly. i had plenty of time to see his grey-green eyes get sleepy, and hear the quarter-earth-blood martian girl wailing about love over by the battered piano, and watch the slanting cat-eyes of the little dark people at the tables swing round toward us, pleased and kind of hungry. i had plenty of time to think how i only weigh one-thirty-seven to shannon's one-seventy-five, and how i'm not as young as i used to be. i said, "bucky. hold on, fella. i...." somebody said, "excuse me, gentlemen. is one of you mister buckhalter shannon?" shannon put his hands down on his belt. he closed his eyes and smiled pleasantly and said, very gently: "would you be collecting for the feed bill, or the fuel?" i shot a glance at the newcomer. he'd saved me from a beating, even if he was a lousy bill-collecter; and i felt sorry for him. bucky shannon settled his shoulders and hips like a dancer. the stranger was a little guy. he even made me look big. he was dressed in dark-green synthesilk, very conservative. there was a powdering of grey in his hair and his skin was pink, soft, and shaved painfully clean. he had the kind of a face that nice maiden-ladies will trust with their last dime. i looked for his strong-arm squad. there didn't seem to be any. the little guy looked at shannon with pale blue eyes like a baby, and his voice was softer than bucky's. he said, "i don't think you understand." i felt cold, suddenly, between the shoulders. somebody scraped a chair back. it sounded like he'd ripped the floor open, it was so quiet. i got my brassies on, and my hands were sweating. bucky shannon sighed, and let his fist start traveling, a long, deceptive arc. then i saw what the little guy was holding in his hand. i yelled and knocked the table over into bucky. it made a lot of noise. it knocked him sideways and down, and the little dark men jumped up, quivering and showing their teeth. the martian girl screamed. bucky heaved the table off his lap and cursed me. "what's eating you, jig? i'm not going to hurt him." "shut up," i said. "look what he's got there. money!" the little guy looked at me. he hadn't turned a hair. "yes," he said. "money. quite a lot of it. would you gentlemen permit me to join you?" bucky shannon got up. he grinned his pleasantest grin. "delighted. i'm shannon. this is jig bentley, my business manager." he looked down at the table. "i'm sorry about that. mistaken identity." the little guy smiled. he did it with his lips. the rest of his face stayed placid and babyish, almost transparent. i realized with a start that it wasn't transparent at all. it was the most complete dead-pan i ever met, and you couldn't see into those innocent blue eyes any more than you could see through sheet metal. i didn't like him. i didn't like him at all. but he had money. i said, "howdy. let's go find a booth. these marshies make me nervous, looking like hungry cats at a mouse-hole." the little guy nodded. "excellent idea. my name is beamish. simon beamish. i wish to--ah--charter your circus." * * * * * i looked at bucky. he looked hungrier than the marshies did. we didn't say anything until we got beamish into a curtained booth with a fresh pitcher of _thil_ on the table. then i cleared my throat. "what exactly did you have in mind, mr. beamish?" beamish sipped his drink, made a polite face, and put it down. "i have independent means, gentlemen. it has always been my desire to lighten the burden of life for those less fortunate...." bucky got red around the ears. "just a minute," he murmured, and started to get up. i kicked him under the table. "shut up, you lug. let mister beamish finish." he sat down, looking like a mean dog waiting for the postman. beamish ignored him. he went on, quietly, "i have always held that entertainment, of the right sort, is the most valuable aid humanity can have in its search for the alleviation of toil and boredom...." i said, "sure, sure. but what was your idea?" "there are many towns along the venusian frontiers where no entertainment of the--_proper_ sort has been available. i propose to remedy that. i propose to charter your circus, mister shannon, to make a tour of several settlements along the tehara belt." bucky had relaxed. his grey-green eyes began to gleam. he started to speak, and i kicked him again. "that would be expensive, mister beamish," i said. "we'd have to cancel several engagements...." he looked at me. i was lying, and he knew it. but he said, "i quite understand that. i would be prepared...." the curtains were yanked back suddenly. beamish shut up. bucky and i glared at the head and shoulders poking in between the drapes. it was gow, our zoo-man--a big, ugly son-of-a-gun from a terran colony on mercury. i was there once. gow looks a lot like the scenery--scowling, unapproachable, and tough. his hands, holding the curtains apart, had thick black hair on them and were not much larger than the hams of a venusian swamp-rhino. he said, "boss, gertrude's actin' up again." "gertrude be blowed," growled bucky. "can't you see i'm busy?" gow's black eyes were unpleasant. "i'm tellin' you, boss, gertrude ain't happy. she ain't had the right food. if something...." i said, "that'll all be taken care of, gow. run along now." he looked at me like he was thinking it wouldn't take much timber to fit me for a coffin. "okay! but gertrude's unhappy. she's lonesome, see? and if she don't get happier pretty soon i ain't sure your tin-pot ship'll hold her." he pulled the curtains to and departed. bucky shannon groaned. beamish cleared his throat and said, rather stiffly, "gertrude?" "yeah. she's kind of temperamental." bucky took a quick drink. i finished for him. "she's the star attraction of our show, mr. beamish. a real blue-swamp venusian _cansin_. the only other one on the triangle belongs to savitt brothers, and she's much smaller than gertrude." she was also much younger, but i didn't go into that. gertrude may be a little creaky, but she's still pretty impressive. i only hoped she wouldn't die on us, because without her we'd have a sicker-looking circus than even i could stand. beamish looked impressed. "a _cansin_. well, well! the mystery surrounding the origin and species of the _cansin_ is a fascinating subject. the extreme rarity of the animal...." we were getting off the subject. i said tactfully, "we'd have to have at least a hundred u.c.'s." it was twice what we had any right to ask. i was prepared to dicker. beamish looked at me with that innocent dead pan. for a fraction of a second i thought i saw something back of his round blue eyes, and my stomach jumped like it was shot. beamish smiled sweetly. "i'm not much of a bargainer. one hundred universal credits will be agreeable to me." he dragged out a roll as big as my two fists, peeled off half a dozen credit slips, and laid them on the table. "by way of a retainer, gentleman. my attorney and i will call on you in the morning with a contract and itinerary. good night." we said good night, trying not to drool. beamish went away. bucky made grab for the money, but i beat him to it. "scram," i said. "there are guys waiting for this. big guys with clubs. here." i gave him a small-denomination slip i'd been holding out. "we can get lushed enough on this." shannon has a good vocabulary. he used it. when he got his breath back he said suddenly, "beamish is pulling some kind of a game." "yeah." "it may be crooked." "sure. and he may be screwball and on the level. for pete's sake!" i yelled. "you want to sit here till we all dry up and blow away?" shannon looked at me, kind of funny. he looked at the bulge in my tunic where the roll was. he raked back his thick light hair. "yeah," he said. "i hope there'll be enough left to bribe the jury." he poked his head outside. "hey, boy! more _thildatum_!" * * * * * it was pretty late when we got back to the broken-down spaceport where shannon's imperial circus was crouching beneath its attachments. late as it was, they were waiting for us. about twenty of them, sitting around and smoking and looking very ugly. it was awfully lonesome out there, with the desert cold and restless under the two moons. there's a smell to mars, like something dead and dried long past decay, but still waiting. an unhappy smell. the blown red dust gritted in my teeth. bucky shannon walked out into the glare of the light at the entrance to the roped-off space around the main lock. he was pretty steady on his feet. he waved and said, "hiya, boys." they got up off the steps, and the packing cases, and came toward us. i grinned and got into my brassies. we felt we owed those boys a lot more than money. it grates on a man's pride to have to sneak in and out of his own property through the sewage lock. this was the first time in weeks we'd come in at the front door. i waved the money in their faces. that stopped them. very solemnly, bucky and i checked the bills, paid them, and pocketed the receipts. bucky yawned and stretched sleepily. "now?" he said. "now," i said. we had a lot of fun. some of the boys inside the ship came out to join in. we raised a lot of dust and nobody got killed, quite. we all went home happy. they had their money, and we had their blood. the news was all over the ship before we got inside. the freaks and the green girl from tethys who could roll herself like a hoop, and zurt the muscle man from jupiter, and all the other assorted geeks and kinkers and joeys that make up the usual corny carnie were doing nip-ups in the passageways and drooling over the thought of steer and toppings. bucky shannon regarded them possessively, wiping blood from his nose. "they're good guys, jig. swell people. they stuck by me, and i've rewarded them." i said, "sure," rather sourly. bucky hiccoughed. "let's go see gertrude." i didn't want to see gertrude. i never got over feeling funny going into the brute tank, especially at night or out in space. i'm a city guy, myself. the smell and sound of wildness gives me goose bumps. but bucky was looking stubborn, so i shrugged. "okay. but just for a minute. then we go beddy-bye." "you're a pal, jif. bes' li'l' guy inna worl'...." the fight had just put the topper on him. i was afraid he'd fall down the ladder and break his neck. that's why i went along. if i hadn't.... oh, well, what's a few nightmares among friends? it was dark down there in the tank. way off at the other end, there was a dim glow. gow was evidently holding gertrude's hand. we started down the long passageway between the rows of cages and glassed-in tanks and compression units. our footsteps sounded loud and empty on the iron floor. i wasn't near as happy as shannon, and my skin began to crawl a little. it's the smell, i think; rank and sour and wild. and the sound of them, breathing and rustling in the dark, with the patient hatred walled around them as strong as the cage bars. bucky shannon lurched against me suddenly. i choked back a yell, and then wiped the sweat off my forehead and cursed. the scream came again. a high, ragged, whistling screech like nothing this side of hell, ripping through the musty darkness. gertrude, on the wailing wall. it had been quiet. now every brute in the place let go at the same time. my stomach turned clear over. i called gertrude every name i could think of, and i couldn't hear myself doing it. presently a great metallic clash nearly burst my eardrums, and the beasts shut up. gow had them nicely conditioned to that gong. * * * * * but they didn't quiet down. not really. they were uneasy. you can feel them inside you when they're uneasy. i think that's why i'm scared of them. they make me feel like i'm not human as i thought--like i wanted to put my back-hair up and snarl. yeah. they were uneasy that night, all of a sudden.... gow glared at us as we came up into the lantern light. "she's gettin' worse," he said. "she's lonesome." "that's tough," said bucky shannon. his grey-green eyes looked like an owl's. he swayed slightly. "that's sure tough." he sniffled. i looked at gertrude. her cage is the biggest and strongest in the tank and even so she looked as though she could break it open just taking a deep breath. i don't know if you've ever seen a _cansin_. there's only two of them on the triangle. if you haven't, nothing i can say will make much difference. they're what the brain gang calls an "end of evolution." seems old dame nature had an idea that didn't jell. the _cansins_ were pretty successful for a while, it seems, but something gummed up the works and now there's only a few left, way in the deep-swamp country, where even the venusians hardly ever go. living fossils. i wouldn't know, of course, but gertrude looks to me like she got stuck some place between a dinosaur and a grizzly bear, with maybe a little bird blood thrown in. anyway, she's big. i couldn't help feeling sorry for her. she was crouched in the cage with her hands--yeah, hands--hanging over her knees and her snaky head sunk into her shoulders, looking out. just looking. not at anything. her eyes were way back in deep horny pits, like cold green fire. the lantern light was yellow on her blue-black skin, but it made the mane, or crest, of coarse wide scales that ran from between her eyes clear down to her flat, short tail, burn all colors. she looked like old mother misery herself, from way back before time began. gow said softly, "she wants a mate. and somebody better get her one." bucky shannon sniffled again. i said irritably, "be reasonable, gow! nobody's ever seen a male _cansin_. there may not even be any." gertrude screamed again. she didn't move, not even to raise her head. the sadness just built up inside her until it had to come out. that close, the screech was deafening, and it turned me all limp and cold inside. the loneliness, the sheer stark, simple pain.... bucky shannon began to cry. i snarled, "you'll have to snap her out of this, gow. she's driving the rest of 'em nuts." he hammered on his gong, and things quieted down again. gow stood looking out over the tank, sniffing a little, like a hound. then he turned to gertrude. "i saved her life," he said. "when we bought her out of hanak's wreck and everybody thought she was too hurt to live, i saved her. i know her. i can do things with her. but this time...." he shrugged. he was huge and tough and ugly, and his voice was like a woman's talking about a sick child. "this time," he said, "i ain't sure." "well for pete's sake, do what you can. we got a charter, and we need her." i took shannon's arm. "come to bed, bucky darlin'." he draped himself over my shoulder and we went off. gow didn't look at us. bucky sobbed. "you were right, jig," he mumbled. "circus is no good. i know it. but it's all i got. i love it, jig. unnerstan' me? like gow there with gertrude. she's ugly and no good, but he loves her. i love...." "sure, sure," i told him. "stop crying down my neck." we were a long way from the light, then. the cages and tanks loomed high and black over us. it was still. the secret, uneasy motion all around us and the scruffing of our feet only made it stiller. bucky was almost asleep on me. i started to slap him. and then the mist rose up out of the darkness in little lazy coils, sparkling faintly with blue, cold fire. i yelled, "gow! gow, the vapor snakes! gow--for god's sake!" i started to run, back along the passageway. bucky weighed on me, limp and heavy. the noise burst suddenly in a deafening hell of moans and roars and shrieks, packed in tight by the metal walls, and above it all i could hear gertrude's lonely, whistling scream. i thought, "_somebody's down here. somebody let 'em out. somebody wants to kill us!_" i tried to yell again. it strangled in my throat. i sobbed, and the sweat was thick and cold on me. one of bucky's dragging, stumbling feet got between mine. we fell. i rolled on top of him, covering his face, and buried my own face in the hollow of his shoulder. the first snake touched me. it was like a live wire, sliding along the back of my neck. i screamed. it came down along my cheek, hunting my mouth. there were more of them, burning me through my clothes. bucky moaned and kicked under me. i remember hanging on and thinking, "this is it. this is it, and oh god, i'm scared!" then i went out. ii kanza the martian croaker, was bending over me when i woke up. his little brown face was crinkled with laughter. he'd lost most of his teeth, and he gummed _thak_-weed. it smelt. "you pretty, mis' jig," he giggled. "you funny like hell." he slapped some cold greasy stuff on my face. it hurt. i cursed him and said, "where's shannon? how is he?" "mis' bucky okay. you save life. you big hero, mis' jig. mis' gow come nickuhtime get snakes. you hero. haw! you funny like hell!" i said, "yeah," and pushed him away and got up. i almost fell down a couple of times, but presently i made it to the mirror over the washstand--i was in my own cell--and i saw what kanza meant. the damned snakes had done a good job. i looked like i was upholstered in scotch plaid. i felt sick. bucky shannon opened the door. he looked white and grim, and there was a big burn across his neck. he said: "beamish is here with his lawyer." i picked up my shirt. "right with you." kanza went out, still giggling. bucky closed the door. "jig," he said, "those vapor worms were all right when we went in. somebody followed us down and let them out. on purpose." i hurt all over. i growled, "with that brain, son, you should go far. nobody saw anything, of course?" bucky shook his head. "question is, jig, who wants to kill us, and why?" "beamish. he realizes he's been gypped." "one hundred u.c.'s," said bucky softly, "for a few lousy swampedge mining camps. it stinks, jig. you think we should back out?" i shrugged. "you're the boss man. i'm only the guy that beats off the creditors." "yeah," bucky said reflectively. "and i hear starvation isn't a comfortable death. okay, jig. let's go sign." he put his hand on the latch and looked at my feet. "and--uh--jig, i...." i said, "skip it. the next time, just don't trip me up, that's all!" we had a nasty trip to venus. gertrude kept the brute tank on edge, and gow, on the rare occasions he came up for air, went around looking like a disaster hoping to happen. to make it worse, zurt the jovian strong-man got hurt during the take-off, and the mercurian cave-cat had kittens. nobody would have minded that, only one of 'em had only four legs. it lived just long enough to scare that bunch of superstitious dopes out of their pants. circus people are funny that way. shannon and i did a little quiet sleuthing, but it was a waste of time. anybody in the gang might have let those electric worms out on us. it didn't help any to know that somebody, maybe the guy next to you at dinner, was busy thinking ways to kill you. by the time we hit venus, i was ready to do a brodie out the refuse chute. shannon set the crate down on the edge of nahru, the first stop on our itinerary. i stood beside him, looking out the ports at the scenery. it was venus, all right. blue mud and thick green jungle and rain, and a bunch of ratty-looking plastic shacks huddling together in the middle of it. men in slickers were coming out for a look. i saw beamish's sleek yacht parked on a cradle over to the left, and our router's runabout beside it. bucky shannon groaned. "a blue one, jig. a morgue if i ever saw one!" i snarled, "what do you want, with this lousy dog-and-pony show!" and went out. he followed. the gang was converging on the lock, but they weren't happy. you get so you can feel those things. the steamy venus heat was already sneaking into the ship. while we passed the hatchway to the brute tank, i could hear gertrude, screaming. * * * * * the canvasmen were busy setting up the annex, slopping and cursing in the mud. the paste brigade was heading for the shacks. shannon and i stood with the hot rain running off our slickers, looking. i heard a noise behind me and looked around. ahra the nahali woman was standing in the mud with her arms up and her head thrown back, and her triangular mouth open like a thirsty dog. she didn't have anything on but her blue-green, hard scaled hide, and she was chuckling. it didn't sound nice. you find a lot of nahali people in side-shows, doing tricks with the electric power they carry in their own bodies. they're venusian middle-swampers, they're not human, and they never forget it. ahra opened her slitted red eyes and looked at me and laughed with white reptilian teeth. "death," she whispered. "death and trouble. the jungle tells me. i can smell it in the swamp wind." the hot rain sluiced over her. she shivered, and the pale skin under her jaw pulsed like a toad's, and her eyes were red. "the deep swamps are angry," she whispered. "something has been taken. they are angry, and i smell death in the wind!" she turned away, laughing, and i cursed her, and my stomach was tight and cold. bucky said, "let's eat if they have a bar in this dump." we weren't half way across the mud puddle that passed as a landing field when a man came out of a shack on the edge of the settlement. we could see him plainly, because he was off to one side of the crowd. he fell on his knees in the mud, making noises. it took him three or four tries to get our names out clear enough to understand. bucky said, "jig--it's sam kapper." we started to run. the crowd, mostly big unshaken miners, wheeled around to see what was happening. people began to close in on the man who crawled and whimpered in the mud. sam kapper was a hunter, supplying animals to zoos and circuses and carnivals. he'd given us good deals a couple of times, when we weren't too broke, and we were pretty friendly. i hadn't seen him for three seasons. i remembered him as a bronzed, hard-bitten guy, lean and tough as a twist of tung wire. i felt sick, looking down at him. bucky started to help him up. kapper was crying, and he jerked all over like animals i've seen that were scared to death. some guy leaned over and put a cigarette in his mouth and lighted it for him. i was thinking about kapper, then, and i didn't pay much attention. i only caught a glimpse of the man's face as he straightened up. i didn't realize until later that he looked familiar. we got kapper inside the shack. it turned out to be a cheap bar, with a couple of curtained booths at the back. we got him into one and pulled the curtain in a lot of curious faces. kapper dragged hard on the cigarette. the man that gave it to him was gone. bucky said gently, "okay, sam. relax. what's the trouble?" * * * * * kapper tried to straighten up. he hadn't shaved. the lean hard lines of his face had gone slack and his eyes were bloodshot. he was covered with mud, and his mouth twitched like a sick old man's. he said thickly, "i found it. i said i'd do it, and i did. i found it and brought it out." the cigarette stub fell out of his mouth. he didn't notice it. "help me," he said simply. "i'm scared." his mouth drooled. "i got it hidden. they want to find out, but i won't tell 'em. it's got to go back. back where i found it. i tried to take it, but they wouldn't let me, and i was afraid they'd find it...." he reached suddenly and grabbed the edge of the table. "i don't know how they found out about it, but they did. i've got to get it back. i've got to...." bucky looked at me. kapper was blue around the mouth. i was scared, suddenly. i said, "get what back where?" bucky got up. "i'll get a doctor," he said. "stick with him." kapper grabbed his wrist. kapper's nails were blue and the cords in his hands stood out like guy wires. "don't leave me. got to tell you--where it is. got to take it back. promise you'll take it back." he gasped and struggled over his breathing. "sure," said bucky. "sure, well take it back. what is it?" kapper's face was horrible. i felt sick, listening to him fight for air. i wanted to go for a doctor anyway, but somehow i knew it was no use. kapper whispered, "_cansin_. male. only one. you don't know...! take him back." "where is it, sam?" i reached across bucky suddenly and jerked the curtain back. beamish was standing there. beamish, bent over, with his ear cocked. kapper made a harsh strangling noise and fell across the table. beamish never changed expression. he didn't move while bucky felt kapper's pulse. bucky didn't need to say anything. we knew. "heart?" said beamish finally. "yeah," said bucky. he looked as bad as i felt. "poor sam." i looked at the cigarette stub smoldering on the table. i looked at beamish with his round dead baby face. i climbed over shannon and pushed beamish suddenly down into his lap. "keep this guy here till i get back," i said. shannon stared at me. beamish started to get indignant. "shut up," i told him. "we got a contract." i yanked the curtains shut and walked over to the bar. i began to notice something, then. there were quite a lot of men in the place. at first glance they looked okay--a hard-faced, muscular bunch of miners in dirty shirts and high boots. then i looked at their hands. they were dirty enough. but they never did any work in a mine, on venus or anywhere else. the place was awfully quiet, for that kind of a place. the bartender was a big pot-bellied swamp-edger with pale eyes and thick white hair coiled up on top of his bullet head. he was not happy. i leaned on the bar. "_lhak_," i said. he poured it, sullenly, out of a green bottle. i reached for it, casually. "that guy we brought in," i said. "he sure has a skinful. passed out cold. what's he been spiking his drinks with?" "_selak_," said a voice in my ear. "as if you didn't know." i turned. the man who had given kapper the cigarette was standing behind me. and i remembered him, then. * * * * * circus people get around a lot, and the law supplies us with wanted sheets. i remembered this guy from the last batch they handed us on mars. melak thompson was his name, and he had a reputation. he had a face you wouldn't forget. dark and kind of handsome, with the dry-lander blood showing in the heavy bones and the tilted green eyes. his mouth was smiling and brutal. he nodded at the booth. "let's take a walk," he said. we took a walk. the men sitting at the dirty tables were still silent, and still not miners. i began to sweat. the booth was a little crowded with us all in there. i sat jammed up against sam kapper's body. bucky shannon's grey-green eyes were sleepy, and there was a vein beating on his forehead. beamish said to melak, "kapper's dead. dead, without talking." "that's tough." melak shook his dark head. "we was gentle with him." "yeah," i said. kapper had been a good guy, and i was mad. "feed anybody enough _selak_, and you can afford to be. it's a dirty death." _selak's_ made from a venusian half-cousin of henbane, which is what scopolamine comes from. it has a terrific effect on the heart. and kapper had simply torn himself apart trying to keep from talking while he was under the influence. bucky shannon made a slow, ugly move to get up. beamish said, "sit down." there was something in his voice and his bland blue eyes. shannon sat down. melak was looking at beamish, still grinning. "well," he said, "i guess your idea was pretty good after all." i had a sudden inspiration. the burns were still sore on my body, and rapper's tortured face was close to mine, and i took a wild shot at something i wasn't even sure i saw. "yeah," i said. "a swell idea. why did you try so hard to butch it, melak?" he stopped grinning. beamish looked forward a little. my tongue stuck in my mouth, but i managed to say. "you get it, bucky. a male _cansin_, kapper said. the only one in captivity, maybe even on venus. worth its weight in credit slips. that's why beamish was so happy to overpay us to get us out here--because he thought gertrude could find her boy friend fast, even if kapper didn't talk." i turned to melak again. "a swell idea. why did you have those vapor snakes turned loose on us? did you think kapper was enough?" he struck me, pretty hard, across the mouth. my head banged back against the booth wall and for a minute i couldn't see anything but spangles of fire shooting around. i heard beamish say, from a great distance, "how about it, melak?" it was awfully still in the booth. i swallowed some blood and blinked my eyes clear enough to see bucky shannon poised across the table like a bow starting to unbend. and suddenly, somewhere far off over the drum of rain on the flimsy roof, there began to be noises. i hadn't been comfortable up till then. i'm no superman, nor one of those guys you read about who can stare death in the eye and shatter him with a light laugh. but all of a sudden i was afraid. afraid so that all the fear i'd felt before was nothing. and it was funny, too. i didn't know what it was, then, but i knew what it wasn't. it wasn't beamish or melak or those hard guys beyond the curtains, or even kapper's body pressed up against me. i didn't know what it was. but i wanted to get down on the floor and hide myself in a crack, like a cockroach. * * * * * the others felt it, too. i remember the sweat standing out on bucky shannon's forehead, and the sudden tightening of beamish's jaw, and the glitter in melak's green eyes. beyond the curtains there was an uneasy stirring of feet. the confused, distant noise grew louder. somewhere, not very far away, a woman began to scream. beamish said softly, "you dirty double-crossing rat." his face was still dead-pan, only now it was like something beaten out of iron. his hands were out of sight under the table. melak smiled. i could feel his body shift and tense beside me. "sure," he said. "i double-crossed you. why not? i planted a guy in the circus hammer gang and he crawled in the sewage lock and tried to get these punks. i'm glad now he bungled it. kapper had guts." beamish whispered, "you're a fool. you don't know what you're playing with. i've done research, and i do." "too bad you wasted the time," said melak. "because you're through." he threw himself suddenly aside, lifting the table hard into beamish. the curtains ripped away and he rolled in them, twisting like a snake. i yelled to bucky and dropped flat. beamish had drawn a gun under the table. the blast of it seared my face. the next second four heavy blasters spoke at once. beamish's gun dropped on the floor. then it was quiet again, and i could hear the woman screaming, outside in the beating rain. melak got up. "sure i double-crossed you," he said softly. "why should i split with anybody? nobody knows about it but us. kapper couldn't send word from the swamps when he caught it, and he couldn't send word from here because he wasn't let. "that critter'll bring anything i ask for it. why should i split with you?" beamish didn't answer. i don't think melak thought he would. the noise from outside was getting louder. bucky groaned. "it's coming from the pitch, jig. trouble. we've got to...." the table was yanked from over us. we got up off our knees. melak looked at us. he was shaking a little and his green eyes were mean. "i don't think," he said, "i really need you guys around, either." he jerked his head suddenly. "cripes, i wish that dame would shut up!" it was getting on my nerves, too--that monotonous, sawing screech. melak stepped aside. "get 'em, boys. i don't want 'em dragging their outfit down on our necks." four blaster barrels came up. my insides came up with them. i was way beyond anything, then--even panic. gow burst in through the doorway. he was soaked to the skin, tattered, bleeding, and wild-eyed. he yelled, "boss! gertrude...." then he saw the guns and stopped. it was very still in the place. outside there was sound rising like a sullen tide against the walls. the woman's screaming became something not human, and then stopped, short. gow said, almost absently, "gertrude went nuts. we'd brought her cage up from the tank for the show and she--broke out. there wasn't nothin' we could do. she busted a lot of cages and then disappeared." melak snarled something, i don't know what. the wall behind gow jarred, buckled, and split open around the doorway. bamboo fragments clattered on the floor. somebody yelled, and a blaster went off. gertrude stood in the splintered opening. she looked at us with cold, mad green eyes, towering huge and blue against the low roof, her hands swinging and her crest erect. she let go one wild, whistling screech and came straight toward the booth. bucky shannon touched my arm. "climb into your brassies, kid," he muttered. "here's our chance!" i caught his shoulder. he followed the line of my pointing, and i felt him tremble. gertrude was coming at us like a rocket express. behind her wet and glistening from the hot rain, came three more just like her. iii we scattered, all of us, hunting for a way out. there was only one door leading to the back, and it was stoppered tight with men cursing and fighting to get through. gow was crouched in a corner by the splintered wall. i pulled bucky along, thinking we might get in back of the _cansins_ and sneak out. i wondered what they wanted. and i wondered where in heck you could hide a thing as big as gertrude and keep anybody from finding out. somebody screamed briefly. i saw one of the strange _cansins_ toss the bartender aside like a dry twig. gow rose up in front of me with a queer staring look in his eyes. "somethin's wrong," he said. "all wrong. i...." his mouth twitched. he turned sharply and started to scramble through the wrecked hall. bucky and i were right on his heels. i think melak and some of his lobbygows were crowding us, but nobody was thinking about things like that any more. i knew what was eating gow. the fear that had looked out of kapper's eyes. the fear that was riding me. fear that had nothing to do with anything physical. bucky cursed and stumbled beside me. and suddenly the four _cansins_ let go a tremendous thundering scream. the hair rose on my neck, and i turned to look. i just had to. gertrude had turned away from the booth. they stood, the four of them, their huge black shoulders touching, their crests like rows of petrified flame, staring at what gertrude held in her arms. it was kapper's body. slowly, with infinite gentleness, she began to strip him. he hung loose in the cradle of one great arm, his flesh showing blue-white against her blueness. her free hand ripped his clothes away like things made of paper. i don't know why nobody tried to shoot the beasts after the first second. sheer panic, i guess. we could have killed them all, then. but we just stood looking, fascinated by the slow, intent baring of kapper's body. and the strange fear. it was on us all. kapper lay naked in her black arms. she raised him slowly over her head, her eyes blind green fires deep under bony brows. the others drew closer, shivering, and i could hear them whimper. strangers from the deep swamps with no stink of man on them. i thought of the nahali woman laughing in the hot rain. death from the deep swamps, because something had been taken, and they were angry. there was a little black box strapped to kapper's thin white belly. gertrude shifted her hands a little. the blood hammered in my ears. i was sick. i didn't want to look any more. i couldn't help it. bucky shannon caught a hard, sobbing breath. gertrude broke sam kapper's body in two. * * * * * i can still hear the noise it made. the blood ran dark and sluggish down her arms. it worried me that kapper's face didn't change expression. the little black box on his belly split with the rest of him. something rose out of it. something no bigger than my forefinger that carried a cold green blaze around it like a ball of st. elmo's fire. gertrude threw kapper away. i heard the two flopping thuds of him hitting the floor. some guy was down on his knees close to me. his lips moved. i don't know if he could remember his prayers. somebody else was vomiting, hard. i wanted to, but my stomach felt frozen. the cold green fire had a shape inside it. i couldn't make it out clearly, except that it looked horribly human. it put out four thin green filaments. don't ask me if they were physical things like tentacles, or just beams of light, or maybe thought. i don't know. whatever they were, they worked. they connected with the four black, snaky heads of the female _cansins_. i felt the shock of them connecting with my own nerves. and it was like something had welded those four brutes together into one. they had been four. separate, with hard outlines. now they were one. one single interlocking entity. i guess it was just my being so scared and sick, but i thought i saw their outlines blur a little. gow spoke suddenly. his voice was pretty loud, and calm. "that was it," he said, as though it was the only thing in the world that mattered. "they ain't complete by themselves. like the _zurats_ back home on mercury. they got a community brain. no wonder gertrude was lonesome." his voice broke the spell. somebody screamed, and everybody started to move at once, clawing in blind panic for the openings. and we all knew, then, what we were afraid of. we were afraid of the little thing in the black box, the thing in a cloak of fire that had risen from the ruins of kapper's body, and the power that lived in it. i suppose we thought we were going to fight it, all right. but outside, where we could breathe. not in here, with the hugeness of the females smothering us, penned in with the last male _cansin_ in creation. i knew then why kapper had broken, and why he hadn't told, in spite of the _selak_. the thing hadn't let him. and it had called to its kind, from the deep swamps and buckhalter shannon's imperial circus. * * * * * the deep indigo night of venus had settled down, in the smell of mud and jungle and the hot rain. lights flared crazily here and there out of open doorways. people were yelling, the tight, animal mob-yell of fear. there was no place to run in nahru. the jungle held it. the thick green jungle built on quicksand and crawling with death. behind us the four _cansins_ raised a wild whistling screech. it was answered, out of the hot night between the little shacks of nahru. brute voices, singing their hate. suddenly i remembered what gow had said. "_she busted a lot of cages...._" god knew what was loose in that town. bucky shannon spoke beside me. we were still running, slipping and floundering in the mud, making toward the ship from sheer instinct. he gasped, "we got to get those babies rounded up. gow! gow, you hear me? we got to get 'em back!" gow's voice came sullenly. "i hear you, boss." we slowed down. it was suddenly important to hear what more gow had to say. "don't you get it?" he asked slowly. "gertrude let 'em out. she wanted 'em--to help her. they know it. they ain't going back." somewhere behind us a plastic shack cracked open like an eggshell. human cries were drowned in a whistling screech. off to the right the mercurian cave-cat began to laugh like a crazy woman. slow, patient, animal hate, walled around them, waiting. the feel and smell of hate in the brute tank. i could feel and smell it now, in nahru, only it wasn't patient and waiting any more. the time it had waited for was here. gertrude had set it free. shannon said, very softly, "mother o' god, what are we going to do?" "get back to the ship. get back and get out of here!" i jumped. it was melak's voice, sounding hard and ugly. light spilling out of a sagging door made a faint silhouette of him in the rain. he held a blaster in his hand. shannon snarled, "take off with half my gang stranded here? you go to hell!" rockets blasted suddenly out on the landing field. somebody had made it to beamish's yacht and gone. the runabout followed it. the circus ship was still there, and the only one in nahru. i said, "we can't go. not with a couple hundred credits' worth of animals running loose in the town." "get on to the ship," said melak. "cripes, if i knew how to fly i'd leave you here! now move!" shannon was almost crying. he started to rush melak. i caught him and said, "sure. sure we'll move. all of us. look behind you!" "i was weaned on that one. move!" well, it was his funeral. * * * * * it was almost ours, too. ganymedian puffballs move fast. they had come out from between two shacks, skimming over the mud on their long white cilia. there were three of them, rolled up in balls about the size of my head. they didn't make any noise. they came up behind melak. two of them unrolled suddenly, whipping out into lean, fuzzy ropes about five feet long. they went around the martian 'breed. the third one came straight at me. melak made a noise that wasn't human and went down. the puffballs tightened around him, pulsing a little with the pleasure of digestion. gow was on the other side of melak, too far away, and unarmed. i jumped, and the mud tripped me. shannon fell the other way. the puffball, strung out now like a fuzzy snake, paused a moment, not three inches from my face. i lay still on my belly, choking on my heart. shannon moved, and it whipped down across his legs. he screamed. i could feel the poison from the thing eating into him. i got to my knees and he cursed me and raised something out of the mud. it was melak's blaster. he fired, between his feet. the puffball shrivelled to a little stinking wire and dropped away. bucky said evenly, "that pays me off. now it's all your party, jig." he fainted. his legs were already swelling. gow bent over him. "he's gotta have the croaker, quick." "you take him to the ship, gow. if you can get there." "me? i'm the zoo-man. i oughta...." "do i look like superman, to carry that big lug?" i didn't know why it was so hard to talk. "get him there. then round up everybody left at the ship. get guns and ropes and torches and come back, quick!" he nodded and got bucky across his shoulders. i gave him the blaster. then i turned back. i knew where most of the circus gang would be--spread out among the bars. it was a lot darker, because now all the doors were closed, except two or three where the people hadn't lived to close them. it was quieter, too, because there's a limit to the noise a human throat can make. there was just the hot rain, and the soft jungle undertone of things padding and slithering in the mud, hunting. up the street somewhere the _cansins_ screamed, and another shack split open. instantly the brute clamor went up from the dark alleys, answering. animal legions from five different planets, led by a tiny creature in a cloak of green fire. and man was the common enemy. a pair of martian sand-tigers shot out into the street ahead of me. they were frolicking like kittens, playing with something dark and tattered. then they saw me and dropped it, and came sliding on their bellies, their six powerful legs sucking in the mud. there was no place to go. i don't remember being particularly scared, but that wasn't because i was brave. it was sheer exhaustion. a guy can only take so much. now i was just walking around, seeing and hearing, but not feeling anything inside. like a guy that's coked to the ears, or punchy from a beating. i picked up a double handful of mud and slung it in their snarling pusses, and threw my head back and yelled. "ha-a-y _rube_!" a door at my left opened three inches, daggering the rain with yellow light. a voice said, "for gossakes get in here!" i picked up another handful of mud. the martian cats were pawing the last load out of their eyes. i gave them more to play with. i guess they weren't very hungry, just then. i said, "i'm going to get the _cansins_." just like that. i told you i was out on my feet. clean nuts. the guy in the doorway thought so too. "will you come in before you're too dead?" "and wait around for those big apes to crack the house open over my head? the hell with that." more mud sploshed in the cats' faces. they were beginning to get sore. "the rest of the critters are just following the _cansins_. sort of a mopping-up brigade. stop the _cansins_, and we can round up the others easy." "oh, sure," said the man. "any time before breakfast. are you coming, pal, or do i shut this door again?" i don't know how it would have turned out. probably i'd have wound up inside the cats. but one of 'em let out a shrill, nasty wail, the kind they give the trainer when they're challenging him to a finish fight, and somebody came shouldering out past the man in the doorway. the door swung wide, so that there was plenty of light. the six-inch fangs on the martian kitties were a beautiful, shining white. the newcomer said something to the cats in a level undertone and came to me. it was jarin, the titan who works the cats. he's about half my height, metallic green in color, and faster on his feet than a rummy grabbing the first drink. he looks like a walking barrel when he's folded up, and like nothing on earth when he isn't. he was unfolded then. he went up to the cats, light and dainty in the mud. they were crouching uneasily, coughing and snarling, wanting to rush him and not quite daring to. the male sprang. iv all i could see was a green blur in the rain. i heard the crisp, wicked smacks of jarin's tentacles on the tiger. it flopped over in mid-air, buried its face in the mud and came up yowling, like your aunt minnie's cat when you stepped on its tail. it went away from there, fast, with its mate right behind it. jarin chuckled softly. "about the _cansins_," he hissed. "you had an idea?" somewhere, quite close to us, there was the familiar sound of a plastic shack going to pieces. i remembered hearing blasters rip occasionally. but only melak's hoods were armed with anything heavy enough to do any good, and i guessed most of them had beat it to beamish's yacht. a _cansin_ has a hell of a tough hide, and their vitality is something you wouldn't believe if you hadn't seen it. the familiar whistling screech went up, and the babel of human screams and the brute chorus from the rainy alleys. i think, right then, i began to get scared. the fear began to seep through my dopey calm, like pain in a new wound. i shuddered and said, "no. no ideas." there was a soft step in the mud behind me. i spun around, sweating. ahra the nahali woman stood there, red-eyed and laughing. "you are frightened," she whispered. i didn't deny it. "i can help you stop the _cansins_." her eyes glittered like wet rubies, and her teeth were white and sharp. "it may not work, and you may die. will you try it?" she was daring me. she was hardly more human than the brutes themselves, and she belonged with the rain and the hot indigo night. i said, "you don't want to help, ahra. you want us to die." i could see the pale skin throbbing under her bony jaw. she laughed, soft alien laughter that made my back hair stir and prickle. "you humans," she whispered. "trampling and spoiling. the middle swamps have suffered you, greedy after oil and plumes and _ti_. but you we can fight." she jerked her round, glistening head toward the sound of destruction. "the death from the deep swamps, no. you deserve to die, you humans. you went meddling with something too big even for your pride. but because the _cansins_ killed my mate and our first young...." she hunched up. i thought she was going to flop on her belly like a cayman in the mud. her teeth gleamed, sharp and savage. "legend says the _cansins_ were once the wisest race on venus. they were worshipped as gods by the little pre-human creatures of the swamp edges. they were going to be the reasoning lords of a planet. "but nature made a mistake. perhaps some mutation that couldn't be stopped. i don't know. anyway, the females grew until their one thought was to find enough food. the males tried to balance this. most of their strength was in their minds, anyway. but they couldn't. "the _cansins_ took to eating their worshippers. at the same time the number of eggs they laid grew smaller and smaller. finally the swamp-edgers drove them out, back into the deep swamps. "they've been there ever since, going farther and farther on the path of evolution, dwindling in numbers, always hungry, and hating the humans who robbed them of their future. even us they hate, because we go erect and have speech. the females are not independent. the male controls the community mind--they must have unity to exist at all. "if you could control the male...." i thought of the little creature in the ball of green fire. i shivered, and the pit of my stomach pinched up. i said, "yeah? how?" she chuckled at me. "it may mean death. will you risk it?" i didn't have to. i could beat it back to the ship, maybe even rescue some of the gang, with jarin's help. then i thought about bucky and the way he cried down my neck that night in the tank and what would happen to us if we didn't get the animals rounded up. i thought--oh, hell, why does a guy ever do anything? i don't know. maybe i thought i'd never get across the field to the ship anyhow. i said, "spill it, you she-snake. what do i do?" "get quern," she said, and went off through the hot rain, back into the plastic shack. the door slammed shut. jarin and i were alone in the dark. i said, "will you help me?" "of course." i looked down the street toward the landing field. i felt tired, suddenly. gone in the knees and weak, and sick to vomiting with fear. "here comes gow," i said. "he's got seven or eight guys with guns. just keep the critters off us until we get through with the _cansins_, and try not to kill any more than you can help." good old jig, thinking about money even then. gow came up. we talked a minute, just the things that had to be said, and then i asked, "anybody have an idea where quern might be?" "yeah," said gow slowly. "he was in the ginmill next to the one we was in. drunk. i heard him singin' when i went by. i think the big apes wrecked it." * * * * * we started off up the muddy street, more as though we'd been wound up to go somewhere and couldn't stop than like men with a purpose. the _cansins_ were close. awful close. you could hear them sucking and slopping in the muck. the rain fell straight down, almost solid, and the air was thick and hot. we did a lot of shouting. some men came out of the shacks to join us, but nobody had seen quern since the trouble started. we had trouble with the animals in the streets. the vapor snakes got one man, and an ionian _hru_ poisoned one guy so bad he died the next day. we had to kill a couple of big babies that wouldn't scare off. and we found the ginmill. gow was right. it was wrecked, and there were things scattered around amongst the splinters. i was glad it was dark. "well," i said, "that's that. we'll just have to do what we can with the blasters." it wouldn't be much. we didn't carry any heavy artillery, and a _cansin_ is awfully hard to stop. "any you guys wanta scram, do it now. the rest of you come on." i took a step. something squirmed under my foot, squeaked, and began to curse in a voice like a katydid's. "my god," i said. "it's quern." i picked him up. his rubbery little body was slick with mud. he spat and hiccoughed, and snarled, "of course it's quern. fine thing, leaving me in the mud like that. i might ha' drowned." he started cursing again in low martian, which is his native tongue. he's a diran from the sea-bottom pits of shun. somebody laughed. it sounded hysterical. "the little lush! he don't even know what's happened!" and he didn't. the _cansins_ hadn't even seen him. he'd just been tromped into the mud and left there, unharmed. gow caught his breath suddenly, and somebody whimpered. i looked up. i couldn't see much, in the rain and the indigo dark, but i didn't have to see. i knew what was coming. a little vicious splotch of living green against the darkness, and underneath it four huge shadows, trampling knee-deep in mud, making toward a plastic hut filled with human beings. i said softly, "quern, i never thought you were such a hell of a wonderful hypnotist." he twinged in my hands. his anger almost burned me. he started to speak, but i stopped him. "here's your chance to prove it, chum. see that little green light floating there? well, go to it, quern. and it had better be good, or it's curtains--for nahru and all of us." i walked over toward the _cansins_, holding quern in my hands. * * * * * the brutes must have sensed us. they stopped and wheeled around. quern shivered. he was beginning to understand things. he snarled, "how do you expect me to do my act? no platform--nothing! you're crazy, jig! let's get out of here!" i shook him. "put that baby to sleep. make him and his harem go out of town, north. there's quicksand there. go on, damn you!" he cursed me. you could smell the fear rising hot from us all. i heard feet running behind me, and then more, going away. quern said, "all right, you crazy fool. raise me up. hold your hands flat." i made a platform out of my palms. and the _cansins_ started our way. gow whispered, "don't shoot. don't anybody shoot." i don't think he knew then, that there wasn't anybody left to shoot but himself and jarin. the _cansins_ were huge and solid, behemoths carved from the night. they towered over us, and the green light pulsed. my jaw hung open and i couldn't breathe, and i'd have run only my joints were all water. quern went into his act. he began to show color. out of nothing his body started to glow, from inside. you could see the round blurred shape of him, and the phosphorescence of his guts, showing through. first red, savage as a punch in the face, and then all the rest of the spectrum, sometimes one color, sometimes a swirl of them. his body changed shape. i could feel the queer rubbery movement of it on my hands. i remembered the rubes i'd seen standing around quern's platform, their eyes drawn half out of their heads by the shifting lines and colors. it worked with them. but not here. the _cansins_ came on. the green light flared a little brighter, and that was all. habit and control were so strong that not even the females paid much attention to quern. i could see the rain smoking off their huge black shoulders. they were right on top of us. quern gasped, "i can't do it!" his glow deadened. i shook him. i yelled, "i knew you were a phony! you two-bit yentzer! jarin, slow 'em down, can't you?" quern began to shimmer again. jarin faded in, hardly visible in the darkness. i heard his tentacles whiplashing across hard flesh. one of the _cansins_ screamed. the green light did a sharp dip and swirl. and i yelled, "gow! speak to gertrude!" the terrifying forward march slowed a little. quern was churning colors out of his guts as though his life depended on it--which it did. gow stepped forward a little. "gertrude," he said. "gertrude, you ugly, slab-sided, left-handed--" he cursed her, affectionately. i never heard anything like his voice. i wanted to cry. in quern's faint hypnotic glow i saw the green eyes of the nearest female watching, looking wide and queer. the male was angry, now. angry and scared. you could tell by the vicious brightness of him. we decided afterward that his light was the same kind a glow-worm carries around, only stronger. he was fighting. fighting to hold those four minds against the attraction of quern's shifting glow. he'd have done it, too, if it hadn't been for gow. gow, standing in the hot rain and cursing gertrude with tears in his voice. gertrude screamed. suddenly, for no reason, a strange uncertain cry. she moved. a sort of shudder ran through the other three. it was a little like a wall cracking. the male burned savagely. the females were watching quern, now. gertrude had made the breach. now the community mind was fastened on the hypnotic little martian. i could see their green eyes, wide and glassy, their snaky heads nodding a little, trying to follow the flowing outlines. the male began to dim. he shivered, and lurched a couple of times, still trying to fight. gow's voice went on, hoarsely, and gertrude whimpered. the male floated a little closer. i could see, suddenly, what kept him up. wings, like a hummingbird's, blurred with motion. they slowed, and the green light dimmed. he began to bob a little in the hot rain, watching quern. quern shivered. "they're under," he sighed. "they're under." "send them out. north, to the quicksands." my arms and shoulders ached and i was swaying on my feet. i hardly heard quern's thin, dreamy voice. i did hear the slow, obedient noise of their great feet slogging away, the last male _cansin_ a dull green mote above them. and i heard gow crying. * * * * * we got the last of the animals back by noon of the next day. we did what we could for nahru. thank god our own beasts hadn't done much damage. we left a lot of beamish's credits to help out, and took the old tub off away from there. bucky shannon recovered nicely. i'm still herding his imperial washout around the triangle. we're not doing so hot without gertrude, but what the hell--we're used to the sewage lock. and if anyone has a _cansin_ he wants to sell.... thanks, chum, but we're not in the market. now, or ever. i sometimes wonder if there are any more of them in the deep swamps, waiting for their mate to come back. a coffin for jacob by edward w. ludwig illustrated by emsh [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from galaxy science fiction may 1956. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] with never a moment to rest, the pursuit through space felt like a game of hounds and hares ... or was it follow the leader? ben curtis eased his pale, gaunt body through the open doorway of the blast inn, the dead man following silently behind him. his fear-borne gaze traveled into the dimly illumined venusian gin mill. the place was like an evil caldron steaming with a brew whose ingredients had been culled from the back corners of three planets. most of the big room lay obscured behind a shimmering veil of tobacco smoke and the sweet, heavy fumes of martian devil's egg. here and there, ben saw moving figures. he could not tell if they were earthmen, martians or venusians. someone tugged at his greasy coat. he jumped, thinking absurdly that it was the dead man's hand. "_coma esta, senor?_" a small voice piped. "_speken die deutsch? desirez-vous d'amour? da? nyet?_" ben looked down. the speaker was an eager-eyed martian boy of about ten. he was like a red-skinned marionette with pipestem arms and legs, clad in a torn skivvy shirt and faded blue dungarees. "i'm american," ben muttered. "ah, _buena_! i speak english _tres_ fine, _senor_. i have martian friend, she _tres_ pretty and _tres_ fat. she weigh almost eighty pounds, _monsieur_. i take you to her, _si_?" ben shook his head. * * * * * he thought, _i don't want your martian wench. i don't want your opium or your devil's egg or your venusian kali. but if you had a drug that'd bring a dead man to life, i'd buy and pay with my soul._ "it is deal, _monsieur_? five dollars or twenty _keelis_ for visit martian friend. maybe you like house of dreams. for house of dreams--" "i'm not buying." the dirty-faced kid shrugged. "then i show you to good table,--_tres bien_. i do not charge you, _senor_." the boy grabbed his hand. because ben could think of no reason for resisting, he followed. they plunged into shifting layers of smoke and through the drone of alcohol-cracked voices. they passed the bar with its line of lean-featured, slit-eyed earthmen--merchant spacemen. they wormed down a narrow aisle flanked by booths carved from venusian marble that jutted up into the semi-darkness like fog-blanketed tombstones. several times, ben glimpsed the bulky figures of co_{2}-breathing venusians, the first he'd ever seen. they were smoky gray, scaly, naked giants, toads in human shape. they stood solitary and motionless, aloof, their green-lidded eyes unblinking. they certainly didn't look like telepaths, as ben had heard they were, but the thought sent a fresh rivulet of fear down his spine. once he spied a white-uniformed officer of hoover city's security police. the man was striding down an aisle, idly tapping his neuro-club against the stone booths. _keep walking_, ben told himself. _you look the same as anyone else here. keep walking. look straight ahead._ the officer passed. ben breathed easier. "here we are, _monsieur_," piped the martian boy. "a _tres_ fine table. close in the shadows." ben winced. how did this kid know he wanted to sit in the shadows? frowning, he sat down--he and the dead man. he listened to the lonely rhythms of the four-piece martian orchestra. the martians were fragile, doll-like creatures with heads too large for their spindly bodies. their long fingers played upon the strings of their _cirillas_ or crawled over the holes of their flutes like spider legs. their tune was sad. even when they played an earth tune, it still seemed a song of old mars, charged with echoes of lost voices and forgotten grandeur. for an instant, ben's mind rose above the haunting vision of the dead man. he thought, _what are they doing here, these martians? here, in a smoke-filled room under a metalite dome on a dust-covered world? couldn't they have played their music on mars? or had they, like me, felt the challenge of new worlds?_ he sobered. it didn't matter. he ordered a whiskey from a chinese waiter. he wet his lips but did not drink. his gaze wandered over the faces of the inn's other occupants. _you've got to find him_, he thought. _you've got to find the man with the red beard. it's the only way you can escape the dead man._ * * * * * the dead man was real. his name was cobb. he was stout and flabby and about forty and he hated spacemen. his body was buried now--probably in the silent gray wastes outside luna city. but he'd become a kind of invisible siamese twin, as much a part of ben as sight in his eyes. sometimes the image would be shuffling drunkenly beside him, its lips spitting whiskey-slurred curses. again, its face would be a pop-eyed mask of surprise as ben's fist thudded into its jaw. more often, the face would be frozen in the whiteness of death. the large eyes would stare. blood would trickle from a corner of the gaping mouth. you can forget a living man. you can defeat him or submit to him or ignore him, and the matter is over and done. you can't escape from a memory that has burned into your mind. it had begun a week ago in luna city. the flight from white sands had been successful. ben, quietly and moderately, wanted to celebrate. he stopped alone in a rocketfront bar for a beer. the man named cobb plopped his portly and unsteady posterior on the stool next to him. "spacemen," he muttered, "are getting like flies. everywhere, all you see's spacemen." he was a neatly dressed civilian. ben smiled. "if it weren't for spacemen, you wouldn't be here." "the name's cobb." the man hiccoughed. "spacemen in their white monkey suits. they think they're little tin gods. betcha you think you're a little tin god." he downed a shot of whiskey. ben stiffened. he was twenty-four and dressed in the white, crimson-braided uniform of the _odyssey's_ junior astrogation officer. he was three months out of the academy at white sands and the shining uniform was like a key to all the mysteries of the universe. he'd sought long for that key. * * * * * at the age of five--perhaps in order to dull the memory of his parents' death in a recent strato-jet crash--he'd spent hours watching the night sky for streaking flame-tails of moon rockets. at ten, he'd ground his first telescope. at fourteen, he'd converted an abandoned shed on the government boarding-school grounds to a retreat which housed his collection of astronomy and rocketry books. at sixteen, he'd spent every weekend holiday hitchhiking from boys town no. 5 in the catskills to long island spaceport. there, among the grizzled veterans of the old moon patrol, he'd found friends who understood his dream and who later recommended his appointment to the u. s. academy for the conquest of space. and a month ago, he'd signed aboard the _odyssey_--the first ship, it was rumored, equipped to venture as far as the asteroids and perhaps beyond. cobb was persistent: "damn fools shoulda known enough to stay on earth. what the hell good is it, jumpin' from planet to planet?" _the guy's drunk_, ben thought. he took his drink and moved three stools down the bar. cobb followed. "you don't like the truth, eh, kid? you don't like people to call you a sucker." ben rose and started to leave the bar, but cobb grabbed his arm and held him there. "thas what you are--a sucker. you're young now. wait ten years. you'll be dyin' of radiation rot or a meteor'll get you. wait and see, sucker!" until this instant, ben had suppressed his anger. now, suddenly and without warning, it welled up into savage fury. his fist struck the man on the chin. cobb's eyes gaped in shocked horror. he spun backward. his head cracked sickeningly on the edge of the bar. the sound was like a punctuation mark signaling the end of life. he sank to the floor, eyes glassy, blood tricking down his jaw. ben knew that he was dead. then, for a single absurd second, ben was seized with terror--just as, a moment before, he'd been overwhelmed with anger. he ran. * * * * * for some twenty minutes, he raced through a dizzying, nightmare world of dark rocketfront alleys and shouting voices and pursuing feet. at last, abruptly, he realized that he was alone and in silence. he saw that he was still on the rocketfront, but in the tycho-ward side of the city. he huddled in a dark corner of a loading platform and lit a cigarette. a thousand stars--a thousand motionless balls of silver fire--shone above him through luna city's transparent dome. he was sorry he'd hit cobb, of course. he was not sorry he'd run. escaping at least gave him a power of choice, of decision. _you can do two things_, he thought. _you can give yourself up, and that's what a good officer would do. that would eliminate the escape charge. you'd get off with voluntary manslaughter. under interplanetary law, that would mean ten years in prison and a dishonorable discharge. and then you'd be free._ _but you'd be through with rockets and space. they don't want new men over thirty-four for officers on rockets or even for third-class jet-men on beat-up freighters--they don't want convicted killers. you'd get the rest of the thrill of conquering space through video and by peeking through electric fences of spaceports._ _or--_ there were old wives' tales of a group of renegade spacemen who operated from the solar system's frontiers. the spacemen weren't outlaws. they were misfits, rejectees from the clearing houses on earth. and whereas no legally recognized ship had ventured past mars, the souped-up renegade rigs had supposedly hit the asteroids. their headquarters was venus. their leader--a subject of popular and fantastic conjecture in the men's audiozines--was rumored to be a red-bearded giant. _so_, ben reflected, _you can take a beer-and-pretzels tale seriously. you can hide for a couple of days, get rid of your uniform, change your name. you can wait for a chance to get to venus. to hell with your duty. you can try to stay in space, even if you exile yourself from earth._ after all, was it right for a single second, a single insignificant second, to destroy a man's life and his dream? * * * * * he was lucky. he found a tramp freighter whose skipper was on his last flight before retirement. discipline was lax, investigation of new personnel even more so. ben curtis made it to venus. there was just one flaw in his decision. he hadn't realized that the memory of the dead man's face would haunt him, torment him, follow him as constantly as breath flowed into his lungs. but might not the rumble of atomic engines drown the murmuring dead voice? might not the vision of alien worlds and infinite spaceways obscure the dead face? so now he sat searching for a perhaps nonexistent red-bearded giant, and hoping and doubting and fearing, all at once. "you look for someone, _senor_?" he jumped. "oh. you still here?" "_oui._" the martian kid grinned, his mouth full of purple teeth. "i keep you company on your first night in hoover city, _n'est-ce-pas_?" "this isn't my first night here," ben lied. "i've been around a while." "you are spacemen?" ben threw a fifty-cent credit piece on the table. "here. take off, will you?" spiderlike fingers swept down upon the coin. "_ich danke, senor._ you know why city is called hoover city?" ben didn't answer. "they say it is because after women come, they want first thing a thousand vacuum cleaners for dust. what is vacuum cleaner, _monsieur_?" ben raised his hand as if to strike the boy. "_ai-yee_, i go. you keep listen to good martian music." the toothpick of a body melted into the semi-darkness. minutes passed. there were two more whiskeys. a ceaseless parade of faces broke through the smoky veil that enclosed him--reddish balloon faces, scaly reptilian faces, white-skinned, slit-eyed faces, and occasionally a white, rouged, powdered face. but nowhere was there a face with a red beard. a sense of hopelessness gripped ben curtis. hoover city was but one of a dozen cities of venus. each had twenty dives such as this. he needed help. but his picture must have been 'scoped to venusian visiscreens. a reward must have been offered for his capture. whom could he trust? the martian kid, perhaps? far down the darkened aisle nearest him, his eyes caught a flash of white. he tensed. like the uniform of a security policeman, he thought. his gaze shifted to another aisle and another hint of whiteness. and then he saw another and another and another. each whiteness became brighter and closer, like shrinking spokes of a wheel with ben as their focal point. _you idiot! the damned martian kid! you should have known!_ * * * * * light showered the room in a dazzling explosion. ben, half blinded, realized that a broad circle of unshaded globes in the ceiling had been turned on. the light washed away the room's strangeness and its air of brooding wickedness, revealing drab concrete walls and a debris-strewn floor. eyes blinked and squinted. there were swift, frightened movements and a chorus of angry murmurs. the patrons of the blast inn were like tatter-clad occupants of a house whose walls have been ripped away. ben curtis twisted his lean body erect. his chair tumbled backward, falling. the white-clad men charged, neuro-clubs upraised. a woman screamed. the music ceased. the martian orchestra slunk with feline stealth to a rear exit. only the giant venusians remained undisturbed. they stood unmoving, their staring eyes shifting lazily in ben's direction. "curtis!" one of the policemen yelled. "you're covered! hold it!" ben whirled away from the advancing police, made for the exit into which the musicians had disappeared. a hissing sound traveled past his left ear, a sound like compressed air escaping from a container. a dime-sized section of the concrete wall ahead of him crumbled. he stumbled forward. they were using deadly neuro-pistols now, not the mildly stunning neuro-clubs. another hiss passed his cheek. he was about twelve feet from the exit. _another second_, his brain screamed. _just another second--_ or would the exits be guarded? he heard the hiss. it hit directly in the small of his back. there was no pain, just a slight pricking sensation, like the shallow jab of a needle. * * * * * he froze as if yanked to a stop by a noose. his body seemed to be growing, swelling into balloon proportions. he knew that the tiny needle had imbedded itself deep in his flesh, knew that the paralyzing mortocain was spreading like icy fire into every fiber and muscle of his body. he staggered like a man of stone moving in slow motion. he'd have fifteen--maybe twenty--seconds before complete lethargy of mind and body overpowered him. in the dark world beyond his fading consciousness, he heard a voice yell, "turn on the damn lights!" then a pressure and a coldness were on his left hand. he realized that someone had seized it. a soft feminine voice spoke to him. "you're wounded? they hit you?" "yes." his thick lips wouldn't let go of the word. "you want to escape--even now?" "yes." "you may die if you don't give yourself up." "no, no." he tried to stumble toward the exit. "all right then. not that way. here, this way." heavy footsteps thudded toward them. a few yards away, a flashlight flicked on. hands were guiding him. he was aware of being pushed and pulled. a door closed behind him. the glare of the flashlight faded from his vision--if he still had vision. "you're sure?" the voice persisted. "i'm sure," ben managed to say. "i have no antidote. you may die." his mind fought to comprehend. with the anti-paralysis injection, massage and rest, a man could recover from the effects of mortocain within half a day. without treatment, the paralysis could spread to heart and lungs. it could become a paralysis of death. an effective weapon: the slightest wound compelled the average criminal to surrender at once. "anti ... anti ..." the words were as heavy as blobs of mercury forced from his throat. "no ... i'm sure ... sure." he didn't hear the answer or anything else. * * * * * ben curtis had no precise sensation of awakening. return to consciousness was an intangible evolution from a world of black nothingness to a dream-like state of awareness. he felt the pressure of hands on his naked arms and shoulders, hands that massaged, manipulated, fought to restore circulation and sensitivity. he knew they were strong hands. their strength seemed to transfer itself to his own body. for a long time, he tried to open his eyes. his lids felt welded shut. but after a while, they opened. his world of darkness gave way to a translucent cloak of mist. a round, featureless shape hovered constantly above him--a face, he supposed. he tried to talk. although his lips moved slightly, the only sound was a deep, staccato grunting. but he heard someone say, "don't try to talk." it was the same gentle voice he'd heard in the blast inn. "don't talk. just lie still and rest. everything'll be all right." _everything all right_, he thought dimly. there were long periods of lethargy when he was aware of nothing. there were periods of light and of darkness. gradually he grew aware of things. he realized that the soft rubber mouth of a spaceman's oxygen mask was clamped over his nose. he felt the heat of electric blankets swathed about his body. occasionally a tube would be in his mouth and he would taste liquid food and feel a pleasant warmth in his stomach. always, it seemed, the face was above him, floating in the obscuring mist. always, it seemed, the soft voice was echoing in his ears: "swallow this now. that's it. you must have food." or, "close your eyes. don't strain. it won't be long. you're getting better." _better_, he'd think. _getting better...._ at last, after one of the periods of lethargy, his eyes opened. the mist brightened, then dissolved. he beheld the cracked, unpainted ceiling of a small room, its colorless walls broken with a single, round window. he saw the footboard of his aluminite bed and the outlines of his feet beneath a faded blanket. finally he saw the face and figure that stood at his side. "you are better?" the kind voice asked. * * * * * the face was that of a girl probably somewhere between twenty-five and thirty. her features, devoid of makeup, had an unhealthy-looking pallor, as if she hadn't used a sunlamp for many weeks. yet, at the same time, her firm slim body suggested a solidity and a strength. her straight brown hair was combed backward, tight upon her scalp, and drawn together in a knot at the nape of her neck. "i--i am better," he murmured. his words were still slow and thick. "i am going to live?" "you will live." he thought for a moment. "how long have i been here?" "nine days." "you took care of me?" he noted the deep, dark circles beneath her sleep-robbed eyes. she nodded. "you're the one who carried me when i was shot?" "yes." "why?" suddenly he began to cough. breath came hard. she held the oxygen mask in readiness. he shook his head, not wanting it. "why?" he asked again. "it would be a long story. perhaps i'll tell you tomorrow." a new thought, cloaked in sudden fear, entered his murky consciousness. "tell me, will--will i be well again? will i be able to walk?" he lay back then, panting, exhausted. "you have nothing to worry about," the girl said softly. her cool hand touched his hot forehead. "rest. we'll talk later." his eyes closed and breath came easier. he slept. when he next awoke, his gaze turned first to the window. there was light outside, but he had no way of knowing if this was morning, noon or afternoon--or on what planet. he saw no white-domed buildings of hoover city, no formal lines of green-treed parks, no streams of buzzing gyro-cars. there was only a translucent and infinite whiteness. it was as if the window were set on the edge of the universe overlooking a solemn, silent and matterless void. the girl entered the room. "hi," she said, smiling. the dark half-moons under her eyes were less prominent. her face was relaxed. she increased the pressure in his rubberex pillows and helped him rise to a sitting position. "where are we?" he asked. "venus." "we're not in hoover city?" "no." he looked at her, wondering. "you won't tell me?" "not yet. later, perhaps." "then how did you get me here? how did we escape from the inn?" * * * * * she shrugged. "we have friends who can be bribed. a hiding place in the city, the use of a small desert-taxi, a pass to leave the city--these can be had for a price." "you'll tell me your name?" "maggie." "why did you save me?" her eyes twinkled mischievously. "because you're a good astrogator." his own eyes widened. "how did you know that?" she sat on a plain chair beside his bed. "i know everything about you, lieutenant curtis." "how did you learn my name? i destroyed all my papers--" "i know that you're twenty-four. born july 10, 1971. orphaned at four, you attended boys town in the catskills till you were 19. you graduated from the academy at white sands last june with a major in astrogation. your rating for the five-year period was 3.8--the second highest in a class of fifty-seven. your only low mark in the five years was a 3.2 in history of martian civilization. want me to go on?" fascinated, ben nodded. "you were accepted as junior astrogation officer aboard the _odyssey_. you did well on your flight from roswell to luna city. in a barroom fight in luna city, you struck and killed a man named arthur cobb, a pre-fab salesman. you've been charged with second degree murder and escape. a reward of 5,000 credits has been offered for your capture. you came to hoover city in the hope of finding a renegade group of spacemen who operate beyond mars. you were looking for them in the blast inn." he gaped incredulously, struggling to rise from his pillows. "i--don't get it." "there are ways of finding out what we want to know. as i told you, we have many friends." he fell back into his pillows, breathing hard. she rose quickly. "i'm sorry," she said. "i shouldn't have told you yet. i felt so happy because you're alive. rest now. we'll talk again soon." "maggie, you--you said i'd live. you didn't say i'd be able to walk again." she lowered her gaze. "i hope you'll be able to." "but you don't think i will, do you?" "i don't know. we'll try walking tomorrow. don't think about it now. rest." he tried to relax, but his mind was a vortex of conjecture. "just one more question," he almost whispered. "yes?" "the man i killed--did he have a wife?" she hesitated. he thought, _damn it, of all the questions, why did i ask that?_ finally she said, "he had a wife." "children?" "two. i don't know their ages." she left the room. * * * * * he sank into the softness of his bed. as he turned over on his side, his gaze fell upon an object on a bureau in a far corner of the room. he sat straight up, his chest heaving. the object was a tri-dimensional photo of a rock-faced man in a merchant spaceman's uniform. he was a giant of a man with a neatly trimmed _red beard_! ben stared at the photo for a long time. at length, he slipped into restless sleep. images of faces and echoes of words spun through his brain. the dead man returned to him. bloodied lips cursed at him. glassy eyes accused him. somewhere were two lost children crying in the night. and towering above him was a red-bearded man whose great hands reached down and beckoned to him. ben crawled through the night on hands and knees, his legs numb and useless. the crying of the children was a chilling wail in his ears. his head rose and turned to the red-bearded man. his pleading voice screamed out to him in a thick, harsh cackle. yet even as he screamed, the giant disappeared, to be replaced by white-booted feet stomping relentlessly toward him. he awoke still screaming.... a night without darkness passed. ben lay waiting for maggie's return, a question already formed in his mind. she came and at once he asked, "who is the man with the red beard?" she smiled. "i was right then when i gave you that thumbnail biog. you _were_ looking for him, weren't you?" "who is he?" she sat on the chair beside him. "my husband," she said softly. he began to understand. "and your husband needs an astrogator? that's why you saved me?" "we need all the good men we can get." "where is he?" she cocked her head in mock suspicion. "somewhere between mercury and pluto. he's building a new base for us--and a home for me. when his ship returns, i'll be going to him." "why aren't you with him now?" "he said unexplored space is no place for a woman. so i've been studying criminal reports and photos from the interplanetary bureau of investigation and trying to find recruits like yourself. you know how we operate?" he told her the tales he'd heard. * * * * * she nodded. "there are quite a few of us now--about a thousand--and a dozen ships. our base used to be here on venus, down toward the pole. the dome we're in now was designed and built by us a few years ago after we got pushed off mars. we lost a few men in the construction, but with almost every advance in space, someone dies." "venus is getting too civilized. we're moving out and this dome is only a temporary base when we have cases like yours. the new base--i might as well tell you it's going to be an asteroid. i won't say which one." "don't get the idea that we're outlaws. sure, about half our group is wanted by the bureau, but we make honest livings. we're just people like yourself and jacob." "jacob? your husband?" she laughed. "makes you think of a biblical character, doesn't it? jacob's anything but that. and just plain 'jake' reminds one of a grizzled old uranium prospector and he isn't like that, either." she lit a cigarette. "anyway, the wanted ones stay out beyond the frontiers. jacob and those like him can never return to earth--not even to hoover city--except dead. the others are physical or psycho rejects who couldn't get clearance if they went back to earth. they know nothing but rocketing and won't give up. they bring in our ships to frontier ports like hoover city to unload cargo and take on supplies." "don't the authorities object?" "not very strongly. the i. b. i. has too many problems right here to search the whole system for a few two-bit crooks. besides, we carry cargoes of almost pure uranium and tungsten and all the stuff that's scarce on earth and mars and venus. nobody really cares whether it comes from the asteroids or hades. if we want to risk our lives mining it, that's our business." she pursed her lips. "but if they guessed how strong we are or that we have friends planted in the i. b. i.--well, things might be different. there probably would be a crackdown." ben scowled. "what happens if there _is_ a crackdown? and what will you do when space corps ships officially reach the asteroids? they can't ignore you then." "then we move on. we dream up new gimmicks for our crates and take them to jupiter, saturn, uranus, neptune, pluto. in time, maybe, we'll be pushed out of the system itself. maybe it won't be the white-suited boys who'll make that first hop to the stars. it _could_ be us, you know--if we live long enough. but that asteroid belt is murder. you can't follow the text-book rules of astrogation out there. you make up your own." * * * * * ben stiffened. "and that's why you want me for an astrogator." maggie rose, her eyes wistful. "if you want to come--and if you get well." she looked at him strangely. "suppose--" he fought to find the right words. "suppose i got well and decided not to join jacob. what would happen to me? would you let me go?" her thin face was criss-crossed by emotion--alarm, then bewilderment, then fear. "i don't know. that would be up to jacob." he lay biting his lip, staring at the photo of jacob. she touched his hand and it seemed that sadness now dominated the flurry of emotion that had coursed through her. "the only thing that matters, really," she murmured, "is your walking again. we'll try this afternoon. okay?" "okay," he said. when she left, his eyes were still turned toward jacob's photo. he was like two people, he thought. half of him was an officer of the space corps. perhaps one single starry-eyed boy out of ten thousand was lucky enough to reach that goal. he remembered a little picture book his mother had given him when she was alive. under the bright pictures of spacemen were the captions: "a space officer is honest" "a space officer is loyal." "a space officer is dutiful." honesty, loyalty, duty. trite words, but without those concepts, mankind would never have broken away from the planet that held it prisoner for half a million years. without them, everson, after three failures and a hundred men dead, would never have landed on the moon twenty-seven years ago. * * * * * ben sighed. he had a debt to pay. a good officer would pay that debt. he'd surrender and take his punishment. he'd rip the crimson braid from his uniform. he'd prevent the academy for the conquest of space from being labeled the school of a murderer and a coward. and by doing these things, the haunting image of a dead man would disappear from his vision. but the other half of ben curtis was the boy who'd stood trembling beneath a night sky of beckoning stars. the eyes in jacob's photo seemed to be staring at the boy in him, not at the officer. they appeared both pleading and hopeful. they were like echoes of cold, barren worlds and limitless space, of lurking and savage death. they held the terror of loneliness and of exile, of constant flight and hiding. but, too, they represented a strength that could fulfill a boy's dream, that could carry a man to new frontiers. they, rather than the neat white uniform, now offered the key to shining miracles. that key was what ben wanted. but he asked himself, as he had a thousand times, "if i follow jacob, can i leave the dead man behind?" he tried to stretch his legs and he cursed their numbness. he smiled grimly. for a moment, he'd forgotten. how futile now to think of stars! what if he were to be like this always? jacob would not want a man with dead legs. jacob would either send him back to earth or--ben shuddered--see that he was otherwise disposed of. and disposal would be the easier course. * * * * * this was the crisis. he sat on the side of the bed, maggie before him, her strong arm about his waist. "afraid?" she asked. "afraid," he repeated, shaking. it was as if all time had been funneled into this instant, as if this moment lay at the very vortex of all a man's living and desiring. there was no room in ben's mind for thoughts of jacob now. "you can walk," maggie said confidently. "i _know_ you can." he moved his toes, ankles, legs. he began to rise, slowly, falteringly. the firm pressure around his waist increased. he stood erect. his legs felt like tree stumps, but here and there were a tingling and a warmth, a sensitivity. "can you make it to the window?" maggie asked. "no, no, not that far." "try! please try!" she guided him forward. his feet shuffled. stomp, stomp. the pressure left his waist. maggie stepped away, walked to the window, turned back toward him. he halted, swaying. "not alone," he mouthed fearfully. "i can't get there by myself." "of course you can!" maggie's voice contained unexpected impatience. ashamed, he forced his feet to move. at times, he thought he was going to crash to the floor. he lumbered on, hesitating, fighting to retain his balance. maggie waited tensely, as if ready to leap to his side. then his eyes turned straight ahead to the window. this was the first time he'd actually seen the arid, dust-cloaked plains of the second planet. he straightened, face aglow, as though a small-boy enthusiasm had been reborn in him. his tree-stump legs carried him to the window. he raised shaking hands against the thick glassite pane. outside, the swirling white dust was omnipresent and unchallenged. it cut smooth the surfaces of dust-veiled rocks. it clung to the squat desert shrubbery, to the tall skeletal shapes of venusian needle-plants and to the swish-tailed lizards that skittered beneath them. the shrill of wind, audible through the glassite, was like the anguished complaint of the planet itself, like the wail of an entity imprisoned in a dark tomb of dust. venus was a planet of fury, eternally howling its wrath at being isolated from sunlight and greenery, from the clean blackness of space and the warm glow of sister-planet and star. the dust covered all, absorbed all, eradicated all. the dust was master. the dome, ben felt, was as transitory as a tear-drop of fragile glass falling down, down, to crash upon stone. "is it always like this?" he asked. "doesn't the wind ever stop?" "sometimes the wind dies. sometimes, at night, you can see the lights from the city." * * * * * he kept staring. the dome, he thought, was a symbol of man's littleness in a hostile universe. but, too, it was a symbol of his courage and defiance. and perhaps man's greatest strength lay in the very audacity that drove him to build such domes. "you like it, don't you?" maggie asked. "it's lonely and ugly and wild, but you like it." he nodded, breathless. she murmured, "jacob used to say it isn't the strange sights that thrill spacemen--it's the thoughts that the sights inspire." he nodded again, still staring. she began to laugh. softly at first, then more loudly. it was the kind of laughter that is close to crying. "you've been standing there for ten minutes! you're going to walk again! you're going to be well!" he turned to her, smiling with the joyous realization that he had actually stood that long without being aware of it. then his smile died. standing behind maggie, in an open doorway, was a gray, scaly, toadlike monster--a six-and-a-half-foot venusian. he was motionless as a statue, his green-lidded eyes staring curiously at ben. his scaly hand was tight about the butt of an old-fashioned heat pistol holstered to his hip. maggie suppressed a smile. "don't be frightened, ben. this is simon--simple simon, we call him. his i. q. isn't too high, but he makes a good helper and guard for me. he's been so anxious to see you, but i thought it'd be better if he waited until you were well." ben nodded, fascinated by the apparent muscular solidity of the creature. it hadn't occurred to his numbed mind that he and maggie were not the sole occupants of the dome. but maggie had acted wisely, he thought. his nightmares had been terrifying enough without bringing simple simon into them. "shake hands with ben," she told the venusian. simple simon lumbered forward, then paused. his eyes blinked. "no," he grated. maggie gasped. "why, simple simon, what's the matter?" the gray creature rasped, "ben--he not one of us. he thinks--different. in thoughts--thinks escape. earth." * * * * * maggie paled. "he _is_ one of us, simon." she stepped forward and seized the venusian's arm. "you go to your room. stand guard. you guard ben just like you guard me. understand?" simple simon grunted, "i guard. if ben go--i stop him. i stop him good." he raised his huge hands suggestively. "no, simon! remember what jacob told you. we hurt no one. ben is our friend. you help him!" the venusian thought for a long moment. then he nodded. "i help ben. but if go--stop." she led the creature out of the room and closed the door. "whew," ben sighed. "i'd heard those fellows were telepaths. now i _know_." maggie's trembling hands reached for a cigarette. "i--i guess i didn't think, ben. venusians can't really read your mind, but they see your feelings, your emotions. it's a logical evolutionary development, i suppose. auditory and visual communication are difficult here, so evolution turned to empathy. and that's why jacob keeps a few venusians in our group. they can detect any feeling of disloyalty before it becomes serious." ben remembered simple simon's icy gaze and the way his rough hand had gripped his heat pistol. "they could be dangerous." "not really. they're as loyal as earth dogs to their masters. i mean they wouldn't be dangerous to anyone who's loyal to us." silently, she helped him back to his bed. "i'm sorry, maggie--sorry i haven't decided yet." she neither answered nor looked at him. grimly, he realized that his status had changed. he was no longer a patient; he was a prisoner. a venusian day passed, and a venusian night. the dust swirled and wind blew, as constant as the whirl of indecision in ben's mind. maggie was patient. once, when she caught him gazing at jacob's photo, she asked, "not yet?" he looked away. "not yet." * * * * * he learned that the little dome consisted of three rooms, each shaped like pieces of a fluffy pie with narrow concrete hallways between. his room served as a bedroom and he discovered that maggie slept on a pneumatic cot in the kitchen. the third room, opening into the airlock, housed a small hydroponics garden, sunlamp, short-wave visi-radio, and such emergency equipment as oxygen tanks, windsuits, and vita-rations. it was here that simple simon remained most of the time, tending the garden or peering into the viewscreen that revealed the terrain outside the dome. maggie prepared ben's meals, bringing them to him on a tray until he was able to sit at a table. as his paralysis diminished, he helped her with cooking--with simple simon standing by as a mute, motionless observer. occasionally maggie would talk of her girlhood in a small town in missouri and how she'd dreamed of journeying to the stars. "'stars are for boys,' they'd tell me, but i was a queer one. while other gals were dressing for their junior proms, i'd be in sloppy slacks down at the spaceport with jacob." she laughed often--perhaps in a deliberate attempt to disguise the omnipresent tension. and her laughter was like laughter on earth, floating through comfortable houses and over green fields and through clear blue sky. when she laughed, she possessed a beauty. despite her pale face and lack of makeup, ben realized that she was no older than he. _if i'd only known her back on earth_, he thought. _if i_--and then he told himself, _you've got enough problems. don't create another one!_ finally, except for a stiffness in his leg joints, he'd fully recovered. "how much time do i have?" he asked. "before you decide?" "yes." "very little. jacob's ship is on its way. it'll be here--well, you can't tell about these things. two or three earth days, maybe even tomorrow. it'll stay in hoover city long enough to discharge and load cargo. then it'll stop here for us and return to--to our new base." "what do you think jacob would do if i didn't want to go with him?" * * * * * she shook her head. "you asked me that before. i said i didn't know." ben thought, _i know a lot about you, jacob. i know you're based on an asteroid. i know how many men you have, how many ships. i know where this dome is. i know you have men planted in the i. b. i. would you let me go, knowing these things? how great is your immunity from the law? do you love freedom so much that you'd kill to help preserve it?_ fear crawled through his mind on icy legs. "maggie," he said, "what would jacob do if he were me?" she looked amused. "jacob wouldn't have gotten into your situation. he wouldn't have struck cobb. jacob is--" "a man? and i'm still a boy? is that what you mean?" "not exactly. i think you'll be a man after you make your decision." he frowned, not liking her answer. "you think the dream of going into space is a boy's dream, that it can't belong to a man, too?" "oh, no. jacob still has the dream. most of our men do. and in a man, it's even more wonderful than in a boy." then her face became more serious. "ben, you've got to decide soon. and it's got to be a _complete_ decision. you can have no doubt in your mind." he nodded. "on account of simon, you mean." she motioned for him to come to the window in his room. he gazed outward, following the line of her finger as she pointed. he saw a man-sized mound of stones, dimly visible beneath the wind-whipped dust. a grave. "he was a man like you," maggie said softly. "god knows simon didn't _try_ to kill him. but he was escaping. he--he made the decision not to join us. simon sensed it. there was a struggle. simon's hands--well, he doesn't realize--" she didn't have to explain further. ben knew what those mighty scaly paws could do. * * * * * the moments were now like bits of eternity cloaked in frozen fear. somewhere in the blackness of interplanetary space, jacob's rocket was streaking closer and closer to venus. how far away was it? a million miles? fifty thousand? or was it now--right now--ripping through the murky venusian atmosphere above the dome? a _complete_ decision, maggie had said. jacob didn't want a potential deserter in his group. and you couldn't _pretend_ that you were loyal to jacob--not with monstrosities like simple simon about. soon jacob, not ben, might have to make a decision--a decision that could result in a second cairn of stones on the wind-swept desert. ben shivered. before retiring, he wandered nervously into the supply room. maggie was poised over the visi-radio. simple simon was intently scanning the night-shrouded terrain in the viewscreen. "any news?" ben asked maggie. the girl grunted negatively without looking up. ben's gaze fell upon the array of oxygen masks, windsuits, vita-rations. then, on a littered shelf, he spied a small venusian compass. almost automatically, his hand closed over it. his brain stirred with a single thought: _a compass could keep a man traveling in a straight line._ simple simon restlessly shifted. he turned to ben, blinking in the frighteningly alien equivalent of a suspicious scowl. ben's hand tightened about the compass. he tried to relax, to force all thought of it from his mind. he stared at the viewscreen, concentrating on the ceaseless drift of dust. the venusian's eyes studied him curiously, as if searching his mind for the illusive echo of a feeling that had given him alarm. "i think i'll turn in," yawned ben. "'night, maggie." simon frowned, apparently frustrated in his mental search. "ben--not one of us. i--watch." * * * * * without answering, ben returned to his room, the compass hot and moist from the perspiration in his hand. he took a deep breath. why had he taken the compass? he wasn't sure. perhaps, he reflected, his decision had already been made, deep beneath the surface of consciousness. he stood before the window, peering into the night. he knew that to attempt to sleep was futile. sleep, for the past few days an ever-ready friend, had become a hostile stranger. _god_, his brain cried, _what shall i do?_ slowly, the dust outside the window settled. the scream of wind was no longer audible. his startled eyes beheld dim, faraway lights--those of hoover city, he guessed. it was as if, for the space of a few seconds, some cosmic power had silenced the venusian fury, had guided him toward making his decision. he whipped up his compass. he barely had time to complete the measurement. "sixty-eight degrees," he read. "northeast by east." fresh wind descended onto the plain. dancing dust erased the vision of the lights. "sixty-eight, sixty-eight," he kept muttering. but now there was nothing to do--except try to sleep and be ready. strong hands shook him out of restless sleep. he opened his eyes and saw complete darkness. he thought at first that his eyesight had failed. "ben! wake up!" maggie's voice came to him, crisp, commanding. "the rocket's coming. i've decoded the message. we only have a few minutes." the girl snapped on a small bulkhead light. she left him alone to dress. he slid out of bed, a drowsiness still in him. he reached for his clothing. abruptly, the full implication of what she had said struck him. jacob's rocket was coming. this was the time for decision, yet within his taut body there was only a jungle of conflicting impulses. * * * * * maggie returned, her face hard, her eyes asking the silent question. ben stood frozen. the slow seconds beat against his brain like waves of ice. at last she said, "ready, ben?" she spoke evenly, but her searching gaze belied the all-important significance of her words. in the dim light, the photograph of jacob was indistinguishable, but ben could still see the image of the dead man. he thought, _i can't run away with jacob like a selfish, cowardly kid! no matter how bright the stars would be, that brightness couldn't destroy the image of a dead man with staring eyes. no matter what jacob and simon do to me, i've got to try to get back to earth._ he suddenly felt clean inside. he was no longer ashamed to hold his head high. "maggie," he said. "yes?" "i've made my decision." outside the window, a waterfall of flame cascaded onto the desert, pushing aside the dust and the darkness. the deep-throated sound of rocket engines grumbled above the whining wind. the floor of the dome vibrated. "the rocket's here!" maggie cried. the flaming exhaust from the ship dissolved into the night. the rocket thunder faded into the wind. the alarm on the dome's inner airlock bulkhead rang. maggie ran like a happy child through the concrete corridor, ben following. she bounded into the supply room, pushed simple simon aside, stopped before a control panel. her fingers flew over switches and levers. the airlock door slid open. a short, stubble-bearded man clad in windsuit and transparalite helmet stomped in. he unscrewed the face plate of his helmet. his ears were too big and he looked like a fat doll. "we're ready for you, mrs. pierce," he said. maggie nodded eagerly. she whirled back to ben. "_hurry!_ get your helmet and suit on!" she spun back to the big-eared little man. "cargo unloaded? all set for the flight home?" _home_, ben thought. _she calls a place she's never seen home._ "cargo's unloaded." "no trouble with the i. b. i.? no investigation?" "not yet. we're good for a few more hauls, i guess." * * * * * ben slipped on his windsuit. he glanced at the control panel for the airlock. yes, he could manipulate it easily. he contemplated the heat pistol at simple simon's hip. a tempting idea--but, no, he wanted no more of violence. then he bit his lip. he cleared his mind of all thought. simple simon evidently had not noted the impulse that flicked his adrenals into pumping. the big-eared man stared strangely at maggie. "mrs. pierce, before we go, i'd better tell you something." "you can do that on the rocket." maggie stepped forward to seize her helmet. the man blocked her movement. "mrs. pierce, your husband--jacob--was on the rocket." "what?" the girl released a broken, unbelieving little laugh. "why, he wouldn't dare! that idiot, taking a chance like--" alarm twisted her features. "he--he wasn't captured--" "no, he wasn't captured. and he took no chance, mrs. pierce." a moment of silence. then she sucked in her breath. ben understood. words echoed in his mind: "jacob and those like him can never return to earth, not even to hoover city--except dead." maggie swayed. ben and the big-eared little man jumped to her side, guided her back into the compartment used as a kitchen. they helped her to a chair. ben turned on the fire beneath a coffee pot. simple simon watched silently. her eyes empty and staring, maggie asked, "how did it happen?" "we were heading into a clump of baby asteroids the size of peas. the radar warning was too slow. we couldn't pull away; we had to stop. the deceleration got him--crushed him. he lived for five minutes afterward." the little man produced a folded paper from a pocket of his suit. "jacob said he had some ideas he had to get down on paper. god knows why, but during those five minutes he drew up this plan for improving our deceleration compensator." "plans for--" she gasped. "he was a spaceman, mrs. pierce." the man handed her the paper. ben caught a glimpse of scribbled circuits, relays, cathodes. "when he finished," the man continued, "he said to tell you that he loved you." she started to hand the paper back. the spaceman shook his head. "no, the original is yours. i've made copies for our own ships and for the brass in hoover city." * * * * * maggie kept talking to the little man, lost in the world he was creating for her. ben was excluded from that world, a stranger. then ben saw his opportunity. simple simon's face was expressionless, but tears were zig-zagging down his gray, reptilian features. ben stared for several seconds, wondering if his vision had deceived him. till this instant, he'd somehow assumed that the big venusian was devoid of emotion. but simple simon was crying. it was unlikely that the creature would peer into his mind at a moment like this. step by step, ben backed toward the open door in the rear of the compartment. silently, he slipped through it. he attempted to move automatically, without feeling. he darted into the supply room. the continued drone of voices told him his action had not been observed. he didn't like it at all. escaping this way was like crumpling maggie's grief into an acid ball and hurling it into her face. but he had no other choice. a few seconds later, he was dressed in windsuit and oxygen helmet. a can of vita-rations was strapped to his back and his compass was in his hand. heart refusing to stop pounding, he threw the levers and switches to open the airlock. he cringed under the grinding, scraping noise, as loud to him as the ringing clash of swords. but the murmur of voices continued. he stepped outside. the airlock door clanged shut. he was caught by the biting dust and the shrill banshee wind. he fell, then scrambled erect. to his right, he saw the silver sheen of jacob's rocket shining behind a row of golden, eyelike portholes. beneath it were black outlines of moving, helmeted figures. he bent low to study the luminous dial of his compass. behind him was a grating and a sliding of metal. a movement in the darkness. he turned. dimly illuminated by the glow from the rocket ports was the grim, stony face of simple simon. * * * * * the venusian was like a piece of the night itself, compressed and solidified to form a living creature. the impression was contradicted only by the glowing whiteness of his eyes. the reptilian body shuffled forward. the scales on his great face and chest reflected the lights from the rocket like christmas tree ornaments dusted with gold. his hands reached out. words thundered in ben's memory: _god knows simon didn't try to kill him. simon's hands--well, he doesn't realize--_ ben hopped away from the groping hands, slipped the compass into his pocket, balled his fists. the wind caught at his body. he stumbled, then recovered his balance. despite the wind and his suit's bulkiness, he was surprised at his own agility. he recalled that the gravitational pull of venus was only four-fifths of earth's. that was an advantage. crouching against the wind, he stepped to his left, away from the rocket. he was reluctant to enter an area of greater darkness, but neither did he want to risk observation by the men he'd seen near jacob's ship. simple simon followed. he moved like an automaton, functioning with awkward, methodical slowness. his hands, speckled with reflected light, rose up out of the darkness. ben stepped back, wiped the dust from his clouded face-plate. one swoop of those hands, he knew, could shatter his helmet, destroy his oxygen supply, leave him choking on deadly methane and carbon dioxide. but, so far, simon seemed bent on capture, not destruction. that fact gave ben a second advantage. scaly fingers, moving now with greater swiftness, closed over the shoulder of his suit. ben felt himself being pulled forward, a child in the grasp of a giant. his brief surge of confidence vanished. cold terror swept upon him. he lashed out wildly. his right fist found his target, found it so well that the skin split on his gloved knuckles. simon's head snapped back. the grasping fingers slipped from ben's suit. but still the venusian lumbered ahead, an irresistible juggernaut, the hands continually groping. ben ducked and slipped aside. the can of vita-rations was ripped from his back. he crouched low, fighting the wind, maneuvering for another blow. his lungs ached, but he had no opportunity to increase his helmet's oxygen flow. his weak leg muscles were beginning to pain as though with needles of fire. * * * * * the hands crashed down upon his shoulders. this time, his fist found simon's stomach. the creature released a grunt audible above the howling of wind. his body doubled up. ben struck again and again. his lungs throbbed as if they'd break through his chest. a fresh layer of dust coated his face-plate, nearly blinding him. he fought instinctively, gauntleted fists battering. simple simon fell. ben brushed away the dust from his face-plate, turned up his helmet's oxygen valve. then he knelt by the fallen creature. a new fear came to ben curtis--a fear almost as great as that of being caught in simon's crushing grip. it was the fear that he had killed again. but even in the near-darkness, he could distinguish the labored rise and fall of the massive chest. _thank god_, he thought. from the direction of jacob's ship, a flash of light caught his eye. the black shapes of helmeted men were becoming larger, nearer. ben tensed. the spacemen couldn't have heard sounds of the struggle, but they _might_ have noticed movement. puffing, ben plunged into the darkness to his left, slowing only long enough to consult the dial of his compass. "sixty-eight degrees," he breathed. the compass dial was now his only companion and his only hope. it was the one bit of reality in a world of black, screaming nightmare. * * * * * at first ben curtis fought the wind and the dust and the night. his fists were clenched as they had been while struggling with simon. each step forward was a challenge, a struggle and--so far, at any rate--a victory. but how far was the city? five miles? ten? how could you judge distance through a haze of alien sand? and were simple simon or jacob's men following? how good was a venusian's vision at night? would the scaly hands find him even now, descending on him from out of the blackness? he kept walking, walking. sixty-eight degrees. gradually his senses grew numb to the fear of recapture. he became oblivious to the wailing wind and the beat of dust against his face-plate. he moved like a robot. his mind wandered back through time and space, a pin-wheel spinning with unforgettable impressions, faces, voices. he saw the white features of a dead man, their vividness fading now and no longer terrifying. _a space officer is honest. a space officer is loyal. a space officer is dutiful._ the words were like clear, satisfying music. he cursed at the image of a pop-eyed martian boy. _a tres fine table, monsieur. close in the shadows._ and yet, he told himself, the boy really didn't do anything wrong. he was only helping to capture a murderer. maybe he was lonesome for mars and needed money to go home. ben thought of maggie: _while other gals were dressing for their junior proms, i'd be in sloppy slacks down at the spaceport with jacob.... if i'd only known her back on earth--_ maggie, sitting alone now with a wrinkled paper and its mass of scrawled circuits. alone and hollow with grief and needing help. ben's throat tightened. damn it, he didn't want to think about that. what was it the little big-eared man had said? _i've made copies for our own ships and for the brass in hoover city._ why had he said that? why would renegades give their secrets to the space corps? the corps would incorporate the discoveries in their ships. with them, they'd reach the asteroids. jacob's group would be pushed even further outward. ben stopped, the wind whipping at his suit and buffeting his helmet--but not as hard as the answer he had found. * * * * * jacob and his men had an existence to justify, a debt to pay. they justified that existence and paid that debt by helping humanity in its starward advance. maggie had said, _we carry cargoes of almost pure uranium and tungsten and all the stuff that's getting scarce on earth and mars and venus. if we want to risk our lives getting it, that's our business.... the dome we're in now was designed and built by us a few years ago. we lost a few men in the construction, but with almost every advance in space, someone dies._ the wind pressed ben back. the coldness of the venusian night was seeping into his suit. it was as if his body were bathed, at once, in flame and ice. he slipped, fell, his face turned toward the sandy ground. he did not try to rise. yet his mind seemed to soar above the pain, to carry him into a wondrous valley of new awareness. man would never be content to stay on nine insignificant globes-not when his eyes had the power to stare into a night sky and when his brain had the ability to imagine. there would have to be pioneers to seek out the unknown horror, to face it and defeat it. there would have to be signposts lining the great road and helping others to follow without fear. for all the brilliancy of their dreams, those men would be the lonely ones, the men of no return. for all the glory of their brief adventure, they would give not only their cloaks, but ultimately their lives. ben lay trembling in the darkness. his brain cried, _you couldn't rig up a radar system or a deceleration compensator, but you could chart those asteroids. you can't bring a man named cobb back to life, but you could help a thousand men and women to stay alive five or ten or twenty years from now._ ben knew at last what decision jacob would have made. the reverse of sixty-eight on a compass is two-forty-eight. * * * * * like flashing knitting needles, strong hands moved about his face-plate, his windsuit, his helmet. then they were wiping perspiration from his white face and placing a wet cloth on the back of his neck. "you were coming back," a voice kept saying. "you were coming back." his mouth was full of hot coffee. he became aware of a gentle face hovering above him, just as it had a seeming eternity ago. he sat up on the bed, conscious now of his surroundings. "simon says you were coming back, ben. _why?_" he fought to grasp the meaning of maggie's words. "simon? simon found me? he brought me back?" "only a short way. he said you were almost here." ben closed his eyes, reliving the whirlwind of thought that had whipped through his brain. he mumbled something about pioneers and a scrawled paper and a debt and a decision. then he blinked and saw that he and maggie were not alone. simple simon stood at the foot of his bed--and was that a trace of a smile on his reptilian mouth? and three windsuited spacemen stood behind maggie, helmets in their hands. one was a lean-boned, reddish-skinned martian. simple simon said, "ben--changed. thinks--like us. good now. like--jacob." the little big-eared man stepped up and shook hands with ben. "if simon says so, that's good enough for me." a blond-haired earthman helped ben from the bed. "legs okay, fellow? think you're ready?" ben stood erect unassisted. "legs okay. and i'm ready." he thought for a moment. "but suppose i wasn't ready. suppose i didn't want to go with you. i know a lot about your organization. what would you do?" the blond man shrugged untroubledly. "we wouldn't kill you, if that's what you mean. we'd probably vote on whether to take you with us anyway or let you go." his smile was frank. "i'm glad we don't have to vote." ben nodded and turned to maggie. "you're still coming with us?" she shook her head, a mist shining in her sad eyes. "not on this trip. not without jacob. i'll get one of our desert taxis back to hoover city. then i'll be going to earth for a while. i've got some thinking to do and thinking is done best on earth. out here is the place for _feeling_." her eyes lost a little of their pain. "but i'll be back. jacob wouldn't stay on earth. neither will i. i'll be seeing you." the big-eared man put his hand on ben's shoulder. "think you can get us back to juno?" he asked. ben looked at maggie and then at the big-eared man. "you're as good as there," he said confidently. terror out of space by leigh brackett an eerie story of a silver land beneath the black venusian seas. a grim tale of brooding terror whirling out of space to drive men mad, of a menace without name or form, and of the man, lundy, who fought the horror, his eyes blinded by his will. for to see the terror was to become its slave--a mindless automaton whose only wish was to see behind the shadowed mysterious eyelids of "_it_". [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from planet stories summer 1944. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] lundy was flying the aero-space convertible by himself. he'd been doing it for a long time. so long that the bottom half of him was dead to the toes and the top half even deader, except for two separate aches like ulcerated teeth; one in his back, one in his head. thick pearly-grey venusian sky went past the speeding flier in streamers of torn cloud. the rockets throbbed and pounded. instruments jerked erratically under the swirl of magnetic currents that makes the venusian atmosphere such a swell place for pilots to go nuts in. jackie smith was still out cold in the co-pilot's seat. from in back, beyond the closed door to the tiny inner cabin, lundy could hear farrell screaming and fighting. he'd been screaming a long time. ever since the shot of _avertin_ lundy had given him after he was taken had begun to wear thin. fighting the straps and screaming, a hoarse jarring sound with no sense in it. screaming to be free, because of _it_. somewhere inside of lundy, inside the rumpled, sweat-soaked black uniform of the tri-world police, special branch, and the five-foot-six of thick springy muscle under it, there was a knot. it was a large knot, and it was very, very cold in spite of the sweltering heat in the cabin, and it had a nasty habit of yanking itself tight every few minutes, causing lundy to jerk and sweat as though he'd been spiked. lundy didn't like that cold tight knot in his belly. it meant he was afraid. he'd been afraid before, plenty of times, and he wasn't ashamed of it. but right now he needed all the brains and guts he had to get _it_ back to special headquarters at vhia, and he didn't want to have to fight himself, too. fear can screw things for you. it can make you weak when you need to be strong, if you're going to go on living. you, and the two other guys depending on you. lundy hoped he could keep from getting too much afraid, and too tired--because _it_ was sitting back there in its little strongbox in the safe, waiting for somebody to crack. farrell was cracked wide open, of course, but he was tied down. jackie smith had begun to show signs before he passed out, so that lundy had kept one hand over the anaesthetic needle gun holstered on the side of his chair. and lundy thought, _the hell of it is, you don't know when_ it _ starts to work on you. there's no set pattern, or if there is we don't know it. maybe right now the readings i see on those dials aren't there at all...._ down below the torn grey clouds he could see occasional small patches of ocean. the black, still, tideless water of venus, that covers so many secrets of the planet's past. it didn't help lundy any. it could be right or wrong, depending on what part of the ocean it was--and there was no way to tell. he hoped nothing would happen to the motors. a guy could get awfully wet, out in the middle of that still black water. farrell went on screaming. his throat seemed to be lined with impervium. screaming and fighting the straps, because _it_ was locked up and calling for help. jackie smith stirred slightly, groaned, and opened his pale green eyes. "i'm cold," he said. "hi, midget." lundy turned his head. normally he had a round, fresh, merry face, with bright dark eyes and a white, small-boyish grin. now he looked like something the waiter had swept out from under a table at four a.m. on new year's day. "you're cold," he said sourly. he licked sweat off his lips. "oh, fine! that was all i needed." jackie smith stirred slightly, groaned, to joggle himself. his black tunic was open over his chest, showing the white strapping of bandages, and his left hand was thrust in over the locked top of the tunic's zipper. he was a big man, not any older than lundy, with big, ugly, pleasant features, a shock of coarse pale hair, and a skin like old leather. "on mercury, where i was born," he said, "the climate is suitable for human beings. you old-world pantywaists...." he broke off, turned white under the leathery burn, and said through set teeth, "oi! farrell sure did a good job on me." "you'll live," said lundy. he tried not to think about how nearly both he and smith had come to not living. farrell had put up one hell of a fight, when they caught up with him in a native village high up in the mountains of white cloud. * * * * * lundy still felt sick about that. the bull-meat, the hard boys, you didn't mind kicking around. but farrell wasn't that kind. he was just a nice guy that got trapped by something too big for him. a nice guy, crazy blind in love with somebody that didn't exist. a decent hard-working guy with a wife and two kids who'd lost his mind, heart, and soul to a thing from outer space, so that he was willing to kill to protect it. _oh, hell!_ thought lundy wearily, _won't he ever stop screaming?_ the rockets beat and thundered. the torn grey sky whipped past. jackie smith sat rigid, with closed eyes, white around the lips and breathing in shallow, careful gasps. and vhia was still a long way off. maybe farther off than he knew. maybe he wasn't heading toward vhia at all. maybe _it_ was working on him, and he'd never know it till he crashed. the cold knot tightened in his belly like a cold blade stabbing. lundy cursed. thinking things like that was a sure way to punch your ticket right straight to blazes. but you couldn't help thinking, about _it_. the thing you had caught in a special net of tight-woven metal mesh, aiming at something farrell could see but you couldn't. the thing you had forced into the glassite box and covered up with a black cloth, because you had been warned not to look at _it_. lundy's hands tingled and burned, not unpleasantly. he could still feel the small savage thing fighting him, hidden in the net. it had felt vaguely cylindrical, and terribly alive. life. life from outer space, swept out of a cloud of cosmic dust by the gravitic pull of venus. since venus had hit the cloud there had been a wave of strange madness on the planet. madness like farrell's, that had led to murder, and some things even worse. scientists had some ideas about that life from out there. they'd had a lucky break and found one of the things, dead, and there were vague stories going around of a crystalline-appearing substance that wasn't really crystal, about three inches long and magnificently etched and fluted, and supplied with some odd little gadgets nobody would venture an opinion about. but the thing didn't do them much good, dead. they had to have one alive, if they were going to find out what made it tick and learn how to put a stop to what the telecommentators had chosen to call the madness from beyond, or the vampire lure. one thing about it everybody knew. the guys who suddenly went sluggy and charged off the rails all made it clear that they had met the ultimate dream woman of all women and all dreams. nobody else could see her, but that didn't bother them any. they saw her, and she was--_she_. and her eyes were always veiled. and _she_ was a whiz at hypnosis and mind-control. that's why _she_, or _it_, hadn't been caught alive before. not before lundy and smith, with every scientific aid special could give them, had tracked down farrell and managed to get the breaks. the breaks. plain fool luck. lundy moved his throbbing head stiffly on his aching neck, blinked sweat out of his bloodshot eyes, and wished to hell he was home in bed. jackie smith said suddenly, "midget, i'm cold. get me a blanket." lundy looked at him. his pale green eyes were half open, but not as though they saw anything. he was shivering. "i can't leave the controls, jackie." "nuts. i've got one hand. i can hang onto this lousy tin fish that long." * * * * * lundy scowled. he knew smith wasn't kidding about the cold. the temperatures on mercury made the first-generation colonists sensitive to anything below the range of an electric furnace. with the wound and all, smith might, wind up with pneumonia if he wasn't covered. "okay." lundy reached out and closed the switch marked a. "but i'll let mike do the flying. he can probably last five minutes before he blows his guts out." iron mike was just a pattycake when it came to venusian atmosphere flying. the constant magnetic compensation heated the robot coils to the fusing point in practically no time at all. lundy thought fleetingly that it was nice to know there were still a couple of things men could do better than machinery. he got up, feeling like something that had stood outside rusting for four hundred years or so. smith didn't turn his head. lundy growled at him. "next time, sonny, you wear your long woolen undies and let me alone!" then he stopped. the knot jerked tight in his stomach. cold sweat needled him, and his nerves stung in a swift rush of fire. farrell had quit screaming. there was silence in the ship. nothing touched it. the rockets were outside it and didn't matter. even jackie smith's careful breathing had stopped. lundy went forward slowly, toward the door. two steps. it opened. lundy stopped again, quite still. farrell was standing in the opening. a nice guy with a wife and two kids. his face still looked like that, but the eyes in it were not sane, nor even human. lundy had tied him down to the bunk with four heavy straps. breast, belly, thighs, and feet. the marks of them were on farrell. they were cut into his shirt and pants, into his flesh and sinew, deep enough to show his bare white ribs. there was blood. a lot of blood. farrell didn't mind. "i broke the straps," he said. he smiled at lundy. "she called me and i broke the straps." he started to walk to the safe in the corner of the cabin. lundy gagged and pulled himself up out of a cold black cloud and got his feet to moving. jackie smith said quietly, "hold it, midget. she doesn't like it there in the safe. she's cold, and she wants to come out." * * * * * lundy looked over his shoulder. smith was hunched around in his seat, holding the needle-gun from lundy's holster on the pilot's chair. his pale green eyes had a distant, dreamy glow, but lundy knew better than to trust it. he said, without inflection, "you've seen her." "no. no, but--i've heard her." smith's heavy lips twitched and parted. the breath sucked through between them, hoarse and slow. farrell went down on his knees beside the safe. he put his hands on its blank and gleaming face and turned to lundy. he was crying. "open it. you've got to open it. she wants to come out. she's frightened." jackie smith raised the gun, a fraction of an inch. "open it, midget," he whispered. "she's cold in there." lundy stood still. the sweat ran on him and he was colder than a frog's belly in the rain; and for no reason at all he said thickly, "no. she's hot. she can't breathe in there. she's hot." then he jerked his head up and yelled. he came around to face smith, unsteady but fast, and started for him. smith's ugly face twisted as though he might be going to cry. "midget! i don't want to shoot you. open the safe!" lundy said, "you damned fool," with no voice at all, and went on. smith hit the firing stud. the anaesthetic needles hit lundy across the chest. they didn't hurt much. just a stinging prick. he kept going. no reason. it was just something he seemed to be doing at the time. behind him farrell whimpered once like a puppy and lay down across the little safe. he didn't move again. lundy got down on his hands and knees and reached in a vague sort of way for the controls. jackie smith watched him with dazed green eyes. quite suddenly, iron mike blew his guts out. the control panel let go a burst of blue flame. the glare and heat of it knocked lundy backward. things hissed and snarled and ran together, and the convertible began to dance like a leaf in a gale. the automatic safety cut the rockets dead. the ship began to fall. smith said something that sounded like _she_ and folded up in his chair. lundy rubbed his hand across his face. the lines of it were blurred and stupid. his dark eyes had no sense in them. he began to crawl over the lurching floor toward the safe. the clouds outside ripped and tore across the ship's nose, and presently only water showed. black, still, tideless water dotted with little islands of floating weed that stirred and slithered with a life of their own. black water, rushing up. lundy didn't care. he crawled through farrell's blood, and he didn't care about that, either. he pushed farrell's body back against the cabin wall and began to scratch at the shiny door, making noises like a hound shut out and not happy about it. the ship hit the water with a terrific smack. spray geysered up, dead white against the black sea, fell back, and closed in. presently even the ripples went away. dark green weed-islands twined sinuously upon themselves, a flock of small sea-dragons flapped their jeweled wings down and began to fish, and none of them cared at all about the ship sinking away under them. not even lundy cared, out cold in the space-tight cabin, with his body wedged up against the safe and tears drying with the sweat on his stubbled cheeks. ii the first thing lundy knew about was the stillness. a dead feeling, as though everything in creation had stopped breathing. the second thing was his body. it hurt like hell, and it was hot, and it didn't like the thick, foul air it was getting. lundy pushed himself into a sitting position and tried to boot his brain into action. it was hard work, because someone had split his head open four ways with an axe. it wasn't really dark in the cabin. a wavering silver glow almost like moonlight came in through the ports. lundy could see pretty well. he could see farrell's body sprawled out on the floor, and a mess of junk that had once been equipment. he could see the safe. he looked at it a long time. there wasn't much to look at. just an open safe with nothing in it, and a piece of black cloth dropped on the floor. "oh, lord," whispered lundy. "oh, my lord!" everything hit him at once then. there wasn't much in him but his stomach, and that was tied down. but it tried hard to come up. presently the spasms stopped, and then lundy heard the knocking. it wasn't very loud. it had a slow, easy rhythm, as though the knocker had a lot of time and didn't care when he got in. it came from the airlock panel. lundy got up. slowly, cold as a toad's belly and as white. his lips drew back from his teeth and stayed there, frozen. the knocking kept on. a sleepy kind of sound. the guy outside could afford to wait. sometime that locked door was going to open, and he could wait. he wasn't in a hurry. he would never be in a hurry. lundy looked all around the cabin. he didn't speak. he looked sideways out of the port. there was water out there. the black sea-water of venus; clear and black, like deep night. there was level sand spreading away from the ship. the silver light came up out of it. some kind of phosphorescence, as bright as moonlight and faintly tinged with green. black sea-water. silver sand. the guy kept on knocking at the door. slow and easy. patient. one--two. one--two. just off beat with lundy's heart. lundy went to the inner cabin, walking steadily. he looked around carefully and then went back. he stopped by the lock panel. "okay, jackie," he said. "in a minute. in a minute, boy." then he turned and went very fast to the port locker and got a quart bottle out of its shock cradle, and raised it. it took both hands. after a while he dropped the bottle and stood still, not looking at anything, until he stopped shaking. then he pulled his vac-suit down off its hook and climbed into it. his face was grey and quite blank. he took all the oxygen cylinders he could carry, emergency rations, and all the benzedrine in the medicine kit. he put the limit dose of the stimulant down on top of the brandy before he locked his helmet. he didn't bother with the needle gun. he took the two service blasters--his own, and smith's. the gentle knocking didn't stop. he stood for a moment looking at the open safe and the black cloth dropped beside it. something cruel came into his face. a tightness, a twitching and setting of the muscles, and a terrible look of patience. being under water wouldn't bother a thing from outer space. he reached up and lifted the net of tight-woven metal-mesh down off its hook and fastened it on his belt. then he walked over and opened the airlock door. black water swirled in around his weighted boots, and then the door opened wide and jackie smith came in. he'd been waiting in the flooded lock chamber. kicking his boots against the inner door, easy, with the slow breathing of the sea. now the water pushed his feet down and held him upright from behind, so he could walk in and stand looking at lundy. a big blond man with green eyes, and white bandages strapped under his open black tunic, looking at lundy. not long. only for a second. but long enough. lundy stopped himself after the third scream. he had to, because he knew if he screamed again he'd never stop. by that time the black water had pushed jackie smith away, over to the opposite wall, and covered his face. "oh, lord," whispered lundy. "oh lord, _what did he see before he drowned_?" no one answered. the black water pushed at lundy, rising high around him, trying to take him over to jackie smith. lundy's mouth began to twitch. he shut his teeth on his lower lip, holding it, holding his throat. he began to run, clumsily, fighting the water, and then he stopped that, too. he walked, not looking behind him, out into the flooded lock. the door slid shut behind him, automatically. he walked out across the firm green-silver sand, swallowing the blood that ran in his mouth and choked him. * * * * * he didn't hurry. he was going to be walking for a long, long time. from the position of the ship when it fell he ought to be able to make it to the coast--unless _it_ had been working on him so the figures on the dials hadn't been there at all. he checked his direction, adjusted the pressure-control in his vac-suit, and plodded on in the eerie undersea moonlight. it wasn't hard going. if he didn't hit a deep somewhere, or meet something too big to handle, or furnish a meal for some species of hungry venus-weed, he ought to live to face up to the old man at h.q. and tell him two men were dead, the ship lost, and the job messed to hell and gone. it was beautiful down there. like the dream-worlds you see when you're doped or delirious. the phosphorescence rose up into the black water and danced there in wavering whorls of cold fire. fish, queer gaudy little things with jewelled eyes, flicked past lundy in darts of sudden color, and there were great stands of weed like young forests, spangling the dark water and the phosphorescent glow with huge burning spots of blue and purple and green and silver. flowers. lundy got too close to some of them once. they reached out and opened round mouths full of spines and sucked at him hungrily. the fish gave them a wide berth. after that, so did lundy. he hadn't been walking more than half an hour when he hit the road. it was a perfectly good road, running straight across the sand. here and there it was cracked, with some of the huge square blocks pushed up or tipped aside, but it was still a good road, going somewhere. lundy stood looking at it with cold prickles running up and down his spine. he'd heard about things like this. nobody knew an awful lot about venus yet. it was a young, tough, be-damned-to-you planet, and it was apt to give the snoopy scientific guys a good swift boot in their store teeth. but even a young planet has a long past, and stories get around. legends, songs, folk tales. it was pretty well accepted that a lot of venus that was under water now hadn't been once, and vice versa. the old girl had her little whimsies while doing the preliminary mock-up of her permanent face. so once upon a time this road had crossed a plain under a hot pearl-grey sky, going somewhere. taking caravans from the seacoast, probably. bales of spices and spider-silk and casks of _vakhi_ from the nahali canebrakes, and silver-haired slave-girls from the high lands of the cloud people, going along under sultry green _liha_-trees to be sold. now it crossed a plain of glowing sand under still black water. the only trees that shadowed it were tall weeds with brilliant, hungry flowers, and the only creatures that followed it were little fish with jewelled eyes. but it was still there, still ready, still going somewhere. it was headed the same way lundy was. it must have made a bend somewhere and turned to meet him. lundy licked cold sweat off his lips and stepped out on it. he stepped slow and careful, like a man coming alone down the aisle of an empty church. he walked on the road for a long time. the weeds crowded in thicker along its edges. it seemed to run right through a dense forest of them that spread away as far as lundy could see on either side. he was glad of the road. it was wide, and if he stayed in the middle of it the flowers couldn't reach him. * * * * * it got darker, because of the weeds covering the sand. whatever made the phosphorescence didn't like being crowded that way, and pretty soon it was so dark that lundy had to switch on the light in the top of his helmet. in the edges of the beam he could see the weed fronds moving lazily with the slow breathing of the sea. the flowers were brighter here. they hung like lamps in the black water, burning with a light that seemed to come out of themselves. sullen reds and angry yellows, and coldly vicious blues. lundy didn't like them. the weeds grew in thicker and closer. they bulged out from their roots, in over the stone edges. the flowers opened their bright hungry mouths and yearned at lundy, reaching. reaching. not quite touching. not yet. he was tired. the brandy and the benzedrine began to die in him. he changed his oxygen cylinder. that helped, but not much. he took more dope, but he was afraid to go heavy on it lest he drive his heart too hard. his legs turned numb. he hadn't slept for a long time. tracking farrell hadn't been any breeze, and taking him--and _it_--had been plain and fancy hell. lundy was only human. he was tired. bushed. cooked. beat to the socks. he sat down and rested a while, turning off his light to save the battery. the flowers watched him, glowing in the dark. he closed his eyes, but he could still feel them, watching and waiting. after a minute or two he got up and went on. the weeds grew thicker, and taller, and heavier with flowers. more benzedrine, and damn the heart. the helmet light cut a cold white tunnel through the blackness. he followed it, walking faster. weed fronds met and interlaced high above him, closing him in. flowers bent inward, downward. their petals almost brushed him. fleshy petals, hungry and alive. he started to run, over the wheel-ruts and the worn hollows of the road that still went somewhere, under the black sea. lundy ran clumsily for a long time between the dark and pressing walls. the flowers got closer. they got close enough to catch his vac-suit, like hands grasping and slipping and grasping again. he began using the blaster. he burned off a lot of them that way. they didn't like it. they began swaying in from their roots and down from the laced ceiling over his head. they hurt. they were angry. lundy ran, sobbing without tears. the road did him in. it crossed him up, suddenly, without warning. it ran along smoothly under the tunnel of weeds, and then it was a broken, jumbled mass of huge stone blocks, tipped up and thrown around like something a giant's kid got tired of playing with. and the weeds had found places to stand in between them. lundy tripped and fell, cracking his head against the back of his helmet. for a moment all he could see was bright light flashing. then that stopped, and he realized he must have jarred a connection loose somewhere because his own light was out. he began to crawl over a great tilted block. the flowers burned bright in the darkness. bright and close. very close. lundy opened his mouth. nothing came out but a hoarse animal whimper. he was still holding the blaster. he fired it off a couple of times, and then he was on top of the block, lying flat on his belly. he knew it was the end of the line, because he couldn't move any more. the bright flowers came down through the dark. lundy lay watching them. his face was quite blank. his dark eyes held a stubborn hatred, but nothing else. he watched the flowers fasten on his vac-suit and start working. then, from up ahead, through the dark close tunnel of the weeds, he saw the light. it flared out suddenly, like lightning. a sheet of hot, bright gold cracking out like a whipped banner, lighting the end of the road. lighting the city, and the little procession coming out of it. lundy didn't believe any of it. he was half dead already, with his mind floating free of his body and beginning to be wrapped up in dark clouds. he watched what he saw incuriously. the golden light died down, and then flared out twice more, rhythmically. the road ran smooth again beyond the end of the tunnel, straight across a narrow plain. beyond that, the city rose. lundy couldn't see much of it, because of the weeds. but it seemed to be a big city. there was a wall around it, of green marble veined with dusky rose, the edges worn round by centuries of water. there were broad gates of pure untarnished gold, standing open on golden pintles. beyond them was a vast square paved in cloud-grey quartz, and the buildings rose around it like the castles lundy remembered from earth and his childhood, when there were clouds of a certain kind at sunset. that's what the whole place looked like, under the flaring golden light. cloud-cuckoo land at sunset. remote, dreaming in beauty, with the black water drawn across it like a veil--something never destroyed because it never existed. the creatures who came from between the golden gates and down the road were like tiny wisps of those clouds, torn free by some cold wandering breeze and driven away from the light. they came drifting toward lundy. they didn't seem to be moving fast, but they must have been because quite suddenly they were among the weeds. there were a lot of them; maybe forty or fifty. they seemed to be between three and four feet tall, and they were all the same sad, blue-grey, twilight color. lundy couldn't see what they were. they were vaguely man-shaped, and vaguely finny, and something that was more than vaguely something else, only he couldn't place it. he was suddenly beyond caring. the dull black curtain around his mind got a hole in it, and fear came shrieking through it. he could feel the working and pulling of his vac-suit where the flowers were chewing on it as though it were his own skin. he could feel sweat running cold on his body. in a minute that would be sea water running, and then.... lundy began to fight. his lips peeled back off his teeth, but he didn't make any noise except his heavy breathing. he fought the flowers, partly with the blaster, partly with brute strength. no science, no thought. just the last blind struggle of an animal that didn't want to die. the flowers held him. they smothered him, crushed him down, wrapped him in lovely burning petals of destruction. he seared a lot of them, but there were always more. lundy didn't fight long. he lay on his back, his knees drawn up a little toward a rigid, knotted belly, blind with sweat, his heart kicking him like a logger's boot. cold, tense--waiting. and then the flowers went away. they didn't want to. they let go reluctantly, drawing back and snarling like cats robbed of a fat mouse, making small hungry feints at him. but they went. * * * * * lundy came nearer fanning off for keeps then than he ever had. reaction wrung him out like a wet bar-rag. his heart quit beating; his body jerked like something on a string. then, through a mist that might have been sweat, or tears, or the edge of the hereafter, he saw the little blue-grey people looking down at him. they hovered in a cloud above him, holding place with membranes as fluttering and delicate as bird-calls on a windy day. the membranes ran between armand leg-members, both of which had thin flat swimming-webs. there were suckers on the legs, about where the heels would have been if they'd had feet. their bodies were slender and supple, and definitely feminine without having any of the usual human characteristics. they were beautiful. they weren't like anything lundy had even seen before, or even dreamed about, but they were beautiful. they had faces. queer little pixie things without noses. their mouths were round and tiny and rather sweet, but their eyes were their dominant feature. huge round golden eyes with pupils of deep brown. soft eyes, gentle, inquiring, it made lundy feel like crying, and so scared that it made him mad. the flowers kept weaving around hopefully. when one got too close to lundy, one of the little people would slap it gently, the way you would a pet dog, and shoo it away. "do you live?" iii lundy wasn't surprised by the telepathic voice. thought-communication was commoner than speech and a lot simpler in many places on the inhabited worlds. special gave its men a thorough training in it. "i live, thanks to you." there was something in the quality of the brain he touched that puzzled him. it was like nothing he'd ever met before. he got to his feet, not very steadily. "you came just in time. how did you know i was here?" "your fear-thoughts carried to us. we know what it is to be afraid. so we came." "there's nothing i can say but 'thank you'." "but of course we helped! why not? you needn't thank us." lundy looked at the flowers burning sullenly in the gloom. "how is it you can boss them around? why don't they...." "but they're not cannibals! not like--_the others_." there was pure cold dread in that last thought. "cannibals." lundy looked up at the cloud of dainty blue-grey woman-things. his skin got cold and a size too small for him. their soft golden eyes smiled down at him. "we're different from you, yes. just as we're different from the fish. what is your thought? bright things growing--weed--yes, they're kin to us." kin, thought lundy. yeah. about like we are to the animals. plants. living plants were no novelty on venus. why not plants with thinking minds? plants that carried their roots along with them, and watched you with sad soft eyes. "let's get out of here," said lundy. they went down along the dark tunnel and out onto the road, and the flowers yearned like hungry dogs after lundy but didn't touch him. he started out across the narrow plain, with the plant-women drifting cloudlike around him. seaweed. little bits of kelp that could talk to you. it made lundy feel queer. the city made him feel queer, too. it was dark when he first saw it from the plain, with only the moonlight glow of the sand to touch it. it was a big city, stretching away behind its barrier wall. big and silent and very old, waiting there at the end of its road. it was curiously more real in the dim light. lundy lost trace of the water for a moment. it was like walking toward a sleeping city in the moonlight, feeling the secretive, faintly hostile strength of it laired and leashed, until dawn.... only there would never be a dawn for this city. never, any more. lundy wanted suddenly to run away. "don't be afraid. we live there. it's safe." lundy shook his head irritably. quite suddenly the brilliant light flared out again, three regular flashes. it seemed to come from somewhere to the right, out of a range of undersea mountains. lundy felt a faint trembling of the sand. a volcanic fissure, probably, opened when the land sank. the golden light changed the city again. cloud-cuckoo land at sunset--a place where you could set your boots down on a dream. when he went in through the gates he was awed, but not afraid. and then, while he stood in the square looking up at the great dim buildings, the thought came drifting down to him out of the cloud of little woman-things. "it _was_ safe. it was happy--before _she_ came." * * * * * after a long moment lundy said, "she?" "we haven't seen her. but our mates have. she came a little while ago and walked through the streets, and all our mates left us to follow her. they say she's beautiful beyond any of us, and...." "and her eyes are hidden, and they have to see them. they have to look into her eyes or go crazy, so they follow her." the sad little blue-grey cloud stirred in the dark water. golden eyes looked down at him. "how did you know? do you follow her, too?" lundy took a deep, slow breath. the palms of his hands were wet. "yes. yes, i followed her, too." "we feel your thought...." they came down close around him. their delicate membranes fluttered like fairy wings. their golden eyes were huge and soft and pleading. "can you help us? can you bring our mates back safe? they've forgotten everything. if the others should come...." "the others?" lundy's brain was drowned in stark and terrible fear. pictures came through it. vague gigantic dreams of nightmare.... "they come, riding the currents that go between the hot cracks in the mountains and the cold deeps. they eat. they destroy." the little woman-things were shaken suddenly like leaves in a gust of wind. "we hide from them in the buildings. we can keep them out, away from our seed and the little new ones. but our mates have forgotten. if the others come while they follow her, outside and away from safety, they'll all be killed. we'll be left alone, and there'll be no more seed for us, and no more little new ones." they pressed in close around him, touching him with their small blue-grey fore-fins. "can you help us? oh, can you help us?" lundy closed his eyes. his mouth twitched and set. when he opened his eyes again they were hard as agates. "i'll help you," he said, "or die trying." it was dark in the great square, with only the pale sandglow seeping through the gates. for a moment the little blue-grey woman-creatures clung around him, not moving, except as the whole mass of them swayed slightly with the slow rhythm of the sea. then they burst away from him, outward, in a wild surge of hope--and lundy stood with his mouth open, staring. they weren't blue-grey any longer. they glowed suddenly, their wings and their dainty, supple bodies, a warm soft green that had a vibrant pulse of life behind it. and they blossomed. the long, slender, living petals must have been retracted, like the fronds of a touch-me-not, while they wore the sad blue-grey. now they broke out like coronals of flame around their small heads. blue and scarlet and gold, poppy-red and violet and flame, silver-white and warm pink like a morning cloud, streaming in the black water. streaming from small green bodies that rolled and tumbled high up against the dark, dreaming buildings like the butterflies that had danced there before the sunlight was lost forever. quite suddenly, then, they stopped. they drifted motionless in the water, and their colors dimmed. lundy said, "where are they?" "deep in the city, beyond our buildings here--in the streets where only the curious young ones ever go. oh, bring them back! please bring them back!" "if i come back myself," said lundy, "i'll bring them." he left them hovering in the great dark square and went on into the city. * * * * * he walked down broad paved streets channelled with wheel-ruts and hollowed by generations of sandalled feet. the great water-worn buildings lifted up on either side, lighted by the erratic glare of the distant fissure. the window-openings, typical of most venusian architecture, were covered by grilles of marble and semi-precious stone, intricately hand-pierced like bits of jewelry. the great golden doors stood open on their uncorroded hinges. through them lundy could watch the life of the little plant-people being lived. in some of the buildings the lower floor had been covered with sand. plant-women hovered protectively over them, brushing the sand smooth where the water disturbed it. lundy guessed that these were seed beds. in other places there were whole colonies of tiny flower-things still rooted in the sand; a pale spring haze of green in the dimness. they sat in placid rows, nodding their pastel baby coronals and playing solemnly with bits of bright weed and colored stones. here, too, the plant-women watched and guarded lovingly. several times lundy saw groups of young plantlings, grown free of the sand, being taught to swim by the woman-creatures, tumbling in the black water like bright petals on a spring wind. all the women were the same sad blue-grey, with their blossoms hidden. they'd stay that way, unless he, lundy, could finish the job special had sent him to do. the job he hadn't been quite big enough to handle up to now. farrell, with the flesh flayed off his bones, and not feeling it because _she_ was all he could think of. jackie smith, drowned in a flooded lock because _she_ wanted to be free and he had helped her. was this lundy guy so much bigger than farrell and smith, and all the other men who had gone crazy over her? big enough to catch the vampire lure in a net and keep it there, and not go nuts himself? lundy didn't feel that big. not anywhere near that big. he was remembering things. the first time he'd had _it_ in a net. the last few minutes before the wreck, when he'd heard her crying for freedom from inside the safe. jackie smith's face when he walked in with the water from the flooded lock, and his, lundy's, own question--_oh lord, what did he see before he drowned?_ the tight cold knot was back in lundy's belly again, and this time it had spurs on. he left the colony behind him, walking down empty streets lit by the rhythmic flaring of the volcanic fissure. there was damage here. pavements cracked and twisted with the settling, towers shaken down, the carved stone jalousies split out of the windows. whole walls had fallen in, in some places, and most of the golden doors were wrecked, jammed wide open or gone entirely. a dead city. so dead and silent that you couldn't breathe with it, and so old it made you crawl inside. a swell place to go mad in, following a dream. after a long time lundy saw them--the mates of the little seaweed women. a long, long trail of them like a flight of homing birds, winding between the dark and broken towers. they looked like their women. a little bigger, a little coarser, with strong tough dark-green bodies and brilliant coronals. their golden eyes were fixed on something lundy couldn't see, and they looked like the eyes of lucifer yearning at the gates of heaven. lundy began to run against the water, cutting across a wide plaza to get under the head of the procession. he unhooked the net from his belt with hands that felt like a couple of dead fish. * * * * * then he staggered suddenly, lost his footing, and went sprawling. it was as though somebody had pushed him with a strong hand. when he tried to get up it pushed him again, hard. the golden glare from the fissure was steadier now, and very bright. the trail of little man-things bent suddenly in a long whipping bow, and lundy knew what was the matter. there was a current rising in the city. rising like the hot white winds that used to howl in from the sea, carrying the rains. "_they ride the currents that go between the hot cracks in the mountains and the cold deeps. they eat. they destroy._" the others. the others, who were cannibals.... _she_ led the bright trail of plant-men between the towers, and there was a current rising in the streets. lundy got up. he balanced himself against the thrust of the current and ran, following the procession. it was clumsy work, with the water and his leaded boots. he tried to gauge where _it_--or _she_--was from the focus of the plant-men's eyes. the hot light flared up brighter. the water pulled and shoved at him. he looked back once, but he couldn't see anything in the shadows between the towers. he was scared. he shook the net out, and he was scared. funny that _it_--or _she_--didn't see him. funny _it_ didn't sense his mind, even though he tried to keep it closed. but he wasn't a very big object down there in the shadows under the walls, and creating an illusion for that many minds would be a strain on anything, even a creature from outer space. he'd had the breaks once before, when he caught up with farrell. he prayed to have them again. he got them, for what good it did him. the current caught the procession and pulled it down close to lundy. he watched their eyes. she was still leading them. she had a physical body even if you couldn't see it, and the current would pull it, no matter how tiny it was. he cast his net out, fast. it bellied out in the black water and came swooping back to his pull, and there was something in it. something tiny and cylindrical and vicious. something alive. he drew the net tight, shivering and sweating with nervous excitement. and the plant-men attacked. they swooped on him in a brilliant cloud. their golden eyes burned. there was no sense in them. their minds shrieked and clamored at him, a formless howl of rage--and fear, for _her_. they beat at him with their little green fins. their coronals blazed, hot angry splashes of colored flame against the dark water. they wrenched at the net, tore at it, beating their membranes like wings against the rising current. lundy was a solid, muscular little guy. he snarled and fought for the net like a wolf over a yearling lamb. he lost it anyway. he fell on his face under a small mountain of churning man-things and lay gasping for the breath they knocked out of him, thankful for the vac-suit that saved him from being crushed flat. he watched them take the net. they clustered around it in a globe like a swarm of bees, rolling around in the moving water. their golden eyes had a terrible stricken look. they couldn't open the net. lundy had drawn it tight and fastened it, and they didn't have fingers. they stroked and pawed it with their fins, but they couldn't let _her_ out. lundy got up on his hands and knees. the current quickened. it roared down between the broken towers like a black wind and took the swarm of man-things with it, still clutching the net. and then the others came. iv lundy saw them a long way off. for a moment he didn't believe it. he thought they must be shadows cast by the fitful glare of the fissure. he braced himself against a building and stood watching. stood watching, and then seeing as the rushing current brought them closer. he didn't move, except to lift his jaw a little trying to breathe. he simply stood, cold as a dead man's feet and just as numb. they looked something like the giant rays he'd seen back on earth, only they were plants. great sleek bulbs of kelp with their leaves spread like wings to the current. their long teardrop bodies ended in a flange like a fishtail that served as a rudder and they had tentacles for arms. they were colored a deep red-brown like dried blood. the golden flare of the fissure made their cold eyes gleam. it showed their round mouth-holes full of sharp hair-spines, and the stinging deadly cups on the undersides of their huge tentacles. those arms were long enough and tough enough to pierce even the fabric of a vac-suit. lundy didn't know whether they ate flesh or not, but it didn't matter. he wouldn't care, after he'd been slapped with one of those tentacles. the net with _her_ in it was getting away from him, and the others were coming down on top of him. even if he'd wanted to quit his job right then there wasn't any place to hide in these ruined, doorless buildings. lundy shot his suit full of precious oxygen and added himself to the creatures riding that black current to hell. it swept him like a bubble between the dead towers, but not fast enough. he wasn't very far ahead of the kelp-things. he tried to swim, to make himself go faster, but it was like racing an oared dinghy against a fleet of sixteen-meter sloops with everything set. he could see the cluster of plant-men ahead of him. they hadn't changed position. they rolled and tumbled in the water, using a lot of the forward push to go around with, so that lundy was able to overhaul them. but not fast enough. not nearly fast enough. the hell of it was he couldn't see anything to do if he got there. the net was way inside the globe. they weren't going to let him take it away. and if he did, what would it get anybody? they'd still follow _her_, without sense enough to run away from the kelp-beasts. unless.... it hit lundy all of a sudden. a hope, a solution. hit him neatly as the leading kelp-thing climbed up on his heels and brought its leaf-wings in around him, hard. lundy let go an animal howl of fear and kicked wildly, shooting more air into his suit. he went up fast, and the wings grazed his boots but didn't quite catch him. lundy rolled over and fed the thing a full charge out of his blaster, right through the eye. it began to thrash and flounder like a shot bird. the ones coming right behind it got tangled up with it and then stopped to eat. pretty soon there were a lot of them tumbling around it and fighting like a flock of gulls over a fish. lundy swam furiously, cursing the clumsy suit. there were a lot of the things that hadn't stopped, and the ones that had wouldn't stay long. lundy kicked and strained and sweated. he was scared. he had the wind up so hard it was blowing his guts out, and it was like swimming in a nightmare, where you're tied. the current seemed to move faster up where he was now. he gathered his thoughts into a tight beam and threw them into the heart of the cluster of plant-men, at the creature in the net. _i can free you. i'm the only one that can._ a voice answered him, inside his mind. the voice he had heard once before, back in the cabin of the wrecked flier. a voice as sweet and small as pan-pipes calling on the hills of fay. _i know. my thought crossed yours...._ the elfin voice broke suddenly, almost on a gasp of pain. very faintly, lundy heard: _heavy! heavy! i am slow...._ a longing for something beyond his experience stabbed lundy like the cry of a frightened child. and then the globe of man-things burst apart as though a giant wind had struck them. lundy watched them wake up, out of their dream. _she_ had vanished, and now they didn't know why they were here or what they were doing. they had a heart-shaking memory of some beauty they couldn't touch, and that was all. they were lost, and frightened. then they saw the others. * * * * * it was as though someone had hit them a stunning blow with his fist. they hung motionless, swept along by the current, staring back with dazed golden eyes. their brilliant petals curled inward and vanished, and the green of their bodies dulled almost to black. the kelp-beasts spread their wings wide and rushed toward them like great dark birds. and up ahead, under the sullen golden glare, lundy saw the distant buildings of the colony. some of the doors were still open, with knots of tiny figures waiting beside them. lundy was still a little ahead of the kelp-things. he grabbed up the floating net and hooked it to his belt, and then steered himself clumsily toward a broken tower jutting up to his right. he hurled a wild telepathic shout at the plant-men, trying to make them turn and run, telling them that he'd hold off the others. they were too scared to hear him. he cursed them, almost crying. on the third try he got through and they came to life in a hurry, rushing away with all the speed they had. by that time lundy was braced on his pinnacle of stone, and the kelp-beasts were right on top of him. he got busy with both blasters. he burned down a lot of the things. pretty soon the water all around him was full of thrashing bodies where the living had stopped to fight over the dead. but he couldn't get them all, and a few got by him. almost without turning his head he could see huge red bird-shapes overhauling stragglers, wrapping them in broad wings, and then lying quiet in the rush of the current, feeding. they kept the doors open, those little woman-things. they waited until the last of their mates came home, and then slammed the golden panels on the blunt noses of the kelp-things. not many of the little men were lost. only a few small wives would hide their petals and wear their sad blue-grey. lundy felt good about that. it was nice he felt good about something, because old mr. grim was climbing right up on lundy's shoulders, showing his teeth. the kelp-beasts had finally found out who was hurting them. also, now, lundy was the only food in sight. they were ganging up for a rush, wheeling and sideslipping in the spate of black water. lundy got two more, and then one blaster charge fizzled out, and right after it the other one became dull. lundy stood alone on his broken tower and watched death sweep in around him. and the sweet elfin voice spoke out of the net: _let me free. let me free!_ lundy set his jaw tight and did the only thing he could think of. he deflated his vac-suit and jumped, plunging down into the black depths of the ruined building. the kelp-things folded their leaves back like the wings of a diving bird and came down after him, using their tails for power. fitful flares of light came through broken walls and window openings. lundy went down a long way. he didn't have to bother about stairs. the quakes had knocked most of the floors out. the kelp-things followed him. their long sinuous bodies were maneuverable as a shark's, and they were fast. and all the time the little voice cried in his mind, asking for freedom. lundy hit bottom. the walls were fairly solid down here, and it was dark, and the place was choked with rubble. things got a little confused. lundy's helmet light was shot, and he wouldn't have used it anyway because it would have guided the hunters. he felt them, swirling and darting around him. he ran, to no place in particular. the broken stones tripped him. three times great sinewy bodies brushed him, knocking him spinning, but they couldn't quite find him in the darkness, chiefly because they got in each other's way. lundy fell through suddenly into a great hall, lying beside whatever room he had been in and a little below it. it was hardly damaged. golden doors stood open to the water, and there was plenty of light. plenty of light for lundy to see some more of the kelp-beasts poking hopeful faces in, and plenty of light for them to see lundy. the elfin voice called, _let me out! let me out!_ * * * * * lundy didn't have breath enough left to curse. he turned and ran, and the kelp-beasts gave a lazy flirt of their tails and caught up with him in the first thirty feet. they almost laughed in his face. the only thing that saved lundy was that when they opened their leaf-wings to take him they interfered with each other. it slowed them, just for a moment. just long enough for lundy to see the door. a little door of black stone with no carving on it, standing half-open on a golden pivot, about ten feet away. lundy made for it. he dodged out from under one huge swooping wing, made a wild leap that almost tore him apart, and grabbed the edge of the door with his hands, doubling up and pulling. a tentacle tip struck his feet. his lead boots hit the floor, and for a minute he thought his legs were broken. but the surge of water the blow made helped to carry him in through the narrow opening. half a dozen blunt red-brown heads tried to come through after him, and were stopped. lundy was down on his hands and knees. he was trying to breathe, but somebody had put a heavy building on his chest. also, it was getting hard to see anything. he crawled over and put his shoulder against the door and pushed. it wouldn't budge. the building had settled and jammed the pivot for keeps. even the butting kelp-things couldn't jar it. but they kept on trying. lundy crawled away. after a while some of the weight went off his chest and he could see better. a shaft of fitful golden light shot in through a crack about ten feet above him. a small crack, not even big enough to let a baby in and out. it was the only opening other than the door. the room was small, too. the stone walls were dead black, without ornament or carving, except on the rear wall. there was a square block of jet there, about eight feet long by four wide, hollowed in a peculiar and unpleasantly suggestive fashion. above it there was a single huge ruby set in the stone, burning red like a foretaste of hell fire. lundy had seen similar small chambers in old cities still on dry land. they were where men had gone to die for crimes against society and the gods. lundy looked at the hungry monsters pushing at the immovable door and laughed. there was no particular humor in it. he fired his last shot, and sat down. [illustration: _lundy fired the last shot in his gun._] the brutes might go away sometime, maybe. but unless they went within a very few minutes, it wasn't going to matter. lundy's oxygen was getting low, and it was still a long way to the coast. the voice from the net cried out, _let me free!_ "the hell with you," said lundy. he was tired. he was so tired he didn't care much whether he lived or died. he made sure the net was fast to his belt, and tightly closed. "if i live, you go back to vhia with me. if i die--well, you won't be able to hurt anybody again. there'll be one less devil loose on venus." _free! free! free! i must be free! this heavy weight...._ "sure. free to lead guys like farrell into going crazy, and leaving their wives and kids. free to kill...." he looked with sultry eyes at the net. "jackie smith was my pal. you think i'd let you go? you think anything you could do would make me let you go?" then he saw her. right through the net, as though the metal mesh was cellophane. she crouched there in his lap, a tiny thing less than two feet high, doubled over her knees. the curve of her back was something an angel had carved out of a whisp of warm, pearl-pink cloud. v lundy broke into a trembling sweat. he shut his eyes. it didn't matter. he saw her. he couldn't help seeing her. he tried to fight his mind, but he was tired.... her hair hid most of her. it had black night in it, and moonbeams, and glints of fire like a humming-bird's breast. hair you dream about. hair you could smother yourself in, and die happy. she raised her head slowly, letting the veil of warm darkness fall away from her. her eyes were shadowed, hidden under thick lashes. she raised her hands to lundy, like a child praying. but she wasn't a child. she was a woman, naked as a pearl and so lovely that lundy sobbed with it, in shivering ecstasy. "no," he said hoarsely. "no. no!" she held her arms up to be free, and didn't move. lundy tore the net loose from his belt and flung it on the altar block. he got up and went lurching to the door, but the kelp-things were still there, still hungry. he sat down again, in a corner as far away from both places as he could get, and took some benzedrine. it was the wrong thing to do. he'd about reached his limit. it made him light-headed. he couldn't fight her, couldn't shut her out. she knelt on the altar with her hands stretched out to him, and a shaft of golden light falling on her like something in a church. "open your eyes," he said. "open your eyes and look at me." _let me free. let me free!_ freedom lundy didn't know anything about. the freedom of outer space, with the whole milky way to play in and nothing to hold you back. and with the longing, fear. a blind, stricken terror.... "no!" lundy said. things got dark for lundy. presently he found himself at the altar block, fumbling at the net. he wrenched away and went stumbling back to his corner. he was twitching all over like a frightened dog. "why do you want to do it? why do you have to torture men--drive them crazy for something they can't have--kill them?" _torture? crazy? kill? i don't understand. they worship me. it is pleasant to be worshiped._ "pleasant?" lundy was yelling aloud, and didn't know it. "pleasant, damn you! so you kill a good guy like farrell, and drown jackie smith...." _kill? wait--give me the thought again._... something inside lundy turned cold and still, holding its breath. he sent the thought again. death. cessation. silence, and the dark. the tiny glowing figure on the black stone bent over its knees again, and it was sadder than a seabird's cry at sunset. _so will i be soon. so will all of us. why did this planet take us out of space? the weight, the pressure breaks and crushes us, and we can't get free. in space there was no death, but now we die...._ lundy stood quite still. the blood beat like drums in his temples. "you mean that all you creatures out of space are dying? that the--the madness will stop of itself?" _soon. very soon. there was no death in space! there was no pain! we didn't know about them. everything here was new, to be tasted and played with. we didn't know...._ "hell!" said lundy, and looked at the creatures beating at the crack of the stone door. he sat down. _you, too, will die._ * * * * * lundy raised his head slowly. his eyes had a terrible brightness. "you like to be worshiped," he whispered. "would you like to be worshiped after you die? would you like to be remembered always as something good and beautiful--a goddess?" _that would be better than to be forgotten._ "will you do what i ask of you, then? you can save my life, if you will. you can save the lives of a lot of those little flower-people. i'll see to it that everyone knows your true story. now you're hated and feared, but after that you'll be loved." _will you let me free of this net?_ "if you promise to do what i ask." _i would rather die at least free of this net._ the tiny figure trembled and shook back the veil of dark hair. _hurry. tell me...._ "lead these creatures away from the door. lead all of them in the city away, to the fire in the mountain where they'll be destroyed." _they will worship me. it is better than dying in a net. i promise._ lundy got up and went to the altar. his feet were not steady. his hands were not steady, either, untying the net. sweat ran in his eyes. she didn't have to keep her promise. she didn't have to.... the net fell away. she stood up on her tiny pink feet. slowly, like a swirl of mist straightening in a little breeze. she threw her head back and smiled. her mouth was red and sulky, her teeth whiter than new snow. her lowered lids had faint blue shadows traced on them. she began to glow, in the golden shaft of light, like a pillar of cloud rising toward the sun. lundy's heart stood still. the clear gleam of her skin, the line of her throat and her young breasts, the supple turn of her flank and thigh.... _you worship me, too._ lundy stepped back, two lurching steps. "i worship you," he whispered. "let me see your eyes." she smiled and turned her head away. she stepped off the altar block, floating past him through the black water. a dream-thing, without weight or substance, and more desirable than all the women lundy had seen in his life or his dreams. he followed her, staggering. he tried to catch her. "open your eyes! please open your eyes!" she floated on, through the crack of the stone door. the kelp-things didn't see her. all they saw was lundy, coming toward them. "open your eyes!" she turned, then, just before lundy had stepped out to death in the hall beyond. he stopped, and watched her raise her shadowed lids. he screamed, just once, and fell forward onto the black floor. he never knew how long he lay there. it couldn't have been long in time, because he still had barely enough oxygen to make it to the coast when he came to. the kelp-beasts were gone. but the time to lundy was an eternity--an eternity he came out of with whitened hair and bitter lines around his mouth, and a sadness that never left his eyes. he'd only had his dream a little while. a few brief moments, already shadowed by death. his mind was drugged and tired, and didn't feel things as deeply and clearly as it might. that was all that saved him. but he knew what jackie smith saw before he drowned. he knew why men had died or gone mad forever, when they looked into the eyes of their dream, and by looking, destroyed it. because, behind those shadowed, perfect lids, there was--_nothing_. spawn of the venus sea by harry walton what was this ghastly inhabitant of venus' dead sea--this multiple-life monstrosity. [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from planet stories fall 1941. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] with a tremendous snap, the taut steel cable humming in over the stern sheaves suddenly leaped high. the winch screamed briefly as the cable skipped its guides. before power could be shut off it had snarled badly, and the frayed end of it had thrashed a splintery dent into the _mermaid's_ deck. by this time, second mate stanley kort reflected grimly, the net itself had probably bottomed on the floor of venus's largest ocean--the _molo ivrum_, or deadly sea, thus named for the paradoxical reason that it teemed with life, most of it decidedly unpleasant. hands clenched, kort stared from the plaskon windows of the wheelhouse. through the thin haze blanketing the deck he could see net tenders and seamen stolidly staring forward. the cable lay in a vicious tangle between winch house and stern. nobody looked at it. they were waiting for orders, as they always waited when kort held deck command. were hodge up here, or even pratt, the third mate, the net tenders would have laid hold of the snarled steel by now. with kort it was different. or was it he who was different, he who hadn't been trained in the hard school of this sort of seamanship? a man who'd won his papers in passenger service wasn't wanted aboard a floating cannery. kort wished he had known a month ago how it would be. he should have left venus after being discharged from the _corinthia_, instead of trying to start anew in the cannery service. his clenched fist opened. "break out a magnetic!" the deck speakers amplified his voice to stentorian volume, galvanized the crew into sullen action. men untangled the steel, spliced a new length to it, and swung the magnetic grapple over the side. with the grapple magnets drawing two hundred amps, the ship swung in a clumsy circle. half an hour passed, marked only by the screech of cannery boilers popping off every five minutes. from forward came the stench of cleaning platforms, the "clop-plop" of trimming machinery. then the rain, pelting down in drops big as grapes. they splashed roaringly upon the deck, drummed upon the wheelhouse windows like furious fingers. the _mermaid_ seemed to squat lower in the water under the weight of the storm. abruptly a red lamp flashed. kort was out of the pilot house almost before the engine room, answering his signal, had reversed the turbines. in helmet and plaskon overalls he fought his way aft. at the stern rail kort watched the cable come in, dripping steel curl itself over the drums. finally the grapple broke the frothy surface of the sea. to it clung the lost net, and kort felt a moment of amazed gratitude for that bit of luck. for once the _mermaid_ had been fortunate. ships sometimes spent hours in futile grappling. tenders seized the net, spread it as the winch hauled in. it was nine tenths up when kort, watching for anything that might jam the rollers, signaled the winch-man to stop. * * * * * the thing might have been a giant slug. thick as a man's arm, it was so entangled in the net that any estimate of its length was sheer guesswork. one end tapered to a featureless snout, the other flattened to a broad, finned tail. its color was a dingy, bloodless white. kort had never seen anything like it before. "get a trident, simms!" he bawled over the fury of the storm, and the man obediently lifted one of the implements from its rack. simultaneously a net tender climbed over the rail and, clinging to the mesh, lowered himself hand over hand. the man with the trident looked gravely on. kort felt himself flush, yet hesitated to order the other man back. possibly the thing in the net was familiar to the others, its disposal a simple matter which his interference might make difficult. the tender leaned down, chopped at the white monstrosity with a heavy knife. there was a solid _thunk_ of metal as the edge bit chain mesh. kort would almost have sworn that the thing moved. it was incredible that the man could have missed it otherwise. suddenly uneasy, kort drew his electro-gun. with a grimace the tender leaned farther over, raised his knife again. before it fell, before anyone could move or shout warning, the white trunk flashed out, magically freed itself from the net, coiled about the man, and in one convulsive movement vanished with him beneath the sea. there was a single sharp splash, muted by the drumming rain. kort had not dared to fire. incredulously he stared at the spot where the thing had been enmeshed an instant before. the undamaged net, slimy with the detritus of the sea, hung empty under the ship's stern. * * * * * it was still raining, but, as though some oceanic deity had accepted a living sacrifice, the _mermaid's_ luck had changed. nets came up laden with the _molo ivrum's_ rampant life. sorters tossed the edible, bulbous _gwai_ upon conveyor belts for the cannery machines to clean and pack. the remainder of the catch was thrown back into the sea. the finless, two-mouthed _gwai_ alone was wanted for its incredible nutritive value, twice that of the finest synthetic foodstuffs, which had made this tiny denizen of venusian seas a staple article of diet wherever supplies had to be taken in concentrated form. kort watched the work somberly, feeling himself responsible for the tender's death. even pratt would have ordered the man back. the men were right; he was a gold brick, not worth his salt aboard the _mermaid_. he'd have to get off. not that there could be any going back to the passenger runs for him, after the tragedy of the _corinthia_. they allowed a man only one mistake there. he had made his by failing to report a brother officer unfit for duty. a steward brought his lunch--fried _gwai_, native tapioca, and strong synthetic coffee. while he was eating hodge entered. the first mate poured himself a cup of the brew and dismissed the idle helmsman with a nod. the _mermaid_ lay becalmed in the downpour. kort felt the mate's eyes upon him. hodge was a grizzled giant of a man, at least thirty years older than he. "taking it a bit hard, aren't you, son?" "i should have ordered him back," said kort tightly. "maybe," retorted hodge, stuffing a biscuit between his teeth. "and maybe he shouldn't have played the fool. never give the sea bigger odds than you can help. they do say the critter was all tangled up with the net to the last second--and then it wasn't." "that's true." "reminds me of them native magicians you can see in dana t'resa. but the sea's full of surprises. we'll never outguess her--well, d'loo?" the pilot house door had been flung open as by a tempest. one of the stokers, a squat green-skinned venusian, stood breathless and wild eyed before the two officers. "steady, boy," rumbled hodge. "what's up?" the native's broad ears twitched. "_twahna ekeh-il!_ twahna is dead!" he lapsed into chattering dialect, his eyes almost idiotic with fright. "he says twahna was killed by the ghost-snake," muttered hodge. "sounds like a lie to cover up some liquor stealing, but we'd better go see. have pratt take over; it's almost his watch anyway." the third officer, flushed of face and glaring resentfully, answered kort's telephoned summons by appearing on the bridge. he slouched on the leather bench behind the wheel, pulled a bottle from his hip even before the others left. the chattering venusian led them to the second forecastle reserved for native seamen. half a dozen other natives, all off duty for the present, were huddled in the passageway outside. the low room was deserted. a single fluorescent bulb glowed bluishly between the tiers of bunks. almost directly beneath sprawled twahna. his face was cupped in both hands as though to shut out the sight of death. kort rolled him over and got the shock of his life. the venusian was dead white, his flesh drained of color. his hands stayed up before his face and kort tried to put them down. "he's frozen!" kort marveled. "frozen stiff. feel him." hodge touched the man. "it wasn't liquor," he rumbled. "alcohol will kill a native quick enough, but it won't do that. d'loo says a snake came through the bulkhead while they were getting dressed for their watch, and wrapped itself around twahna. it was between d'loo and the door, so he had to stay until the thing went back through the bulkhead. and he's too scared to be lying." there was a clatter of footsteps on the ladder. kort looked up into the flushed face of pratt, and knew there was more trouble. nothing less could have induced him to leave the comfort of the wheelhouse. "well, mister?" asked hodge. "a--a net tender's been killed," the third mate stuttered. "they say--they say he's the second." "the third, mister," said hodge harshly. "anything queer about the net tender?" "yes--yes, he was frozen. frozen blue. i thought i'd better call you." * * * * * they went up together, leaving behind them a sorely frightened group of venusians. the moment they reached the deck kort knew that something else had happened since pratt had left. it had stopped raining, although the last of the water was still sluicing from the scuppers. but not a man was in sight. winch house, stern deck, and sorting platforms were deserted. yet not utterly, for just forward of the main net locker swayed the creature from the depths, a sinuous tapering trunk, its snout uplifted like a hound's nose scenting game. "two of them!" gasped pratt, pointing to a second one atop the pilot house. "and one makes three!" muttered hodge, for still another had appeared magically beside the first. pratt pulled his electro-gun from its holster. its heavy bullet splintered a hatch cover just behind the thing, but the creature showed no harm. kort drew his own weapon and joined pratt in pumping bullets. wood splintered and metal clanged where the projectiles struck, but the sea slugs remained unharmed. it seemed to kort that the things flickered, faded from view, at the very instant he fired, only to reappear so quickly as to make him doubt his senses. pratt was reloading furiously. he went down on all fours, crawled along one of the conveyor belts until he was no more than twelve feet from one of the things. prone on the deck, he fired at point blank range. the soft nosed bullet smashed into planking directly behind the swaying trunk. kort saw splinters fly at the impact, but again the sea slug had seemed to vanish for an instant, like a candle flame almost blown out by a sudden draft. in drunken anger, pratt seized a trident from the rail, sprang to his feet, leaped at the thing. kort shouted a warning to which the man paid no heed. spear-like he hurled the trident; the prongs sank a full inch into the wooden deck. the swaying trunk reared, became ominously still. kort cried out again as pratt, howling drunken defiance, emptied his gun at it. like the pounce of lightning the creature struck. one instant it was upreared before pratt, the next its fatal helix enclosed the man. he staggered, screamed once, a howl of sheer animal pain that struck kort like a whip across the face. it was hodge who restrained him from tackling the thing with fists and knife. "too late!" the older man said grimly. "no use throwing yourself after him." there was no sound from pratt now. in ghastly silence the sea creature had settled down with him, his body rigid in its coiled grip, protruding eyes mirroring agony, yet already glazed with approaching death, his face slowly turning the purple of asphyxiation. once more the gun blasted before it fell from twitching fingers. to the watchers it seemed an age before the tortured body at last went limp. "time the captain heard about this!" growled hodge, "although it ain't likely to do any good." his iron grip aroused kort from the stupefaction of horror into which the sight of pratt's death had plunged him. together they went forward, giving the monsters a wide berth, past the cannery deck where most of the deck crew were gathered, to the captain's cabin. one glimpse of the master told kort no help might be expected from him. spale's huge body overflowed the bunk; he was more stupefied than asleep. the cabin reeked of liquor. hodge slammed the door on it. "might've known it," he grumbled. "he won't be good for thirty hours, like that. we're putting back to port, catch or no catch." they reached the forward wheelhouse from below deck, leaving the one aft in possession of the sea monsters. hodge pushed over the engine room telegraph. at the wheel, kort awaited the first throb of propellers to drive the ship ahead. for a moment there was no movement but the slow roll of the _mermaid_ in the trough of the waves. then the interphone crackled. "wellson, engine room. we have no pressure on the boilers down here. chief starr has gone aft to see about it. i can give you quarter speed for a few minutes." "quarter speed!" barked hodge. the vessel trembled to the surge of the screws, forged slowly ahead. that moment too came the first of the wind. kort found his hands full keeping the ship on course in the face of it. once he looked aft, just in time to see the last trunk vanish from atop the aft pilot house. it did not plunge overboard, but faded from sight as abruptly as a projected image when the light is snapped off. briefly grateful that the things had gone, he bent all efforts to keeping the _mermaid_ on course in the face of freshening wind. through the deck he could feel the whine of turbines inexorably slowing down. "no steerageway, sir," he said finally, as the ship yawed. hodge rang the interphone savagely, without result. "better see what's wrong," he told kort. "wait--take this." he thrust an electro-gun renewal clip into kort's hand. with the weapon in hand kort descended ladder after ladder to the engine deck. amid disquieting silence something within him grew coldly alert. the engine room was empty. giant mercury turbines spun lazily under a pressure head far too low to drive them at normal speed. a chill swept him at the sight of the pressure gauges. in the dim glow of failing fluorescents he headed for the stokehole. a nameless sense of menace cautioned him. he passed the great bunkers full of kwahna wood, the rich, oily fuel that drove the _mermaid_ and her kind across the planet's five oceans. in the last bulkhead the stokehole door stood wide, somehow sounding a chill note of warning. without entering he called wellson and starr. the names echoed hollowly from the dim reaches of the ship, but in response came only the faint roar of a blower left at half speed. the thought that wellson and starr must have gone through that same door determined him against doing so. instead he climbed to the deck above, coming out on a catwalk above the boilers, from which he could see into the stokehole. five men sprawled on the deck plates in the contorted postures of those dead by violence, knees drawn high, arms outflung, fingers bent into claws. by the light of his pocket flash kort recognized the distorted features of starr. a reddish glow from an open firebox illumined those of wellson. the other men were native stokers. when kort moved the flash beam horror tightened its clutch upon him. the stokehole pit seemed full of sea slugs. by actual count he found there were five of them, alert, weaving, posturing as though to sense new victims. oddly enough the light brought no response from them, even when flashed directly upon their dingy white bodies. suddenly the electro-gun seemed to burn in kort's hand. he lifted away a section of the catwalk grid to fire through the opening thus left. bullets howled, ricocheting from deck plates and bulkheads below. occasionally one of the creatures seemed to flicker before a shot. when the gun was empty kort got to his feet. his fire had been without effect. he felt a sick sense of futility as he climbed back to the wheelhouse, where hodge soberly listened to the tale of death he had to tell. "we've got to get them, son," said the first mate grimly. "it's them or us. look aport." the sky was aflame over the horizon. twisted ribbons of light swirled between sea and heavens, shot through now and again with flashes of crimson. across the waters came, faintly, the rumble of thunder. "_kilwanni!_" grunted hodge. "from the looks of that borealis, it's headed this way. if we lie here much longer we'll be blown out of the water." "with the anti-grids?" kort protested. "without them," hodge answered dryly. "what're you going to use for juice? the lightning generators have almost stopped, and you can't turn the anti-grid generators on flat boilers, nor use battery juice either." he jerked his head significantly at the wheelhouse lamps, hardly more than aglow. "looks like we have to lick the things or else! no good wasting more bullets, either. the things dodge 'em. see how they flicker when you put a bullet close? no wonder d'loo calls them the ghost snakes." kort nodded, and yet it seemed to him that hodge's appraisal was wrong, in some vague way he couldn't himself put a finger on. "if they dodge the bullets," the first mate went on, "then they must see 'em coming. maybe we need something faster than bullets--a bolt blaster, maybe." "and spale's got one!" finished kort. "only one aboard," finished hodge. "he had a mutiny once, and a blaster saved his fat neck for him. since then he won't let anybody else keep one aboard, curse him. i reckon we'll have to find his." * * * * * five minutes later the two men trod softly away from spale's cabin, the precious blaster, clumsy with its huge capacitor drum, ridged barrel, and pointed electrode, in hodge's hands. yet kort was haunted by an unreasonable premonition of failure. perhaps, he told himself, repeated failure had sold him on the belief that the sea slugs were invulnerable. certainly the blaster was no common weapon. it shot a bolt of non-oscillating high amperage current, a single shattering projectile of pure energy, with the speed of light itself. what living thing could sense the approach of that flashing death? they entered upon the catwalk after kort's light had shown it clear of the creatures. the stokehole fluorescents were mere luminous streaks against encroaching darkness. only dying embers glowed behind the open fire door. but the flash beam revealed four white trunks grouped before the boilers, as though attracted by the warmth. purple faces of the dead glared up in the pallid light of the torch. hodge swore feelingly, leveled the blaster. the weapon spat a lurid, creamy-white bolt that pierced the nearest trunk. kort held his breath. the flash seared his sight, seeming of longer duration than it really was, and limned the sea thing starkly against the blackness of the stokehole. the light of his torch seemed feeble after it. but in that light the creature swayed, unhurt, untouched. hodge cursed it furiously, fired again and again. the crash of bolts was thunderous in that confined space. fringes of electrical fire leaped from metal at their touch. ozone stung kort's nostrils. but when the blaster clicked emptily not four, but five trunks swayed languidly before the boilers, curving their supple bodies in undulating motion that at times gave them the shape of huge, animated question marks. "drum's empty," said hodge quietly. "let's go topside." kort felt his calmness in strange contrast to the fury raging within himself--fury that mindless things from the sea should set at nought the intelligence and courage of some fifty men. what price intelligence? an ameoba, incapable of sensing the approach of death, was better off than they who could foresee, and fear, and do nothing at all to escape, extinction. what was the _kilwanni_--the coming storm--but a conglomeration of ions, dead and unintelligent, possessed of no will either benevolent or malevolent, yet destined for all that to shatter the _mermaid_ and commit them to death in the freezing sea--those who escaped a fiery but swifter death from the storm itself. he followed hodge silently back to the pilot house. two seamen waited there, grim faced. "three of them by the cannery boilers," one man said. "they got sanderson before he could clear out." that was all. they stared at hodge, waiting for him to speak. the grizzled first mate shook his head. "i know," said kort suddenly, and all eyes turned to him. "the bullets were too slow--but the blaster was too fast. a bolt lasts only a few micro-seconds." "how d'you mean?" "you remember when d'loo first talked about a ghost snake? he hadn't seen the one on the net, but only the one that killed twahna, and _nobody had fired a shot at it_." "but he saw it come through the bulkhead," hodge pointed out. "that's what threw us off the track, but that wasn't the only reason d'loo called it the 'ghost snake.' nor was it because they flicker before bullets. have you ever known a native who cared to see ordinary cinema films?" "nope," grunted hodge, plainly mystified. "nor one who'd let a newsreel man photograph him. they call 'em the ghost pictures. say--!" "there you are. they fight shy of the films because they don't get the illusion of motion, as we do. all they see is a quick-fading succession of stills, because the natives don't have persistence of vision, as we have. the films don't fool them as they do us. nor do those things out there. to us they look solid. to d'loo they flicker constantly--ninety-nine percent of the time they literally aren't there. they have a vibratory existence, like the image we seem to see on the cinema screen. back in the twentieth century it was shown that the probability wave representing an electron extended, theoretically, to infinity. in these things free will--the life force--enters to control that mathematical probability. they can literally be two places at once--on the bottom, three miles down, and on our deck--at the same time. "they're _here_ only at intervals, and persistence of vision bridges the time gap between those intervals. the blaster bolts last only a few micro-seconds, a far shorter time than their natural period. a bolt comes and goes while the thing you fire at actually _isn't there_. it would be sheer luck if the bolt should coincide to hit it at the instant it's actually materialized--sheer luck, because our eyes can't help us. even a venusian wouldn't be able to synchronize a bolt--there isn't that quick co-ordination between brain and muscle. the odds would always be against us." * * * * * the seamen looked blank. hodge drummed the chart table with a huge fist. "if you're right, we need a faster bullet or a slower bolt." "or _timing_!" finished kort. "have sparks rig a stroboscope out of spare parts. you know how moving parts can be made to look as if they're standing still, in an intermittent light that flashes only when they are at one point in their movement. with all other lights off, a stroboscope wouldn't show us the things at all, except when we have it exactly synchronized with their vibratory period. rig the blaster in series with the light circuit, and it would have to fire at exactly the right time. that'll get them." one of the seamen cleared his throat. "maybe it would--or maybe not. this is no time for theories. we're speaking for all the men now. we don't mean to stay aboard to be blasted by the _kilwanni_ or strangled by these damned snakes. we want to take the launches." "supposin' you did," hodge countered. "you'd last just till the _mermaid's_ hit. then the potential would flatten out, with the launches stickin' up in it like sore thumbs. there ain't no anti-grids on them, and you couldn't get away quick enough." "we'd rather take our chances than go down with this tub," snarled the other man. "you ain't going to stop us!" hodge shrugged, then stared in amazement at kort, who stood by the door with a leveled electro-gun. "i'm stopping you. listen--you won't last five minutes out there in the launches, without anti-grids. give sparks an hour to rig a stroboscope and we can get back into the stokehole. with pressure on the boilers we can charge the anti-grids and the storm won't touch us." the men looked black rage at him, but made no move. hodge's right hand hovered over his own gun. "don't draw!" snapped kort. "i don't want to hurt you, hodge, but this means the life of all of us, not just one or two." "forgettin' something, ain't you?" asked hodge dryly. "i'd be all for you, if we had an hour to spare. take a look at the grids." kort risked a glance aloft, through the wheelhouse windows. against a dark, sultry sky the spiral network of the anti-grids already glowed with faint pricklings of st. elmo's light--harmless prologue to the storm to come. any weather-wise sailor could read the menace in those flaming curtains to port, swirling in fiery splendor, very tapestries of hell. "won't take them but forty minutes, maybe, to get here," continued hodge inexorably. "and after you've got your stroboscope, and killed the critters, it'll take thirty minutes to get pressure on the boilers. not a chance your way. better stow the gun and go along in the launches." it was like a pit opening before kort's feet. bitterly he realized his mistake--he had forgotten those all-important thirty minutes needed to get enough pressure for the anti-grid generators. actually there remained perhaps ten minutes to defeat the sea monsters and regain the stokehole. he'd been making a fool of himself, delaying the men's last forlorn dash for life. sheepishly he holstered his gun while the seamen stalked out. seconds later came the groan of pulleys as the first launch swung out from the davits. hodge slouched over the chart table, stared out at the activity on deck. the third launch splashed noisily into the sea. men scrambled down the davit lines. far in the bow swayed, unheeded, one of the blind, deadly creatures from the depths. "few hours ago," hodge rumbled, "all we worried about was getting a catch aboard. but the sea changes things before you know it. take this ship--ought to be fit to ride out any _kilwanni_. now she ain't, all on account of the sea. kilwanni's part of the sea too--never get 'em over the land. bolts fat as the mainmast and red hot, lastin' ten seconds, some of 'em. melt the chocks right off the deck--" "damn!" exclaimed kort. "why didn't i--" "steady, son. too late now. the last launch's gone." "why didn't i think of it before?" asked kort wildly. "how many drums has the captain got for that blaster?" hodge chuckled. "if i know spale, he's got twenty or thirty. spale! holy cheroot, we forgot all about _him_!" * * * * * without a word they rushed together to the captain's cabin. hodge flung the door wide. spale lay as they had left him, motionless in his bunk. but at sight of his face kort turned cold within. the normally flushed features were a dull purple. "critters got him too," hodge said calmly. "probably never felt a thing, the shape he was in." he stooped over the desk in the far corner, tossed a jumble of bottles, pipes, pencils and other miscellany out of one drawer after another, at last uttered a triumphant grunt. "here!" kort snatched the squat black cylinder hodge tossed to him. the first mate delved further. "plenty more in here--sure you want 'em, son?" "all of them," said kort breathlessly, tearing the discharged drum from the blaster and fitting the new one in its place. while the mate's back was turned he ripped away a small black box affixed beneath the weapon's chunky barrel, and twisted together the raw ends of the wires thus exposed. furtively he looked up to see whether hodge had noticed, but the latter was still bent over the desk. suddenly the blaster seemed to turn ice cold in kort's hand. for a moment, he doubted his ability to press the trigger. his nerves seemed frozen, incapable of action in the dread need of the moment. as though a hand other than his own had loosed it, he saw the bolt stab white-hot across the cabin, its crash far louder than in the stokehole, the tang of ozone sharp instantly after. hodge leaped wildly, spun around in open mouthed astonishment. silently kort pointed to the bunk, behind which the painted bulkhead showed a sear of flame. sprawled across spale's body lay the dingy white carcass of a sea slug, streaked and blackened by the bolt. "it came through the bulkhead," said kort tensely. "maybe it was the one that got spale. there wasn't time to warn you." "thanks, son. dying by the _kilwanni_ would be a pleasure compared to making a meal for _that_. but how come?" "i took a chance," kort said slowly. "i took the choke condenser off. that's what limits each bolt to a twentieth of the drum's capacity and damps out all oscillation. without it the whole drum fired at once, and because the charge oscillated it lasted about a hundred times as long as before--long enough to bridge the thing's vibratory period. the bolt hit while it was there, and killed it." hodge snatched up the drums and stuffed them into his pockets. "come on! we'll roast out the rest of 'em--what's wrong, son?" kort laid the blaster wearily upon the desk. "look at it. the full drum charge burnt out the electrode tube." his voice was bitter. "i forgot that, too. we'd need a new blaster for each one!" hodge's ruddy, wind-roughened face paled to grayness. he threw the drums alongside the ruined weapon, cursing steadily. idly kort prodded the dingy white carcass with the barrel of his electro gun. it was quite solid, indubitably dead. he pushed it off spale, and it landed with a _thunk_ on the floor. "hodge!" he said suddenly. "come with me." he ran from the cabin. his flashlight, lighting the pitch dark passages of the deserted ship, found the catwalk above the stokehole. "well, i'm blessed!" murmured hodge a moment later. five bodies lay in the black pit below. there was still a faint glow of embers in the firebox. but although kort flashed the light everywhere, there was no sign of the sea slugs. "what are we waitin' for?" demanded hodge fiercely. it was he who led now. seconds later, log after log of the furiously inflammable _kwahna_ was disappearing into the fire-boxes. blowers, powered by auxiliary batteries, shrieked at full speed. mercury surged and simmered within the tubes. behind the fire doors infernos raged. once hodge vanished briefly to close the anti-grid switches and open the throttles of the high potential shield generators. kort steadily kept on feeding the voracious boilers. there was as yet no pressure to turn the lighting dynamos. he worked by the gleam of flames alone. "run topside, son," gasped the older man at last. "see if you can signal the launches--we'll never make it by ourselves." in two minutes kort gained the deck. the first thing his eyes sought was the mainmast grid. it had struck an aurora, no longer the pale blue of ten minutes ago, by a hot, bright yellow signifying that the arresters were bypassing current to the sea. how long before they would break down under the rising potential? he ran to the starboard rail at the sound of voices, the bump of a boat touching the ship's side, and almost collided with a grinning, brawny stoker. the launches were back! men slapped him jubilantly on the back, dignity, discipline and all else forgotten. smoke from the _mermaid's_ funnel had announced to them the conquest of the creatures from the sea. ten minutes later the thin blue thread was a belching cloud. below decks turbo-generators whined at speed, and aloft the anti-potential grids gleamed with the soft green halos of the protective repulsion fields. * * * * * her sodium fog lights boring yellow tunnels through the night mist, the _mermaid_ scudded over the _molo ivrum_ at her maximum of twenty knots. in the wheelhouse hodge noisily sucked his pipe, staring the while at kort, who had the wheel. "wouldn't figure on staying on this tub with me, would you?" hodge asked suddenly. "i'm in line for the captain's berth, but damned if i can think of anybody to recommend for my first mate. exceptin' you." "i--i hadn't said i was leaving," kort replied. "you hadn't said--but you were thinkin' plain out," murmured hodge. "noticed in the last few hours how the men are acting?" a grin touched his grizzled face as kort made no answer. "haven't noticed how they jump when you give an order now, son? you're a blinkin' hero, by jerusalem. weren't for you they'd be scrapin' ribs with the sharks by now, and they know it." kort flushed in silence but said nothing. "only thing i couldn't tell 'em," complained hodge, "was how you knew the things would have left the ship after you killed just that one." "that was a wild guess," admitted kort, spinning the wheel briefly. "that one was no more solid than the others--until it was dead. i wondered where it was when it wasn't there. and suddenly the answer came--all over the ship, of course. during that part of its period when it wasn't in the cabin it was in the stokehole and on deck and maybe on the bottom, three miles down, besides. because it wasn't several, but all one. just one thing, with the power of being several places at once." he paused, then continued. "you thought it fed on heat energy and oxygen. well, there's precious little of both three miles down. it could absorb more of what there was by splitting itself up--probably had to, to survive. by projecting ten images of itself, all capable of feeding for the common benefit--it had ten chances for food instead of one. when i killed it in the cabin it materialized there and disappeared elsewhere, because its vibratory form depended on life, that is, on will or instinct." hodge rapped the pipe on the palm of his hand. "wouldn't surprise me if you doped it right all the way through, son. and i can't say i don't believe it. sea's so full of surprises she never quite does surprise me." he moved to the door, paused. "you think over that first mate's berth. i think this is one crew that would be proud to have a gold brick mate. because you don't want to forget, son, that a gold brick is a pretty fine thing to have--if it's genuine clean through." doublecross by james mac creigh revolt was brewing on venus, led by the descendant of the first earthmen to land. svan was the leader making the final plans--plotting them a bit too well. [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.] the officer of the deck was pleased as he returned to the main lock. there was no reason why everything shouldn't have been functioning perfectly, of course, but he was pleased to have it confirmed, all the same. the executive officer was moodily smoking a cigarette in the open lock, staring out over the dank venusian terrain at the native town. he turned. "everything shipshape, i take it!" he commented. the od nodded. "i'll have a blank log if this keeps up," he said. "every man accounted for except the delegation, cargo stowed, drivers ready to lift as soon as they come back." the exec tossed away his cigarette. "_if_ they come back." "is there any question?" the exec shrugged. "i don't know, lowry," he said. "this is a funny place. i don't trust the natives." lowry lifted his eyebrows. "oh? but after all, they're human beings, just like us--" "not any more. four or five generations ago they were. lord, they don't even look human any more. those white, flabby skins--i don't like them." "acclimation," lowry said scientifically. "they had to acclimate themselves to venus's climate. they're friendly enough." the exec shrugged again. he stared at the wooden shacks that were the outskirts of the native city, dimly visible through the ever-present venusian mist. the native guard of honor, posted a hundred yards from the earth-ship, stood stolidly at attention with their old-fashioned proton-rifles slung over their backs. a few natives were gazing wonderingly at the great ship, but made no move to pass the line of guards. "of course," lowry said suddenly, "there's a minority who are afraid of us. i was in town yesterday, and i talked with some of the natives. they think there will be hordes of immigrants from earth, now that we know venus is habitable. 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. well--" he laughed--"maybe they will. after all, the fittest survive. that's a basic law of--" the annunciator over the open lock clanged vigorously, and a metallic voice rasped: "officer of the deck! post number one! 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. sure enough, it was glowing red--might have been glowing for minutes. he snatched at the hand-phone dangling from the wall, shouted into it. "set up a screen! notify the delegation! alert a landing party!" but even while he was giving orders, the warning light flickered suddenly and went out. stricken, lowry turned to the exec. the executive officer nodded gloomily. he said, "you see!" * * * * * "you see?" svan clicked off the listening-machine and turned around. the five others in the room looked apprehensive. "you see?" svan repeated. "from their own mouths you have heard it. the council was right." the younger of the two women sighed. she might have been beautiful, in spite of her dead-white skin, if there had been a scrap of hair on her head. "svan, i'm afraid," she said. "who are we to decide if this is a good thing? our parents came from earth. perhaps there will be trouble at first, if colonists come, but we are of the same blood." svan laughed harshly. "_they_ don't think so. you heard them. we are not human any more. the officer said it." the other woman spoke unexpectedly. "the council was right," she agreed. "svan, what must we do?" svan raised his hand, thoughtfully. "one moment. ingra, do you still object?" the younger woman shrank back before the glare in his eyes. she looked around at the others, found them reluctant and uneasy, but visibly convinced by svan. "no," she said slowly. "i do not object." "and the rest of us? does any of us object?" svan eyed them, each in turn. there was a slow but unanimous gesture of assent. "good," said svan. "then we must act. the council has told us that we alone will decide our course of action. we have agreed that, if the earth-ship returns, it means disaster for venus. therefore, it must not return." an old man shifted restlessly. "but they are strong, svan," he complained. "they have weapons. we cannot force them to stay." svan nodded. "no. they will leave. but they will never get back to earth." "never get back to earth?" the old man gasped. "has the council authorized--murder?" svan shrugged. "the council did not know what we would face. the councilmen could not come to the city and see what strength the earth-ship has." he paused dangerously. "toller," he said, "do you object?" like the girl, the old man retreated before his eyes. his voice was dull. "what is your plan?" he asked. svan smiled, and it was like a dark flame. he reached to a box at his feet, held up a shiny metal globe. "one of us will plant this in the ship. it will be set by means of this dial--" he touched a spot on the surface of the globe with a pallid finger--"to do nothing for forty hours. then--it will explode. atomite." he grinned triumphantly, looking from face to face. the grin faded uncertainly as he saw what was in their eyes--uncertainty, irresolution. abruptly he set the bomb down, savagely ripped six leaves off a writing tablet on the table next him. he took a pencil and made a mark on one of them, held it up. "we will let chance decide who is to do the work," he said angrily. "is there anyone here who is afraid? there will be danger, i think...." no answer. svan jerked his head. "good," he said. "ingra, bring me that bowl." silently the girl picked up an opaque glass bowl from the broad arm of her chair. 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. "you first, ingra," he said. 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. all eyes were on him. no one had looked at their slips. svan, too, had left his unopened. he sat at the table, facing them. "this is the plan," he said. "we will go, all six of us, in my ground car, to look at the earth-ship. no one will suspect--the whole city has been to see it already. one will get out, at the best point we can find. it is almost dusk now. he can hide, surely, in the vegetation. the other five will start back. something will go wrong with the car--perhaps it will run off the road, start to sink in the swamp. the guards will be called. there will be commotion--that is easy enough, after all; a hysterical woman, a few screams, that's all there is to it. and the sixth person will have his chance to steal to the side of the ship. the bomb is magnetic. 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." there was comprehension in their eyes, svan saw ... but still that uncertainty. impatiently, he crackled: "look at the slips!" though he had willed his eyes away from it, his fingers had rebelled. instinctively they had opened the slip, turned it over and over, striving to detect if it was the fatal one. they had felt nothing.... and his eyes saw nothing. the slip was blank. he gave it but a second's glance, then looked up to see who had won the lethal game of chance. almost he was disappointed. each of the others had looked in that same second. and each was looking up now, around at his neighbors. svan waited impatiently for the chosen one to announce it--a second, ten seconds.... then gray understanding came to him. _a traitor!_ his subconscious whispered. _a coward!_ he stared at them in a new light, saw their indecision magnified, became opposition. svan thought faster than ever before in his life. if there was a coward, it would do no good to unmask him. all were wavering, any might be the one who had drawn the fatal slip. he could insist on inspecting every one, but--suppose the coward, cornered, fought back? in fractions of a second, svan had considered the evidence and reached his decision. masked by the table, his hand, still holding the pencil, moved swiftly beneath the table, marked his own slip. in the palm of his hand, svan held up the slip he had just marked in secret. his voice was very tired as he said, "i will plant the bomb." * * * * * the six conspirators in svan's old ground car moved slowly along the main street of the native town. two earth-ship sailors, unarmed except for deceptively flimsy-looking pistols at their hips, stood before the entrance to the town's hall of justice. "good," said svan, observing them. "the delegation is still here. we have ample time." he half turned in the broad front seat next to the driver, searching the faces of the others in the car. which was the coward? he wondered. ingra? her aunt? one of the men? the right answer leaped up at him. _they all are_, he thought. _not one of them understands what this means. they're afraid._ he clamped his lips. "go faster, ingra," he ordered the girl who was driving. "let's get this done with." she looked at him, and he was surprised to find compassion in her eyes. silently she nodded, advanced the fuel-handle so that the clumsy car jolted a trace more rapidly over the corduroy road. it was quite dark now. the car's driving light flared yellowishly in front of them, illuminating the narrow road and the pale, distorted vegetation of the jungle that surrounded them. svan noticed it was raining a little. the present shower would deepen and intensify until midnight, then fall off again, to halt before morning. but before then they would be done. a proton-bolt lanced across the road in front of them. in the silence that followed its thunderous crash, a man's voice bellowed: "halt!" the girl, ingra, gasped something indistinguishable, slammed on the brakes. a venusian in the trappings of the state guard advanced on them from the side of the road, proton-rifle held ready to fire again. "where are you going?" he growled. svan spoke up. "we want to look at the earth-ship," he said. he opened the door beside him and stepped out, careless of the drizzle. "we heard it was leaving tonight," he continued, "and we have not seen it. is that not permitted?" the guard shook his head sourly. "no one is allowed near the ship. the order was just issued. it is thought there is danger." svan stepped closer, his teeth bared in what passed for a smile. "it is urgent," he purred. his right hand flashed across his chest in a complicated gesture. "do you understand?" confusion furrowed the guard's hairless brows, then was replaced by a sudden flare of understanding--and fear. "the council!" he roared. "by heaven, yes, i understand! you are the swine that caused this--" he strove instinctively to bring the clumsy rifle up, but svan was faster. his gamble had failed; there was only one course remaining. he hurled his gross white bulk at the guard, bowled him over against the splintery logs of the road. the proton-rifle went flying, and svan savagely tore at the throat of the guard. knees, elbows and claw-like nails--svan battered at the astonished man with every ounce of strength in his body. the guard was as big as svan, but svan had the initial advantage ... and it was only a matter of seconds before the guard lay unconscious, his skull a mass of gore at the back where svan had ruthlessly pounded it against the road. [illustration: _svan grunted as his fingers constricted brutally._] svan rose, panting, stared around. no one else was in sight, save the petrified five and the ground car. svan glared at them contemptuously, then reached down and heaved on the senseless body of the guard. over the shoulder of the road the body went, onto the damp swampland of the jungle. even while svan watched the body began to sink. there would be no trace. svan strode back to the car. "hurry up," he gasped to the girl. "now there is danger for all of us, if they discover he is missing. and keep a watch for other guards." * * * * * venus has no moon, and no star can shine through its vast cloud layer. ensign lowry, staring anxiously out through the astro-dome in the bow of the earth-ship, cursed the blackness. "can't see a thing," he complained to the exec, steadily writing away at the computer's table. "look--are those lights over there?" the exec looked up wearily. he shrugged. "probably the guards. of course, you can't tell. might be a raiding party." lowry, stung, looked to see if the exec was smiling, but found no answer in his stolid face. "don't joke about it," he said. "suppose something happens to the delegation?" "then we're in the soup," the exec said philosophically. "i told you the natives were dangerous. spy-rays! they've been prohibited for the last three hundred years." "it isn't all the natives," lowry said. "look how they've doubled the guard around us. the administration is co-operating every way they know how. you heard the delegation's report on the intercom. it's this secret group they call the council." "and how do you know the guards themselves don't belong to it?" the exec retorted. "they're all the same to me.... look, your light's gone out now. must have been the guard. they're on the wrong side to be coming from the town, anyhow...." * * * * * svan hesitated only a fraction of a second after the girl turned the lights out and stopped the car. then he reached in the compartment under the seat. if he took a little longer than seemed necessary to get the atomite bomb out of the compartment, none of the others noticed. certainly it did not occur to them that there had been _two_ bombs in the compartment, though svan's hand emerged with only one. he got out of the car, holding the sphere. "this will do for me," he said. "they won't be expecting anyone to come from behind the ship--we were wise to circle around. now, you know what you must do?" ingra nodded, while the others remained mute. "we must circle back again," she parroted. "we are to wait five minutes, then drive the car into the swamp. we will create a commotion, attract the guards." svan, listening, thought: _it's not much of a plan. the guards would not be drawn away. i am glad i can't trust these five any more. if they must be destroyed, it is good that their destruction will serve a purpose._ aloud, he said, "you understand. if i get through, i will return to the city on foot. no one will suspect anything if i am not caught, because the bomb will not explode until the ship is far out in space. remember, you are in no danger from the guards." _from the guards_, his mind echoed. he smiled. at least, they would feel no pain, never know what happened. with the amount of atomite in that bomb in the compartment, they would merely be obliterated in a ground-shaking crash. abruptly he swallowed, reminded of the bomb that was silently counting off the seconds. "go ahead," he ordered. "i will wait here." "svan." the girl, ingra, leaned over to him. impulsively she reached for him, kissed him. "good luck to you, svan," she said. "good luck," repeated the others. then silently the electric motor of the car took hold. skilfully the girl backed it up, turned it around, sent it lumbering back down the road. only after she had traveled a few hundred feet by the feel of the road did she turn the lights on again. svan looked after them. the kiss had surprised him. what did it mean? was it an error that the girl should die with the others? there was an instant of doubt in his steel-shackled mind, then it was driven away. perhaps she was loyal, yet certainly she was weak. and since he could not know which was the one who had received the marked slip, and feared to admit it, it was better they all should die. he advanced along the midnight road to where the ground rose and the jungle plants thinned out. ahead, on an elevation, were the rain-dimmed lights of the earth-ship, set down in the center of a clearing made by its own fierce rockets. svan's mist-trained eyes spotted the circling figures of sentries, and knew that these would be the ship's own. they would not be as easily overcome as the natives, not with those slim-shafted blasters they carried. only deceit could get him to the side of the ship. svan settled himself at the side of the road, waiting for his chance. he had perhaps three minutes to wait; he reckoned. his fingers went absently to the pouch in his wide belt, closed on the slip of paper. he turned it over without looking at it, wondering who had drawn the first cross, and been a coward. ingra? one of the men? * * * * * he became abruptly conscious of a commotion behind him. a ground car was racing along the road. he spun around and was caught in the glare of its blinding driving-light, as it bumped to a slithering stop. paralyzed, he heard the girl's voice. "svan! they're coming! they found the guard's rifle, and they're looking for us! thirty earthmen, svan, with those frightful guns. they fired at us, but we got away and came for you. we must flee!" he stared unseeingly at the light. "go away!" he croaked unbelievingly. then his muscles jerked into action. the time was almost up--the bomb in the car-"go away!" he shrieked, and turned to run. his fists clenched and swinging at his side, he made a dozen floundering steps before something immense pounded at him from behind. he felt himself lifted from the road, sailing, swooping, dropping with annihilating force onto the hard, charred earth of the clearing. only then did he hear the sound of the explosion, and as the immense echoes died away he began to feel the pain seeping into him from his hideously racked body.... the flight surgeon rose from beside him. "he's still alive," he said callously to lowry, who had just come up. "it won't last long, though. what've you got there?" lowry, a bewildered expression on his beardless face, held out the two halves of a metallic sphere. dangling ends of wires showed where a connection had been broken. "he had a bomb," he said. "a magnetic-type, delayed-action atomite bomb. there must have been another in the car, and it went off. they--they were planning to bomb us." "amazing," the surgeon said dryly. "well, they won't do any bombing now." lowry was staring at the huddled, mutilated form of svan. he shuddered. the surgeon, seeing the shudder, grasped his shoulder. "better them than us," he said. "it's poetic justice if i ever saw it. they had it coming...." he paused thoughtfully, staring at a piece of paper between his fingers. "this is the only part i don't get," he said. "what's that?" lowry craned his neck. "a piece of paper with a cross on it? what about it?" the surgeon shrugged. "he had it clenched in his hand," he said. "had the devil of a time getting it loose from him." he turned it over slowly, displayed the other side. "now what in the world would he be doing carrying a scrap of paper with a cross marked on both sides?" planet of no-return by wilbur s. peacock the orders were explicit: "destroy the 'thing' of venus." but patrolmen kerry blane and splinter wood, their space-ship wrecked, could not follow orders--their weapons were useless on the water-world. [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from planet stories winter 1942. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] old kerry blane exploded. "damn it!" he roared. "i don't like you; and i don't like this ship; and i don't like the assignment; and i don't like those infernal pills you keep eating; and i--" "splinter" wood grinned. "seems to me, kerry," he remarked humorously, "that you don't like much of anything!" kerry blane growled unintelligibly, batted the injector lever with a calloused hand. his grizzled hair was a stiff wiry mop on his small head, and his oversize jaw was thrust belligerently forward. but deep within his eyes, where he hoped it was hidden, was a friendly twinkle that gave the lie to his speech. "you're a squirt!" he snapped disagreeably. "you're not dry behind the ears, yet. you're like the rest of these kids who call themselves pilots--only more so! and why the hell the chief had to sic you on me, on an exploration trip this important--well, i'll never understand." splinter rolled his six foot three of lanky body into a more comfortable position on the air-bunk. he yawned tremendously, fumbled a small box from his shirt pocket, and removed a marble-like capsule. "better take one of these," he warned. "you're liable to get the space bends at any moment." old kerry blane snorted, batted the box aside impatiently, scowled moodily at the capsules that bounced for a moment against the pilot room's walls before hanging motionless in the air. "mister wood," he said icily, "i was flying a space ship while they were changing your pants twenty times a day. when i want advice on how to fly a ship, how to cure space bends, how to handle a zelta ray, or how to spit--i'll ask you! until then, you and your bloody marbles can go plumb straight to the devil!" "tsk! tsk! tsk!" splinter reached out lazily, plucked the capsules from the air, one by one. kerry blane lit one of the five allotted cigarettes of the day. "don't 'tsk' me, you young squirt," he grunted around a mouthful of fragrant smoke. "i know all the arguments you can put up; ain't that all i been hearing for a week? you take your vitamins a, b, c, d, all you want, but you leave me alone--or i'll stuff your head down your throat, p.d.q.!" "all right, all right!" splinter tucked the capsule box back into his pocket, grinned mockingly. "but don't say i didn't warn you. with this shielded ship, and with no sunlight reaching venus' surface, you're gonna be begging for some of my vitamin, super-concentrated pills before we get back to earth." kerry blane made a rich, ripe noise with his mouth. "pfuii!" he said very distinctly. "gracious!" splinter said in mock horror. * * * * * they made a strange contrast as they lay in their air bunks. splinter was fully a head taller than the dour irishman, and his lanky build gave a false impression of awkwardness. while the vitriolic kerry blane was short and compact, strength and quickness evident in every movement. kerry blane had flown every type of ship that rode in space. in the passing years, he had flight-tested almost every new experimental ship, had flown them with increasing skill, had earned a reputation as a trouble shooter on any kind of craft. but even kerry blane had to retire eventually. a great retirement banquet had been given in his honor by the interplanetary squadron. there had been the usual speeches and presentations; and kerry blane had heard them all, had thanked the donors of the gifts. but it was not until the next morning, when he was dressed in civilian clothes for the first time in forty years, that he realized the enormity of the thing that had happened to his life. something died within kerry blane's heart that morning, shriveled and passed away, leaving him suddenly shrunken and old. he had become like a rusty old freighter couched between the gleaming bodies of great space warriors. finally, as a last resort so that he would not be thrown entirely aside, he had taken a desk job in the squadron offices. for six years he had dry-rotted there, waiting hopefully for the moment when his active services would be needed again. it was there that he had met and liked the ungainly splinter wood. there was something in the boy that had found a kindred spirit in kerry blane's heart, and he had taken the youngster in hand to give him the benefits of experience that had become legendary. splinter wood was a probationary pilot, had been admitted to the interplanetary squadron because of his inherent skill, even though his formal education had been fairly well neglected. * * * * * now, the two of them rode the pounding jets of a dx cruiser, bound for venus to make a personal survey of its floating islands for the interplanetary squadron's medical division. "ten to one we don't get back!" splinter said pessimistically. kerry blane scrubbed out his cigarette, scowled bleakly at the instrument panel. he sensed the faint thread of fear in the youngster's tone, and a nostalgic twinge touched his heart, for he was remembering the days of his youth when he had a full life to look forward to. "if you're afraid, you can get out and walk back," he snapped disagreeably. a grin lifted the corners of splinter's long mouth, spread into his eyes. his hand unconsciously came up, touched the tiny squadron pin on his lapel. "sorry to disappoint you, glory grabber," he said mockingly, "but i've got definite orders to take care of you." "_me!_ you've got orders to take care of _me_?" kerry blane choked incoherently for a moment, red tiding cholerically upward from his loosened collar. "of course!" splinter grinned. kerry blane exploded, words spewing volcanically forth. splinter relaxed, his booted foot beating out a dull rhythm to the colorful language learned through almost fifty years of spacing. and at last, when kerry blane had quieted until he but smoldered, he leaned over and touched the old spacer on the sleeve. "seventy-eight!" he remarked pleasantly. "seventy-eight what?" kerry blane asked sullenly, the old twinkle beginning to light again deep in his eyes. "seventy-eight new words--and you swore them beautifully!" splinter beamed. "some day you can teach them to me." they laughed then, old kerry blane and young splinter wood, and the warmth of their friendship was a tangible thing in the small control-room of the cruiser. and in the midst of their laughter, old kerry blane choked in agony, surged desperately against his bunk straps. he screamed unknowingly, feeling only the horrible excruciating agony of his body, tasting the blood that gushed from his mouth and nostrils. his muscles were knotted cords that he could not loosen, and his blood was a surging stream that pounded at his throbbing temples. the air he breathed seemed to be molten flame. his body arced again and again against the restraining straps, and his mouth was open in a soundless scream. he sensed dimly that his partner had wrenched open a wall door, removed metal medicine kits, and was fumbling through their contents. he felt the bite of the hypodermic, felt a deadly numbness replace the raging torment that had been his for seconds. he swallowed three capsules automatically, passed into a coma-like sleep, woke hours later to stare clear-eyed into splinter's concerned face. "close, wasn't it?" he said weakly, conversationally. "close enough!" splinter agreed relievedly. "if you had followed my advice and taken those vitamin capsules, you'd never have had the bends." kerry blane grinned, winced when he felt the dull ache in his body. "i've had the bends before, and lived through them!" he said, still weakly defiant. "that's the past," splinter said quietly. "this is the present, and you take your pills every day, just as i do--from now on." "all right--and thanks!" "forget it!" splinter flushed in quick embarrassment. a buzzer sounded from the instrument panel, and a tiny light glowed redly. "six hours more," splinter said, turned to the instrument panel. his long hands played over the instrument panel, checking, controlling the rocket fire, adjusting delicate instruments to hairline marks. kerry blane nodded in silent approval. they could feel the first tug of gravity on their bodies, and through the vision port could see the greenish ball that was cloud-covered venus. excitement lifted their spirits, brought light to their eyes as they peered eagerly ahead. "what's it really like?" splinter asked impatiently. kerry blane yawned, settled back luxuriously. "i'll tell you later," he said, "i'm going to take a nap and try to ease this bellyache of mine. wake me up so that i can take over, when we land; venus is a tricky place to set a ship on." he yawned again, drifted instantly into sleep, relaxing with the ability of a spaceman who sleeps when and if he can. splinter smiled down at his sleeping partner, then turned back to the quartzite port. he shook his head a bit, remembering the stories he had heard about the water planet, wondering--wondering- ii venus was a fluffy cotton ball hanging motionless in bottomless space. far to the left, mercury gleamed like a polished diamond in the sunlight. kerry blane cut the driving rockets, let the cruiser sink into a fast gravity-dive, guiding it only now and then by a brief flicker of a side jet. splinter wood watched breathlessly from the vision port, his long face eager and reckless, his eyes seeking to pierce the clouds that roiled and twisted uneasily over the surface of the planet. kerry blane glanced tolerantly at his young companion, felt a nostalgic tug at his heart when he remembered the first time he had approached the water-planet years before. then, he had been a young and reckless firebrand, his fame already spreading, an unquenchable fire of adventure flaming in his heart. now, his aged but steady fingers rested lightly on the controls, brought the patrol cruiser closer to the cloud-banks on the line of demarcation between the sunward and sunless sides of the planet. he hummed tunelessly, strangely happy, as he peered ahead. "val kenton died there," splinter whispered softly, "died to save the lives of three other people!" kerry blane nodded. "yes," he agreed, and his voice changed subtly. "val was a blackguard, a criminal; but he died in the best traditions of the service." he sighed. "he never had a chance." "murdered!" kerry blane smiled grimly. "i guess i used too broad an interpretation of the word," he said gently. "anyway, one of our main tasks is to destroy the thing that killed him." his lean fingers tightened unconsciously. "i'd like nothing better than to turn a zelta-blaster on that chunk of living protoplasm and cremate it." splinters shivered slightly. "do you think we'll find it?" he asked. kerry blane nodded. "i think it will find us; after all, it's just an animated appetite looking for food." he turned back to the controls, flipped a switch, and the cutting of the nose rocket dropped the ship in an angling glide toward the clouds a few miles below. gravity was full strength now, and although not as great as earth's, was still strong enough to bring a sense of giddiness to the men. "here we go!" splinter said tonelessly. the great cottony batts of roiling clouds rushed up to meet the ship, bringing the first sense of violent movement in more than a week of flying. there was something awesome and breath-taking in the speed with which the ship dropped toward the planet. tendrils of vapor touched the ports, were whipped aside, then were replaced by heavier fingers of cloud. kerry blane pressed a firing stud, and nose rockets thrummed in a rising crescendo as the free fall of the cruiser was checked. heat rose in the cabin from the friction of the outer air, then dissipated, as the force-screen voltometer leaped higher. then, as though it had never been, the sun disappeared, and there was only a gray blankness pressing about the ship. gone was all sense of movement, and the ship seemed to hover in a gray nothingness. kerry blane crouched over the control panel, his hands moving deftly, his eyes flicking from one instrument to another. tiny lines of concentration etched themselves about his mouth, and perspiration beaded his forehead. he rode that cruiser through the miles of clouds through sheer instinctive ability, seeming to fly it as though he were an integral part of the ship. splinter wood watched him with awe in his eyes, seeing for the first time the incredible instinct that had made kerry blane the idol of a billion people. he relaxed visibly, all instinctive fear allayed by the brilliant competence of his companion. seconds flowed into moments, and the moments merged into one another, and still the clouds pressed with a visible strength against the ports. the rockets drummed steadily, holding the ship aloft, dropping it slowly toward the planet below. then the clouds thinned, and, incredibly, were permeated with a dim and glowing light. a second later, and the clouds were gone, and a thousand feet below tumbled and tossed in a majestic display of ruthless strength an ocean that seemed to be composed of liquid fluorescence. kerry blane heard splinter's instant sigh of unbelief. "good lord!" splinter said, "what--" his voice stilled, and he was silent, his eyes drinking in the weird incredible scene below. * * * * * the ocean was a shifting, white-capped wash of silvery light that gleamed with a bright phosphorescence of a hundred, intermingled, kaleidoscopic colors. and the unreal, unearthly light continued unbroken everywhere, reflected from the low-hanging clouds, reaching to the far horizon, bathing every detail of the planet in a brilliance more bright than moonlight. splinter turned a wondering face. "but the official reports say that there is no light on venus," he exclaimed. "that was one of the reasons given when exploration was forbidden!" kerry blane nodded. "that was merely a pretext to keep foolhardy spacemen from losing their lives on the planet. in reality, the ocean is alive with an incredibly tiny marine worm that glows phosphorescently. the light generated from those billions of worms is reflected back from the clouds, makes venus eternally lighted." he turned the ship to the north, relaxed a bit on the air bunk. he felt tired and worn, his body aching from the space bends of a few hours before. "take over," he said wearily. "take the ship north, and watch for any island." splinter nodded, rested his long hands on the controls. the space cruiser lifted a bit in a sudden spurt of speed, and the rocket-sound was a solid thrum of unleashed power. kerry blane lit a cigarette, leaned toward a vision port. he felt again that thrill he had experienced when he had first flashed his single-man cruiser through the clouds years before. then the breath caught in his throat, and he tapped his companion's arm. "take a look!" he called excitedly. they fought in the ocean below, fought in a never-ending splashing of what seemed to be liquid fire. it was like watching a tri-dim screen of a news event, except for the utter lack of sound. one was scaly, while the other was skinned, and both were fully three hundred feet long. great scimitars of teeth flashed in the light, and blood gouted and stained the water crimson whenever a slashing blow was struck. they threshed in a mad paroxysm of rage, whirling and spinning in the phosphorescent water like beings from a nightmare, exploding out of their element time and again, only to fall back in a gargantuan spray of fluorescence. and then the scaly monster flashed in a half-turn, drove forward with jaws agape, wrenched and ripped at the smooth black throat of the other creature. the second creature rippled and undulated in agony, whipping the ocean to foam, then went limp. the victorious monster circled the body of its dead foe, then, majestically, plunged from sight into the ocean's depths. an instant later, the water frothed, as hundreds of lesser marine monsters attacked and fed on the floating corpse. "brrrr!" splinter shivered in sudden horror. kerry blane chuckled dryly. "feel like going for a swim?" he asked conversationally. splinter shook his head, watched the scene disappear from view to the rear of the line of flight, then sank back onto his bunk. "not me!" he said deprecatingly. kerry blane chuckled again, swung the cruiser toward the tiny smudge of black on the horizon. glowing water flashed beneath the ship, seeming to smooth into a gleaming mirror shot with dancing colors. there was no sign of life anywhere. thirty minutes later, kerry blane circled the island that floated free in the phosphorescent ocean. his keen eyes searched the tangled luxuriant growth of the jungle below, searching for some indication that the protoplasmic monster he seeked was there. "i don't see anything suspicious," splinter contributed. "there's nothing special to see," kerry blane said shortly. "as i understand it, anyway, this chunk of animated appetite hangs around an island shaped like a turtle. however, our orders are to investigate every island, just in case there might be more than one of the monsters." splinter buckled on his dis-gun, excitement flaring in his eyes. "let's do a little exploring?" he said eagerly. kerry blane shook his head, swung the cruiser north again. "plenty of time for that later," he said mildly. "we'll find this turtle-island, make a landing, and take a look around. later, if we're lucky enough to blow our objective to kingdom come, we'll do a little exploring of the other islands." "hell!" splinter scowled in mock disgust. "an old woman like you should be taking in knitting for a living!" "orders are orders!" kerry blane shrugged. * * * * * he swung the cruiser in a wide arc to the north, trebling the flying speed within minutes, handling the controls with a familiar dexterity. he said nothing, searched the gleaming ocean for the smudge of blackness that would denote another island. his gaze flicked amusedly, now and then, to the lanky splinter who scowled moodily and toyed with the dis-gun in his long hands. "cheer up, lad," kerry blane said finally. "i think you'll find plenty to occupy your time shortly." "maybe?" splinter said gloomily. he idly swallowed another vitamin capsule, grinned, when he saw kerry blane's automatic grimace of distaste. then he yawned hugely, twisted into a comfortable position, dozed sleepily. kerry blane rode the controls for the next three hours, searching the limitless ocean for the few specks of islands that followed the slow currents of the water planet. always, there was the same misty light surrounding the ship, never dimming, giving a sense of unreality to the scene below. nowhere was there the slightest sign of life until, in the fourth hour of flight, a tiny dot of blackness came slowly over the horizon's water line. kerry blane spun the ship in a tight circle, sent it flashing to the west. his keen eyes lighted, when he finally made out the turtle-like outline of the island, and he whistled softly, off-key, as he nudged the snoring splinter. "this is it, sleeping beauty," he called. "snap out of it!" "huh? whuzzat?" splinter grunted, rolled to his elbow. "here's the island." "oh!" splinter swung his feet from the bunk, peered from the vision port, sleepiness instantly erased from his face. "hot damn!" he chortled. "now we'll see a little action!" kerry blane grinned, tried to conceal the excitement he felt. he shook his head, his fingers flickering over the control studs. "don't get your hopes too high, lad," he counseled. "with those super zelta guns, it won't take ten minutes to wipe out that monster." splinter rubbed his hands together, sighed like a boy seeing his first circus. "listen, for ten minutes of that, i'd ride this chunk of metal for a year!" "could be!" kerry blane agreed. he peered through the port, seeking any spot clear enough for a landing field. except for a strip of open beach, the island was a solid mass of heavy fern-like growth. "belt yourself," kerry blane warned. "if that beach isn't solid, i'll have to lift the ship in a hell of a hurry." "right!" splinter's fingers were all thumbs in his excitement. kerry blane set the controls for a shallow glide, his fingers moving like a concert pianist's. the cruiser yawed slightly, settled slowly in a flat shallow glide. "we're going in," kerry blane said quietly. he closed a knife switch, seeing too late the vitamin capsule that was lodged in the slot. there was the sharp splutter of a short-circuit, and a thin tendril of smoke drifted upward. "damn!" kerry blane swore briefly. there was an instant, terrific explosion of the stern jets, and the cruiser hurtled toward the beach like a gravity-crazed comet. kerry blane said absolutely nothing, his breath driven from him by the suck of inertia. his hands darted for the controls, seeking to balance the forces that threw the ship about like a toy. he cut all rockets with a smashing swoop of his hand, tried to fire the bow rockets. but the short had ruined the entire control system. for one interminable second, he saw the uncanny uprush of the island below. he flicked his gaze about, saw the instant terror that wiped all other expression from his young companion's face. then the cruiser plowed into the silvery sand. belts parted like rotten string; they were thrown forward with crushing force against the control panel. they groped feebly for support, their bodies twisting involuntarily, as the ship cartwheeled a dozen times in a few seconds. almost instantly, consciousness was battered from them. with one final, grinding bounce, the cruiser rolled to its side, twisted over and over for a hundred yards, then came to a metal-ripping stop against a moss-grown boulder at the water's edge. iii kerry blane choked, tried to turn his head from the water that trickled into his face. he opened his eyes, stared blankly, uncomprehendingly into the bloody features of the man bending over him. "what happened?" he gasped. splinter wood laughed, almost hysterically, mopped at his forehead with a wet handkerchief. "i thought you were dead!" he said simply. kerry blane moved his arm experimentally, felt broken bones grate in an exquisite wave of pain. he fought back the nausea, gazed about the cabin, realized the ship lay on its side. "maybe i am," he said ruefully. "no man could live through that crash." splinter moved away, sat down tiredly on the edge of a bunk. he shook his head dazedly, inspected the long cut on his leg. "we seem to have done it," he said dully. kerry blane nodded, clambered to his feet, favoring his broken arm. he leaned over the control panel, inspecting the dials with a worried gaze. slowly, his eyes lightened, and his voice was almost cheerful as he swung about. "everything is more or less okay," he said. "the board will have to be rewired, but nothing else seems to be damaged so that repairs are needed." splinter looked up from his task of bandaging his leg. "what caused the crash?" he asked. "one minute, everything was all right; the next, blooey!" anger suddenly mottled kerry blane's face; he swore monotonously and bitterly for a moment. "those gol-damned pills you been taking caused the crash!" he roared. "one of them broke and shorted out the control board." he scowled at the incredulous splinter. "by the three tails of a martian sand-pup, i ought to cram the rest of them down your throat, boxes and all!" splinter flushed, seemed to be fumbling for words. after a bit, kerry blane grinned. "forget it, lad," he said more kindly, "those things happen. now, if you'll bind a splint about my arm, we'll see what we can do about righting the ship." splinter nodded, opened the medical locker, worked with tape and splints for minutes. great beads of perspiration stood out in high relief on kerry blane's forehead, but he made no sound. at last, splinter finished, tucked the supplies away. "now what?" he asked subduedly. "let's take a look outside, maybe set up the zelta guns. can't tell but what that protoplasmic nightmare might take a notion to pay us a visit in the near future!" "right!" splinter unscrewed the port cogs, swung the portal back. he swung lithely from the portal, reached down a hand to help the older man. after much puffing and grunting, kerry blane managed to clamber through the port. they stood for a moment in silent wonder, staring at the long lazy rollers of milky fluorescence that rolled endlessly toward the beach, then turned to gaze at the great fern-like trees that towered two hundred feet into the air. "how big do you feel now?" kerry blane asked quietly. splinter wood was silent, awed by the beauty and the tremendous size of the growths on the water world. kerry blane walked the length of the cruiser, examining the slight damage done by the crash, evaluating the situation with a practiced gaze. he nodded slowly, retraced his steps, and stood looking at the furrow plowed in the sand. "won't be any trouble at all to lift the ship," he called. "after rewiring the board, we'll turn the ship with an underjet, swing it about, and head her toward the sea." splinter nodded, dropped into the open port. a moment later, he flipped a rope ladder outside, where it dangled to the ground, then climbed out himself, carrying the two zelta guns. "we'd better test these," he said. "we don't want any slip-ups when we do go into action." he climbed down the ladder, laid the guns aside, then reached up a hand to aid kerry blane's descent. kerry blane came down slowly and awkwardly, jumped the last few feet. he felt surprisingly light and strong in the lesser gravity. he stood, leaning against the ship, watching as splinter picked up the first gun and leveled it at a gigantic tree. splinter sighted carefully, winked at the older man, then pressed the firing stud. nothing happened; there was no hissing crackle of released energy. kerry blane strode forward, puzzlement on his lined face, his hand out-stretched toward the defective weapon. splinter gaped at the gun in his hands, held it out wordlessly. "the crash must have broken something," kerry blane said slowly. splinter shook his head. "there's only one moving part," he said, "and that's the force gate on the firing stud." "try the other," kerry blane said slowly. "okay!" splinter lifted the second gun, pressed the stud, gazed white-faced at his companion. "it won't work, either," he said stupidly. "i don't get it? the source of power is limitless. solar rays never--" old kerry blane dropped the first gun to his side, swore harshly. "damn it," he said. "they didn't think of it; you didn't think of it; and i most certainly forgot! solar rays can't penetrate the miles of clouds on venus. those guns are utterly useless as weapons!" * * * * * neither of them moved for a long moment, then their eyes swung automatically toward the restless ocean. kerry blane jerked his head toward the ship. "get in there," he ordered, "and start that rewiring job. i'll stand guard out here, and, if anything shows up, use the hand guns we've got." "but--" splinter began. "damn it!" command was in the old man's tone. "if we're attacked, we won't stand a chance without the big guns. there are animals on this world that have digestive juices more corrosive than hydrofluoric acid--they could wreck the cruiser in ten minutes." splinter darted to the rope ladder, swarmed upward. he paused at the port, his youthful face concerned. "i'm sorry about causing the short," he said. "i didn't--" "get that job done," kerry blane snapped. "you're not to blame for anything that has happened." he watched the younger man disappear within the port, then shook his head slowly, peered about the long stretch of silver beach. he swore bitterly for a moment, realizing the full import of the stupid line of reasoning that had equipped them with the wrong style of weapons on their expedition. should they be attacked by the monster of insatiable protoplasm, their chances of survival were almost none. he swung in a slow circle, studying the forest edge, seeking any sign that would indicate the presence of an alien danger. tree fronds moved gently in the soft breeze, giving an uncanny life to the vines and creepers whose tips lay on the silvery sand. he had the weird prescience that he was being watched, but could not detect the watcher. he turned to face the ocean, sat on the dry sand, a dis-gun clutched within the curl of the fingers of his good hand. his broken arm throbbed unmercifully, a slow streak of pain traveling into his shoulder. he sighed unconsciously, lit a cigarette, then gripped his weapon again, the slim cigarette canted upward in his firm mouth. sand rustled a bit a dozen feet away. the old space-pilot watched the sand bulging slightly, then sliding softly to one side as a blunt, scaly head poked through into the atmosphere. he lifted the gun a bit, felt the skin crawl on his back, as a scaly lid peeled back from a single eye which stared at him with unwinking malevolence. the head emerged from the sand, was followed by the sinuous length of a snakelike body. eight tiny legs made little scraping sounds in the sand. feelers, like thick antennae, unfolded from cavities in the head, flicked slowly back and forth. the creature hissed suddenly, moved slowly toward the seated pilot. kerry blane blasted it into nothingness with full power of the dis-gun. a few flakes of smoking ashes drifted lazily in the breeze for a moment, and the odor of charred flesh was a dank miasma. "holy hell!" kerry blane ejaculated, wiped quick perspiration from his face. he felt the slight tap on his shoulder then, turned with a quick shake of his head. "listen, splinter--" he began, felt a terrifying horror draining all strength from his compact body. he tried to swing the dis-gun up, felt the double band of rubbery-like creeper flip about his shoulders, pinning his arms to his chest. terror constricted his throat, as his gaze followed the line of creeper to its parent plant that waited with blossom agape like some bloody, sucking mouth. he whirled to one side in a diving plunge, surged with a desperate strength against the coil of creeping vine that was coiled so tightly about his body, was brought to a bone-shaking halt with a suddenness that jarred his injured arm with a force that cramped him with nausea. his gun went flying to the sand, lay there, out of reach of his straining fingertips. and now the creeper contracted with a deadly purpose and inevitability. kerry blane fought with braced feet to pull away, felt himself dragged toward the avid blossom. he screamed then, called with every bit of power in his body, hoped that splinter would hear him within the dungeon of the ship. he strained, tried to whirl, fought again and again against the uncanny strength of the creeper. a dis-gun sang briefly; the creeper tightened as though in pain, then dropped to the sand where it writhed like the severed body of a boa-constrictor. splinter, white faced, leaned out of the cruiser's port, blasted the parent flower out of existence with a hissing discharge of dis-rays. "what the devil happened?" he asked. "what was that thing?" kerry blane came shakily to his feet, retrieved his gun, kicked moodily at the now-silent length of creeper. "some aggravated form of the earth's venus-fly-trap plant," he explained. "i was plenty lucky it didn't get me by the throat, for then i couldn't have made a sound." "yeah, sure!" splinter's freckles were dark against the sickly white of his skin. kerry blane grinned reassuringly. "better get back on the job," he said. "i'll make damned certain that nothing sneaks up on me this time!" splinter shook his head. "we might as well eat something," he said, some of the color stealing back into his features. "i've got some wire-plastic cooking; it'll be another ten minutes before it's ready." "bring the stuff out here, where we can eat and watch at the same time." "right!" splinter disappeared into the port, reappeared a moment later with several cans and boxes in the crook of his left arm. * * * * * he dropped down the ladder, squatted at kerry blane's side, opened the cans with twists of their keys. more composed now, he handed several boxes to kerry blane, grinned at the old pilot. "take several of those capsules, first," he ordered. kerry blane grunted disagreeably, took a gelatin capsule from each of the boxes, then dropped the containers into his pockets. he popped the vitamin pills into his mouth, swallowed convulsively. "satisfied?" he snapped. splinter laughed aloud, followed the other's example. then he handed a can of food and another of water to kerry blane, found cans for himself. they ate for minutes, finding themselves strangely hungry, their eyes drinking in the strange beauty of the phosphorescent ocean, feeling contentment softening the terror and action of the past hours. "it's just like a picnic," kerry blane commented whimsically, tossed a can toward the water's edge. and then they were on their feet, cans spilling from their laps, their dis-guns alert. the venusian creatures were like visions out of a drunkard's dreams. they scuttled from the water on great, jointed legs, their crab-like bodies glowing from the millions of phosphorescent sea-organisms captured in the stiff hair that covered them. they screamed in a pitch so high the sound was like a knife blade cutting into the terrestrials' minds. "this is it!" kerry blane yelled, dropped one of the creatures with a blasting streak of energy to its single, pupilless eye. splinter grinned woodenly, handling his twin guns with an inherent skill, dropping crab after crab, dull horror mounting in his eyes, as the creatures surged nearer. the attack seemed endless. the sand was slippery with a greenish blood; and the crabs fed on smoking carcasses. kerry's and splinter's disruptors roared in increasing fury, blasting ragged holes in the vanguard of the attackers. a crab leaped through, knocked splinter to his knees, was blasted into a quivering heap by kerry blane's instant shot. "back to the ship," kerry blane grated. [illustration: _kerry and splinter retreated, their guns hot in their hands, seeing the crabs erupting from the ocean in a never-ending stream._] they retreated, their guns hot in their hands, seeing the crabs erupting from the ocean in a never-ending stream. their breath was hot in their straining chests, and the high-pitched scream of the savage monsters was like a physical pain when it struck their ears. splinter went up the ladder first, climbing with one hand, firing with the other. kerry blane hooked his good arm through the ladder, braced his feet on a bottom loop, was hauled instantly upward. at the port, both turned and fired with a desperate, accurate fire. * * * * * the entire world seemed to have come alive. sinuous creepers flashed from the jungle, growing, uncurling with a fantastic speed, each capturing a dead crab, then pulling it back to the parent plant in the jungle. scaly monsters bored up from within the sand, feasted on the shattered bodies of the sea beasts, pausing now and then to fight away the crabs that attacked them. from somewhere came a flying creature that appeared to be half fish, half animal, which swooped, then mounted sluggishly into the air, a crab's phosphorescent body dangling from its claws. kerry blane shifted on his feet slightly, cleared four crabs from beneath the ladder, turned a sweating face toward his companion. "how long will it take to fix the control panel?" he gasped. "thirty minutes, at least." "get in there and fix it." "and leave you here, alone? to hell with you!" kerry blane drew the ray of his single gun like a hose across a horde of attackers, grinned mirthlessly as they fell in convulsive heaps. "i'm your superior," he grated. "get in there!" "this is no time for technicalities!" a tiny smile etched itself around kerry blane's mouth, was instantly erased. he heard splinter's gasp, felt terror driving him back a full step. it came out of the water with a deceptive speed, great loops of itself flicking toward the crabs that scuttled wildly to escape. it had no definite shape, no arms, no features, yet it was alive! it surged up on the beach like a congealed mass of glowing syrup that rose a full hundred feet into the air. it had no eyes, yet seemed to see the entire scene with an uncanny intelligence. "my god!" splinter said wonderingly. "is that the thing we were supposed to destroy?" "that's it," kerry blane said tonelessly. "and us with only four hand-guns!" and even as he spoke, his gun went dead in his hand. iv the sea thing was almost out of the water now, its pseudopods flicking to the bodies of the slain beasts, resting momentarily, then drawing back into the main bulk. almost instantly, the bodies had been dissolved and assimilated; so fast, indeed, that there was no appreciable interval of time between the flicking of the pseudopod and the assimilation. "get in that ship," kerry blane barked. "get the panel fixed the best you can. fix up a jury-rig. but fix it so that this ship can move within seconds." "but--" startled knowledge came into splinter's eyes. kerry blane twisted at the gun in splinter's right hand, tucked it into his belt, pulled at the second. his face was like chiseled stone, and he seemed strangely youthful again. "no heroics!" he said coldly. "one of us has to get back. i've lived my life." "listen, kerry--" "get going! if you fix things in time, i'll come aboard. if that creature ever reaches the ship, neither of us will escape." splinter nodded, his eyes filled with tears of mingled bafflement and rage. he touched kerry blane gently on the arm, then dropped through the port. kerry blane watched him go, shivered slightly, then lifted the port and clanged it shut. his mouth was a thin gash, as he turned to face the venusian monster. he felt no regrets; it was a good way to go, with flaming guns and the surge of excitement deep in his heart. far better than to die unsung and unwanted in some bed on earth. he fired directly into the slimy body of the gelatinous mass, laughed aloud as the flame of the shot pulsed redly deep with the monster's bulk. the gigantic blob of protoplasm seemed to draw back a bit, then flowed silently forward again. kerry blane half-slid, half-climbed down the ladder, raced along the beach to the left of the monster. he dodged the great blob of protoplasm that was spat at his running figure, felt a sick faintness creeping into his mind, when he saw the mindless horror move unerringly toward the ruptured body of a crab. he paused at a safe distance, blasted shot after shot of rending energy into the glowing bulk. a crab scuttled past him, plunged into the ocean, sank immediately to safety. the protoplasmic monster moved like glowing tar over the beach, seeking fresh food. kerry blane emptied the charge of one gun, felt a sick futility beating at his mind when he saw how little damage had been done to the insatiable slime. he tossed the gun to one side, drew the second, knew its charge was already half gone. the protoplasm flowed toward the ship, flicking loops of itself at the few remaining bodies, then stilled to motionlessness. kerry blane approached its bulk slowly, knowing he had to attract the cohesive slime his way, if splinter was to have enough time to finish his repairs and make his escape. he flicked the dis-gun aside, fumbled for a cigarette, laughed in sudden ironic mirth when his fingers touched the boxes of vitamin capsules. he opened one box, flipped the amber balls straight into the protoplasm. "a _balanced_ diet is the thing you need," he cried aloud, felt the first fingers of insanity plucking at his reason. the monster surged forward, great loops of itself questing for kerry blane. he dodged one, felt a second touch his jacket lightly. he tore his jacket off instantly, hurled it savagely at the towering death. "let's get it over with!" he screamed. and walked directly forward into the sea-thing. * * * * * in the ship, splinter finished his wiring of the panel, wiped his tear-streaked face with the back of a dirty hand. he tested the installments, found they were satisfactory, turned the ship on its belly with a brief roar of an underjet. then he peered from the vision port. he swore briefly, harshly, when he saw that, except for the gargantuan monster, the beach was empty. his hands were clenched until the muscle-ache traveled into his shoulders. "damn, oh damn!" he sobbed in futile rage and regret. he knew now how much he had revered the old man, how much faith and reliance the years had given him in the other's judgment. he felt then that he had lost more than he could ever regain. "that's the trouble with the service now," a voice said disagreeably. "too damned many, wet-diapered squirts! sitting around, bawling, when they should be tailing it toward home!" splinter turned incredulous eyes toward the side port, stared blankly at the grinning face of kerry blane. "what the--" kerry blane wriggled through the port, adjusted his broken arm into a comfortable position, then went directly to the medicine cabinet. he opened the door, ignored the other's amazement, proceeded to swallow half a box of vitamin capsules. "bellyache!" he said succinctly. "i thought you were dead," splinter whispered. "should be," kerry blane admitted. "but decided to live. guns went back on me, i had to figure out something else." he frowned. "that's the trouble with you young squirts, you never figure out anything!" he finished accusingly. "what happened?" splinter asked slowly. kerry blane jerked his head toward the vision port. "gave that thing a bellyache," he explained. "it assimilated two hundred vitamin d capsules. and vitamin d, which is _concentrated sunshine_, is as fatal to its sunshine-denied life as arsenic would be to yours." splinter gulped. "but why are you taking so many yourself?" kerry blane grinned. "just in case," he said succinctly, "that baby's got a brother who gets a bite at me. my pills and me will give it the damnedest bellyache this solar system ever saw." they laughed then, laughed in relief and in quick, ironic amusement; and there was a mutual liking and understanding in their eyes that could never be quenched. "let's be getting home," kerry blane said. "our assignment's finished." splinter nodded happily, reached for the controls. color blind by charles a. stearns _for that elusive green-white glamour, go to venus, the ads urged vain women. but that was only half the story--just ask olive-skinned sukey jones._ [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from planet stories summer 1954. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] her name was sukey kireina jones, and the blood of south asia was in her veins. mix that with the celtic, brother, and you've got something special. her eyes were dark, and mostly a little sad; her hair was black as the rim, and she stood barely five feet in heels, unless you count the curves, which, if nature had been fool enough to straighten them out, would have added quite a lot--and taken away a lot too. we called her sukey, and kidded her some, and what made her so beautiful was, she didn't know it. i had found her hanging around the surface transit offices, broke and alone, and got her the job as counter girl in the company hash house on the edge of the space-port. that was where she met my friend, harry thurbley. harry, was a licensed senior space pilot, but he would never let any of us call him captain thurbley. he said the title sounded pompous, and who the hell was he, anyway. the squarest guy i ever met, but you would have thought that he was ashamed of that blue uniform. me, chuck morris, i am only an engineer--a space going mechanic--and i would have given my share in the cosmic hereafter to wear it. i would have strutted some. but uniform or no uniform, i wouldn't have stood a chance with sukey jones. from the moment those two set eyes on one another, she had been harry's girl. i used to wonder how it would have been with her and me if i had never introduced them. just wondering. in those days there had got to be a heavy venus passenger traffic. it had become fashionable for earth women to bleach their skin to match their hair, and the coveted greenish-white paleness they wanted could only be accomplished, it seemed, by spending several months under the sunless venusian overcast, with its odd radiations. caterers to this fad left in scores for venus. tourist lodgings and recreational facilities sprang up on the frontier planet. beauty got to be big business overnight. this was only available to women with considerable money, of course. a round trip ticket cost just under twelve thousand dollars, and high living, on venus, came high indeed. their poor sisters had recourse only to special lamps and lotions to simulate the pallor of the movie stars and the debutantes. it was not the same. not in their own minds. it was the dream of every woman to make the pilgrimage, and not a few spent their life savings, embezzled, stowed away, or even sold themselves to venusian white slavers for the chance of that elusive glamour. sukey's skin was of a wonderful, delicate olive shade, and she hated it. whenever one of the female travelers would come in to eat, looking ghostly pale and opulent in their martian lizard-skin coats, sukey jones would sigh. i could tell that in her small body there was a man-sized inferiority complex building up, but i didn't mention it to harry. he would only have worried about her. he was thoughtful of sukey, and many a time when we got in, and he had business with customs or the port authority, he would say to me, "chuck, go and see sukey for me, and tell her i'll be along." and as for sukey jones, she may not have been overly bright, but that kind of treatment had been a rare thing in her twenty-three years of hard knocks. she worshipped harry thurbley. that night in march we had set the _altair_ down on the field just after dusk. harry had business at the office, and i was to drop in and see sukey first and let her know that he'd be in later. i didn't mind. i was always glad to do it. i went into the restaurant, and the place was crowded with passengers for the 2200 marsflight. i couldn't find sukey. there was a strange girl behind the cash register. i asked her about it, and she said she didn't know anything; she had just been hired. so i finally got linda, one of the waitresses, aside, and got the story from her. seemed there had been a couple of women--society dames in from venus on the saturday run--and sukey had heard one of them make a remark about her complexion. it was nothing much, just a whispered knife of criticism, but sukey had flared up. then the woman got really insulting, and sukey had reached over the cash register and pulled out a big handful of her platinum locks. that grab had cost her her job. * * * * * i went to her apartment, in a ramshackle tenement a couple of blocks away, and knocked on the door. a girl who claimed to be her roommate answered, and said that sukey had moved out. she wasn't supposed to tell me where sukey had gone if my name was harry. i said, who was harry. i was an insurance claim adjuster, and had some money for her. sukey had gone to live with a mrs. althea campbell. the address was 1711 oak drive. that was all the roommate knew. harry was waiting down at the office when i got back there. i told him what i had learned, and we caught a coptercab out to 1711 oak drive. i remember it was on a thursday. that turned out to be kind of important. it was almost ten o'clock when we arrived, but the lights were still on, and 1711 turned out to be quite a palace. "i didn't know sukey had any friends like that!" i said. harry didn't answer. his mouth was a firm, tight line. he was still thinking of sukey running out on him. i pressed the button, and an egg-headed man in a monkey suit answered. he was the butler; you could tell that. "a miss sukey jones live here?" i said. his eyebrows elevated half an inch. "there is a young woman _employed_ here," he said. "i regret to say that this is her night off, and she is not here." "employed," i said to harry. "she must have hired as a private secretary or something." i doubt if the stiff in livery had smiled in years. he shouldn't have tried it. it almost cost him his teeth. "hardly anything so grand as that," he said. "the girl is mrs. campbell's personal maid." harry was silent for a moment. i waited for him to speak. we looked at each other. "maybe we ought to talk to this althea campbell," i suggested. the woman was nearer to forty than thirty, and she could have been handsome once. even now her shape wouldn't have been bad if she'd taken off forty pounds. the poundage was unnatural and flabby, and her skin was blotched and unpleasant. she was a faded, natural blonde, i would say, but her hair was red now. harry was always polite. he went forward and introduced us. she was wearing a silk wrapper a couple of sizes too small, and she didn't get up to greet us. still, she didn't seem to be displeased by an unexpected visit by two males at 10:00 p.m. the look she gave harry was as if she might eat him. harry never seemed to notice how it was with women when he came into a room, but i could see it, raw and naked, on her face. she was a widow, and sukey had been working for her a week. harry said he knew of a job in the company office that he could get for sukey, and he asked mrs. campbell to let her go, without telling her we'd been there. mrs. campbell's face took on a little color, making it appear more mottled than ever. and her voice was too shrill to be comfortable. she said that maids were very difficult to find this day and time, and that if sukey didn't mind it, we shouldn't mind either. she wouldn't give her up. "let's wait and see what sukey has to say about it," i suggested. harry shook his head. "we can't do that. she mustn't know we've been here, chuck." "why? servants may be out of date, but there's nothing disgraceful about honest labor." "of course not," harry said. "but to sukey it must be embarrassing. that's why she didn't let me know what she was doing, don't you see? it must have been that." well, it was logical enough. and that was harry for you. always thinking first of sukey's feelings, whereas i would probably have turned her across my knee. but we had to do something. we were going to be in port for three weeks, and harry made an appointment to come back the following thursday, when sukey was away from the house, and try to reason once more with althea campbell. harry went back the next week, and the week after that, and he wasn't having any luck, but he said that at least he could make sure that sukey was still all right. meanwhile i did some snooping, and i found out several things about mrs. campbell. she was worth eighteen and a half million bucks, and she had spent half that much trying to regain a face, and figure, and complexion of twenty years ago, that she probably remembered better than they were. i talked to one of her former servants and learned that sukey could expect a hard time working for her. the woman was a kind of sadist with servants, but sukey would put up with anything to get what she wanted, and i knew what it was she was after now. i knew why she had taken the job. after i had learned this, i put in a visicall to the oak drive mansion. the butler's face appeared on the screen. i was too late. i got hold of harry as quick as i could, but i could see right away that he had already found out. mrs. campbell had taken sukey jones and left last night for venus. * * * * * i had known harry thurbley for ten years, and he was a phlegmatic sort. he had the kind of unshakable calm and nerve you only find in a man that's made peace with death a couple of times or so out beyond the planets. once i had seen him walk into a mining power plant on callisto and disarm a runaway pile that was due to explode in three minutes and blast away half the moon. when he came out he hadn't even been sweating. but he was upset now. i tried to calm him, but i guess he had a hunch. i had spent several years on venus and knew the place as well as any terran. i tried to persuade him that sukey jones wouldn't be in any danger so long as they stuck to the civilized northern part, but he didn't seem to half hear what i was saying. a month passed, and we made another trip beyond the belt. when we got back there was still no sukey, and not even a letter. harry and i went into the super's office and talked him into a transfer to the venus run for one trip. it was less than five days later that we set the _altair_ down on the surface of the white planet at medea, the biggest port city on venus. the low, spidery towers of the native architects of old were crowded and overshadowed by earthstyle skyscrapers which had grown up, mostly, since the last time i had seen venus, fifteen years ago. it was harry's first trip to the sister planet of earth, and he seemed surprised at the mushrooming civilization. but he still couldn't rest until we'd given the ship into the hands of the ground crew and gone to hunt sukey and her mistress. mrs. campbell, we discovered, had checked in at the majestic hotel for one week, and left, giving no forwarding address. after that she had been heard from in two or three of the border cities. she had made the rounds of all the beauty parlors and quack establishments in town. this was her fourth trip to venus, and all of the merchants knew her by sight. but she was not, currently, visiting any of these places. it seemed that althea campbell, a couple of days ago, had disappeared, which was nothing to me, except that she had taken a tiny girl named sukey jones with her. mrs. campbell may have had acquaintances about venus, but not many friends. especially among the natives, whom she loathed and treated like scum. the natives of the temperate belts were humanoid, and though primitive in culture, fairly intelligent. they were thin, and not too bad-looking if you could get used to the fish-belly whiteness of their scaly skins, and a partial lack of symmetry in their bodies, such as having one eye a couple of sizes bigger than the other one. it was from one of the venusians that we found our first clue. he was argol beg, the head of the native security police, an individual with silvery, heavy-lidded eyes, and long, nervous, quadruple-jointed fingers. he mentioned a name that i had heard a long time ago, and forgotten. marjud. marjud had been one of the rebel chieftains who had fought against the alliance in the late venerian sectional war, and now was outlawed from the northern settlements. i call him a man, but i had seen pictures of marjud once, and there were features about that gross body of his that no one except a venusian would believe. he was a native of the steaming jungles of the torrid zone, a forbidden area where the native form mysteriously shifted and changed from generation to generation for reasons at which the anthropologists could only guess. his race was still barbaric, for the most part, which was why it was off limits. it seemed that marjud was now in the beauty racket. that could have handed me a laugh, except that we were too worried about sukey. we got a newspaper, the _medean times_, and sure enough, there was his ad, in scrambled english that hadn't even been changed by the proofreader. see marjud, high priest of love and beauty it is for a smooth, white appearance and i will give you the limbs long and pale, and also supple and graceful. the address of the contact man was given. i asked argol beg why he had not arrested marjud. but marjud's man had set up in the colonial quarter, where argol beg had no authority, and he was not wanted by the earth colonial police. "come on," i said to harry. "let's see if we can locate the old gargoyle." harry was pretty worried by this time, and he didn't half understand what was going on, not knowing venus. "i'm with you, whatever you say," he said. we visited the address given in the ad, and got to talk to a normal-appearing native with slit eyes and a fishy stare. he said that marjud saw only terran females, and he couldn't help us. i persuaded him to change his mind in a few minutes, and then he told us that marjud was staying in a dhol cave outside the city. the dhol caves were made by a long-dead, semi-intelligent race of quadrupeds, and it wasn't uncommon for the none-too-particular venusians to set up housekeeping in them. there was a guard hanging around the entrance to this one. the contact man pointed out the guard and fled. the guard argued and i had to slug him with the butt of my gun. harry went over and looked at him. he turned to me and his face was clammy white. it was one of the equatorial species. "what's the matter?" i said. "what is it?" i told him. "marjud is worse," i said. "stay here, chuck," he said, drawing his own weapon. "if i don't come out within five minutes, come in blasting." * * * * * i started to argue, but i knew that he really wanted it that way. i had more experience at the rough and tumble arts, but he had taken a back seat so far, and it was his right. it was for sukey. i waited, while the minutes dragged. just as i was ready to go in, harry came out. there was a sick look on his face that i had never seen before. he was one of those people who can't stand the sight of freaks or anomalies. he took a deep breath of that damp, heavy, tasteless air, as though it were wine. "you found him?" "it was like--like hitting a--a--" he gagged. "i know," i said. "i saw a picture of him once. what did you learn?" "probably it doesn't make any sense. she--mrs. campbell--gave him ten thousand dollars, colonial money. i got that much out of him. in return he arranged for them to visit what he calls a 'sacred rainbow garden', whatever that means, near the equator. i got the approximate location of the place." for the first time i got plenty scared. i knew about the rainbow gardens, all right. on most of the surface of venus the direct rays of sol never penetrated the numerous layers of poisonous clouds that shielded and sheltered the livable atmosphere and the mild, though dreary climate underneath. but in certain areas curious updrafts allowed small shafts of sunlight to reach the surface. the areas were never large, but wherever the light struck, the effect upon a drab, colorless world was like magic. for a reason that science had never been able to learn, objects on venus, whenever exposed to direct sunlight, instead of giving off white light, diffracted it into its spectral components, and showed up in gorgeous, blinding hues. also, the vegetation within these charmed areas was subtly changed. the constant, radiant mist caused the trees and plants to take on warped, nightmarish shapes. the natives worshipped the rainbow gardens, and bathed in the colored mists that eternally swept up into the blackness of space from the surface. i didn't want to upset harry, but i had spent enough years on venus to hear a lot of curious stories that had circulated through the north about those strange regions. "come on," i said, "we'd better not waste any time." we had been able to charter an old-fashioned flutter-plane, which could land more or less vertically, and harry had the approximate longitude of the place from marjud. we could see it a long way off, fortunately, and it was like a big waterspout, except for its preternatural straightness, reaching up in a silvery, swirling column through the gray cloud layer twelve miles overhead. he didn't swing the flutter-plane too near to it. the updrafts around it, at this altitude, were supposed to move at terrific speed, and could shatter even a rocketship. there was some kind of gray stone building rising out of the gray-green forest at the foot of the column, and we landed a quarter of a mile away, so as not to attract attention. we walked in, and in a few minutes were able to make out the domes of the temple rising over the tops of the trees. the masonry was of a rough, dark basalt, crude and unbeautiful. the work of the primitive tribes that lived in the area. i had heard of giant towers and spired old cities which were supposed to have been the work of an ancient, long-dead, and highly evolved race, but there had never been any evidence of such places. probably these native temples had started the stories. there was plenty of reason to believe that the planet venus was new and in the first evolution when men from earth arrived. behind the temple itself rose a fifty foot wall of the same undistinguished stone, and inside this wall the mysterious column of mist rose. within that mist lay the rainbow garden. the only entrance appeared to be through the temple itself. * * * * * we were in an enormous rotunda, a sort of congregational throne room where thousand of natives might gather during the orgies that were irregularly held. there was not a living thing in sight in all that domed vastness. hundreds of idols of obscure primitive gods lined the walls. harry cupped his hands to his mouth. "anybody here?" the words bellowed and bounced against the lofty ceiling, echoing and reechoing. and they got results right away. from somewhere among those shadows at the other end of the room there was a blue flash. the air crackled and fried near my ear. we flopped on the floor and returned the fire. there was a scream. one of us had made a lucky hit. we waited ten minutes and advanced. we found the body of a venusian in colonial garb, one of the slim, regular-featured northern tribesmen. i knew that he must be marjud's agent, for northerners were rarely found in these latitudes if they could help it. beyond the dead venusian lay a narrow passageway that must lead to the inner chambers. harry wanted to rush the place. "take it easy," i said. "these boys are tricky, and they have little poison spears that kill on contact. there's bound to be a few of them hanging around the garden--the priests. that was marjud's underling back there. we haven't met the natives yet." we met them right away. three of them had been waiting for us in a sort of transept. something--a blunt hatchet probably--bounced off my shoulder and sent a sharp pain through it. i swung my fist and caught the assailant in his skeleton midriff, doubling him up. i could only see the outline of his shape in that gloom, and i didn't like it. it was out of a nightmare. harry was having better luck. he shoved the muzzle of his gun into the venusian's belly and burned a hole through him. the other one tried to run, but he didn't get far. harry was breathing hard. he grinned at me. "you okay?" he said. "i'll have a shoulder that's sore as hell for a while," i said, "but let's go." a dozen passageways led from the main one. "where do we look first?" harry wanted to know. "we'd better split up. that way we can cover more territory." "i don't like to leave you alone with that bum shoulder." "forget it. if there were any more around, they've cleared out by now. get going." i had a pocket light that i used in the darkest passages. most of the cloisters and compartments were empty, and didn't look as though they'd been used in years. at the end of one passageway i found the rooms of the priests, very sparsely furnished, and from there i got a glimpse from a narrow ventilation slit at the garden itself. the colored mists and the weird trees. but no animate being was moving out there. in the last room, the door was barred with a crude, vertical bolt. i blasted off the bar, and opened the door. behind it i found sukey jones. * * * * * she stood there looking scared, and not believing that it was really me. her eyes were big as dollars. and when she was sure, the way she threw herself at me and hugged me, it was embarrassing. "chuck, chuck! i never thought i'd see you again. i never--i'm so--!" and that was all i got out of her for the next couple of minutes. i gave her my handkerchief to dab at her eyes, and i got the story at last. she had been there two days without food and water, locked in. they had arrived a week ago, and during that time she had seen nothing except the interior of this room. althea campbell had heard rumors of the rainbow gardens, and that the natives, by bathing in the radiation given off by the colored mists, were able to restore youth and vigor for long periods of time. she had seen the chance of restoring her own body to its youthful bloom and of working the miracle that she had sought for so many years on half a dozen planets. she had sought out marjud, who alone had contacts that could get them into the forbidden area. "i still don't get it," i said. "where is she now, and why has she got you locked in here?" "i was afraid after we arrived, and i didn't want to do it. she said we had to take off our clothes and go with the priests into the rainbow garden. i refused, and she slapped me and said that i was impertinent and ungrateful. i threatened to run away and tell the authorities, so they locked me in here. "the she-devil!" i said. "oh, she's really not so bad," said sukey, forgivingly. "it's just that she's a little mad when it comes to being young and beautiful. she was forever talking about the way her arms and legs looked, and all, and crying, and bawling me out." "come on," i said. "let's find harry and get out of here." her lip quivered. "h-harry? is he here too?" "somewhere," i said, trying to frown at her, and not succeeding, "and worried to death. if i was him i would skin you alive." "i just wanted a chance to come to venus. that's why i took the job as maid to mrs. campbell. i knew that she was tremendously wealthy and came to venus every year to the beauty culturists." i didn't press the subject. the sky over venus hadn't faded her complexion much, luckily. it was still fine, even if she did look a little beat. we went out into the hallway and i yelled for harry. he answered. he seemed to be outside. i looked out one of the ventilation slits. he was standing out there with his back to me, looking into the rainbow garden. the mists were rising in wispy colors here and there, and i could tell without looking at my chrono that the long venusian night was approaching, for the distorted shapes of the trees were vague, and could no longer be seen more than a few yards away. "up here!" i said. and he looked up. he pointed to the garden. "thought i heard somebody calling out there," he said, pointing. "don't go away," i said. "and don't go in there, whatever you do. i'll be right out." i grabbed sukey's arm. "we'll surprise him," i told her. * * * * * sukey jones came up from behind harry and put her hand on his arm. he turned and they just looked at each other for the space of half a minute. harry's voice was kind of choked. he said, "sukey, i--" and then we all heard it. it was a woman crying. the sound came from the garden. harry took a step toward the mists. "wait," i said. and i shouted, "mrs. campbell, is that you?" "here!" her voice was faint and plaintive. just as i had remembered it. "come on out. we've come to take you home." "i--i can't." "how long has she been in there?" i asked sukey. "do you know?" "all of the time, i suppose." i shook my head. "it's risky business, but we can't leave her, i suppose. i'll go in." "i can't let you do that," harry said. "i'm the logical one to go. listen!" we could hear her crying. a vexed, lost-little-girl sound. i shoved harry aside. "you don't know what you're getting into," i said. "take sukey, and--" that was the first and only time that harry ever swung at me. the first thing i knew, i was sitting on the ground with my head spinning. harry was looking down at me and grinning sardonically. "i hated to do that, chuck," he said, "but you see, it has to be me that goes after her." he turned and took both of sukey's thin shoulders in his hands. he couldn't speak for a while. his eyes were talking, though; saying they were awfully sorry. and then he took a couple of steps into that colored mist before he stopped and looked back. he was still smiling, but it was a secret smile. he said, "it's too bad, sukey, but you know, eighteen million bucks are eighteen million bucks." "what the--?" i said. "harry, darling, is that you?" the voice of mrs. campbell was closer now. "coming, althea dear!" he said, and laughed at me. "do you suppose i _wasted_ all those thursdays, chuck?" he said. "'bye. take care of sukey for me. althea and i'll be along later." he turned his back on us and went deeper into the mists, calling her name, spreading the bushes with his hands and trying to see her. he was hazy now, hardly visible. but i saw althea campbell just an instant before he did. she came out of the rainbow mist from behind him, and her now-blonde hair glimmered with reds and greens, and blues and gold and purple. her naked body was snow white. she had got her money's worth, i suppose. marjud had promised her that pale complexion. and the curious radiations had given her smooth legs and arms that were pearl-white and long, and supple, and graceful. she came from behind harry and put her arms around him. all of them. genesis! by r. r. winterbotham renzu was mad, certainly! from venus' lifeless clay he dreamed of moulding a mighty race; a new creation, with himself as god! [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from planet stories summer 1941. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] the unreal silence of outer space closed in about _the traveler_. in front of the huge atom-powered space rocket hung the sun's dazzling disc and behind the pale, silver face of the earth echoed the light. captain vic arlen was a god in the heavens; dave mcferson, the engineer, was a demi-god. and what was harry renzu? it was hard to call a great scientist a devil. there was gheal--neither god nor devil, only a poor, hideous, half-human slave that had been brought with renzu to the earth from a previous expedition to venus. captain arlen quit trying to classify himself and his passengers. they were neither gods nor devils. not even men, taking the group as a whole. an ominous chill seemed to reach through the beryllium hull of the ship from outer space, caressing arlen's backbone. a faint cry sounded in the passageway that led to the sleeping quarters behind the control room. the captain tripped the controls into neutral. the acceleration was complete and from now until the braking rockets were fired, the craft would follow its carefully calculated orbit. again came the cry, a groan of pain and a moaning sob. the captain strode into the passage. "gheal!" he called, recognizing the venusian's hoarse voice. "gheal! what's the matter?" a repetition of the cry was the only answer. the passageway was open, but the sobs seemed to be coming from the cabin of harry renzu, the scientist who had chartered the moon rocket for his second expedition to venus. the captain paused before the cabin door, listening. the cry came again and he pushed open the door. the hideous venusian was on the floor, looking upward with his two light-sensitive eye-glands at renzu, who stood over him with an upraised cane. gheal's rubbery, lipless mouth was agape, revealing his long, sharp teeth. he had raised one of his long, rope-muscled arms to catch the descending blow. his hairless, leathery body trembled slightly with pain. "you dumb, dim-witted chunk of venusian protoplasm!" renzu snarled as he brought the cane crashing over the monster's shoulders. "when i want a thing done, i want it done!" arlen pushed into the room and seized renzu's arm before the scientist could strike again. "hold on, renzu!" arlen commanded, pushing the scientist back and seizing the cane. "lay off! can't you treat this miserable wretch with decency?" renzu's face flushed angrily. his deep-set eyes burned with fury. "this is none of your affair!" renzu snapped. "go back to your business of running this ship. i didn't hire you to run my business." "this may be your expedition," arlen replied stubbornly, "but while we're in space, i'm the captain of this ship and my orders are to be obeyed. my orders are to give this venusian beast humane treatment." a whimpering sob broke from the throat of the brute on the floor. renzu sullenly twisted his arm loose from the captain's grasp. he appeared more calm now. "you are right, arlen," he said. "your orders are to be obeyed. but you aren't a scientist. you don't know gheal. he's not like the animals we know on the earth. he has to be beaten." "not while we're in space. i won't stand for it." "you can't stand in the way of science, arlen. i shall whip gheal, if i deem it necessary." renzu ended his words with a suggestive snap of his fingers in gheal's direction. the monster cringed into a corner of the stateroom. "come with me, gheal," arlen ordered, beckoning to the monster. the creature, seeming to understand, rose to his feet and followed arlen out of the door. <tb> the captain took the venusian forward into the control room, where he daubed the welts on the creature's naked shoulders with arnica. mcferson, easy-going, but dependable old spaceman, watched the operation critically. gheal winced as the arnica touched his skin. he squirmed and tried to resist. "hold on a minute, cap," mcferson said. "look at the right shoulder, where you put the arnica; it's red and inflamed." "so it is, but arnica ought to help." "look at the left shoulder, where you haven't put any arnica." "great guns! it's almost healed!" "i'd say maybe arnica wasn't the best treatment." captain arlen corked the bottle and put it aside. "gheal looks like a man. sometimes he acts like a man. yet he's entirely different most of the time. "i've been watching him, cap. i somehow get the idea that gheal finds it unhandy, most of the time, to be built like a man." the captain laughed. he took gheal's arm and held it up. "look at that. good, human bones, but the body of a monster. i wish you could talk, gheal. i wish you could tell us more about yourself. why are you almost a man yet the farthest point south?" gheal uttered a sort of deep-throated growl. "renzu says you can be vicious--that you're a killer at heart. renzu said one of your kind killed jimmy brooks on the first expedition. you don't look like a killer. brooks was a big man. you'd have a hard time killing him." gheal's sight-glands stared from arlen to mcferson. arlen laughed and patted gheal's hairless head and pointed to a built-in seat in the corner. "you're welcome to stay here as long as you don't bother us," he said. gheal shuffled uneasily and whimpered, but he did not go to the seat. instead, he turned and moved toward the door. the creature looked ridiculous, clad as he was only in a pair of renzu's discarded trousers, which had been rolled at the bottom to fit his stubby legs. at the door the venusian hesitated and glanced back at the captain. then he slowly turned and shuffled down the passageway. "hey you!" captain arlen shouted. "come back here!" gheal did not stop. he was striding to renzu's room. he pushed open the door. a fear for renzu's safety rushed into the captain's mind. he ran after the creature and entered renzu's cabin. but as he opened the door he gasped in astonishment. gheal was crawling into a corner of the room, while renzu stood nearby laughing. "you see, arlen," smiled renzu, "i'm his master. he recognizes my authority and no one else's. he would not desert me, no matter how i treated him." renzu picked up the cane that arlen had tossed on the bunk a few minutes before. as the scientist shook the stick at gheal, arlen thought he saw a look of satisfaction creep into the creature's face. "just the same," arlen said, "i can't stand your beating him. he may enjoy it. he may be a masochist at heart, but i won't stand for it." "your mind is provincially human, arlen," said renzu. "when you look at gheal you see the product of an entirely different evolution. you see a creature without emotions, without ethics. he's devoid of every terrestrial feeling, especially gratitude. he may even hate you for taking his side against me." there was a trace of bitterness in renzu's voice. "i wouldn't be too sure, renzu," arlen said. "if the laws of physics apply on venus, as well as the earth, why couldn't biological and psychological laws apply there also. even the lowest of creatures show understandable reactions on earth. why not on venus?" "because gheal has been made differently," renzu said, with a repulsive grin. <tb> hour by hour captain arlen watched venus grow in size. the planet expanded from a glowing crescent to the size of the moon as seen from the earth; soon it floated large in space, filling half the sky ahead of the ship, a billowing, fluffy ball of shining clouds. its surface was entirely obscured by its misty atmosphere. arlen began braking the ship and he called renzu into the control room for a conference on where to pierce the cloud blanket. renzu, huge and muscular, overdid himself in graciousness as he greeted arlen in the control room. the scientist seemed to radiate exaltation and he strained himself to appear congenial. the man was excited, arlen decided, for arlen himself was thrilled at the prospect of adventure, of seeing strange sights on a strange planet. but the reaction was different in arlen. where renzu swelled and swaggered, arlen looked dreamily into the clouds ahead. "i'm bringing the ship around to the sunward side," arlen said. "it's best to land about noon--that is the noon point. the planet turns once in thirty hours and that will give us a little more than seven hours of daylight to orient ourselves after the landing." renzu nodded in agreement. all this had been threshed out before. "very well," he said, "but it is best that you pierce the clouds at about forty-five degrees north latitude. there's ocean there that nearly circles the planet and there's fewer chances of running into mountains beneath the clouds. once we're through the cloud belt, we'll have no difficulty. the clouds are three or four miles above the surface and there's plenty of room to maneuver beneath them." arlen twisted the valves and the deceleration became uncomfortably violent. renzu's first trip had determined the existence of a breathable atmosphere on the surface of venus, although the cloud belt was filled with gases given off by venusian volcanoes, and many of these gases were poisonous to man. in a few minutes the rocket ship stood off just above the cloud belt. mcferson checked the landing mechanism and made his final report to the captain. arlen checked the gravity gauge, which now would be used as an altimeter during the blind flying in the venusian clouds. "okay!" captain arlen called. "okay!" echoed mcferson. _the traveler_ nosed downward into the rolling clouds. a whistling whine arose as the craft struck the atoms of the atmosphere. repulsion jets set up their thunder and the landing operation began. the ship settled slowly through the clouds. the mist completely obscured everything outside the craft and arlen flew blind, trusting his meteor detection devices to warn him of mountain peaks, which he feared despite renzu's assurance that there were no high ranges at this latitude. at last the craft dropped through the wispy canopy to float serenely over a calm ocean which bulged upward toward them in the solar flood tide. to the northwest was a dim coastline. high mountains were faintly visible against the horizon. "perfect!" said renzu. "that is my continent--our destination. sail toward it." the ship zoomed toward the land at the comparatively slow speed of five hundred miles an hour. in a few minutes it was decelerating again, with the continent before them. the high mountain range clambered up from a narrow plain that skirted the sea. this plain was sandy, a desert waste, but renzu indicated it was the spot for the landing. arlen brought _the traveler_ down gently alongside a broad stream that emptied into the sea. when the dust of the landing cleared away, he looked with dumbfounded amazement at the venusian scene. as far as his eyes could see were barren rocks and sand: there were no trees, no grass, no signs of life. the planet was as sterile as an antiseptic solution. even seaweed and mosses were missing from the seashore. "maybe you know what you're doing, renzu," arlen said, "but it looks to me as if you've directed us to the edge of a desert." "'tain't no small desert, either," chimed mcferson. "my dear arlen," renzu replied, cracking his lips in another of his irritating smiles, "this is one of the most fertile spots on the entire planet. you must remember, venus is much different from the earth." <tb> immediately after the landing all hands, including renzu, were busy with the routine duties that the expedition required. gheal was given simple tasks, such as unpacking boxes of equipment to be used by the expedition, but the venusian seemed to attend to these in a preoccupied manner. he worked in sort of a daze, frequently whimpering like a sick dog, and turning his globular eyes from time to time out of the porthole at the landscape of his native planet. "he's homesick," mcferson suggested to arlen. "but look! what's he got in his hand?" it was a long white bar of metal. arlen quickly seized the bar and examined it. it was pure silver. gheal had been unpacking a box crammed with silver bars of assorted lengths and thicknesses, ranging from the size of small wire up to rods half an inch thick and a foot or more in length. a fortune in silver had been transported to venus. "well, that's renzu's business, not mine," arlen decided. he returned to his duties. there was much to do: the engines had to be recharged, preparatory to a quick takeoff, should conditions arise to make the planet untenable for earthmen. tests of the soil revealed utter sterility of all forms of life. it was baffling. some sort of bacteria should have been in the soil, even though the place was only a desert. arlen opened the arms chest and issued small but powerful atomic disintegrators to mcferson, renzu and himself. he did not give gheal one of the weapons, for gheal did not appear to have the skill necessary to operate it. his uncanny ignorance was so obvious. the disintegrators were simple magnetic mechanisms capable of collapsing atoms of atmosphere and sending the resultant force of energy in a directed stream toward a target. fire from disintegrators could melt large rocks almost instantly and it could destroy any living creature known to man. renzu strapped his weapon at his side and turned to arlen. "i'm going outside for a walk with gheal," he said. "gheal seems nervous and uneasy. perhaps his actions are due to his return to his native land. a walk might make him happier, in his own peculiar way." arlen nodded and went back to the control room to talk to mcferson. he found the engineer looking out of a porthole. "look!" mcferson said, pointing out the porthole. trudging along the beach, carrying the case containing the silver rods, were renzu and gheal. the venusian was walking with difficulty, but as he faltered, renzu would kick him unmercifully and force him on. "the devil!" captain arlen said. "he doesn't dare beat gheal when he knows i'm watching." mcferson shook his head. "maybe he's right, treating gheal that way," he said. "after all, renzu is a scientist and he knows more about gheal than we do. maybe he's right in saying beating is the only treatment gheal understands. besides, i don't know if i trust gheal. since we've landed he's acted like a tiger in a cage. gheal's a venusian and venusians are supposed to have murdered renzu's partner on the first expedition." "but even the worst creature on earth--except man, perhaps--doesn't kill without a reason. and even man sometimes has a reason, when apparently he hasn't." darkness descended rapidly on venus and renzu did not return. the two spacemen decided it was unnecessary to stand guard and turned in. renzu knew how to operate the space locks from the outside of the ship and could enter when he returned. gheal, whose clumsy fingers were too unwieldly even to operate a disintegrator gun, would not be able to operate the locks, nor would any creature like him. it was still dark when arlen awakened. the long, fifteen-hour venusian night was completed and still renzu had not returned. the captain awakened mcferson. they ate a light breakfast and did minor chores on the ship until daylight suddenly lighted the landscape. "do you suppose we ought to look for them? maybe gheal went haywire. maybe something's happened." arlen considered. renzu was armed, while gheal was not. renzu claimed complete mastery over the venusian, yet something might have happened to give gheal the upper hand. not that renzu didn't deserve it. "i'll go outside and look around," arlen said. arlen stepped through the locks. the warm venusian air was invigorating. he took a deep breath. a shuffling sound behind him caused the captain to turn. there, rounding the end of the ship was a creature, fully naked, staring at him with gland-like eyes and baring his teeth in a vicious snarl. "gheal!" arlen cried. "gheal! where's renzu?" the creature did not reply. instead, it advanced slowly with a shuffling crouch, stretching his arms menacingly toward arlen. <tb> arlen's hand went to his disintegrator. the creature resembled gheal, but it did not act like gheal. the captain's eyes swept over the animal again. no, it wasn't gheal. there were differences. it was another of gheal's race. arlen hesitated to kill the creature. if there were a tribe of the creatures in the vicinity, such an act would arouse enmity. it would lead to complications that would endanger renzu, who was away from the ship. yet, arlen could not be sure what reaction would follow a slaying. renzu had said that venusians had no emotions, in the sense that man has them. but gheal certainly had been nostalgic on the day before. that at least was understandable in a human sense. arlen leveled his pistol. suddenly another figure appeared. a low-voiced whine sounded as the second figure darted forward. it was the real gheal. he was still wearing renzu's trousers. the first venusian turned. he hesitated stupidly, undecided whether to continue his charge toward arlen, or to meet the foe who came from behind. finally, the beast apparently decided that arlen was the most tempting. the animal sprang at the captain. arlen held his gun ready to fire, but the venusian had acted with a swiftness that belied his clumsy appearance. before arlen could fire, a heavy, rubbery arm crashed down on his skull. a meteor shower seemed to flash through arlen's brain, and then darkness closed in about him as he tumbled to the sandy beach. arlen opened his eyes. he had no way of telling how long he had lain on the ground. on venus one never sees the sun; daylight appears and daylight fades, but there is no way of telling the time of day from the position of the sun overhead. the captain's head ached as he lifted himself from the ground. he shook his head to clear away the haze and he stretched his arms to rise. his fingers struck something leathery and cold. there at his side lay the venusian monster who had attacked him. a wave of nausea swept over him as he saw the lifeless body horribly mutilated and torn. the sandy soil of the beach was torn with the struggle that had taken place. arlen forgot his aching head at he examined the dead venusian. his disintegrator had not slain the venusian; clearly gheal had done the job. "so gheal came to my rescue!" arlen exclaimed. "renzu must have been wrong. these venusians do have gratitude." his eyes saw something else as they traveled over the body. protruding from the body was a silver rod. gingerly arlen tried to pull the rod from the animal's body, but it would not budge. was it a weapon? arlen saw other rods sticking from the animal, covered with blood. all of them seemed firmly set in the body of the venusian. arlen looked behind him. the locks of the space ship were open. he moved wearily to the door and stuck his head inside. "mcferson!" he called. there was no answer. arlen entered the ship. he carried his disintegrator in his hand. venusians might have entered the ship ahead of him. lights were still burning in the living quarters, but mcferson was gone. arlen moved on; he searched each cabin, but there was no sign of mcferson, until he reached the control room. there furniture had been overturned, instruments smashed, and a pool of blood lay on the floor. gheal had done this. arlen was sure that no other venusian could have entered the ship and crept up on mcferson without arousing suspicion. mcferson's disintegrator lay on the floor beside the pool of blood, indicating that mcferson had grown suspicious too late. the gun had not been discharged. the first thing arlen had to do was to protect himself from further attack. he drew his own gun and closed the outer locks. the next thing would be to decide what had happened and what to do. renzu probably had suffered the same fate as mcferson, arlen decided. he was alone, in a strange world, face to face with a race of mankilling monsters. the only thing in his favor was that one of these monsters had befriended him. but how long and how far could arlen trust this friendship? there was, however, a chance that mcferson or renzu still might be living. he had to know for sure about this before he did anything else. and the only way to learn was to investigate. he left the ship, carefully closing the locks and fastening them behind him. he found many tracks leading away from the ship, along the banks of the stream that flowed from the mountains. from among the tracks he picked out renzu's bootprints. there were tracks of gheal going away, coming back, and going away again. he distinguished the two sets of gheal's prints leading toward the mountains by the fact that one set was more deeply imprinted in the moist sand than the other. gheal had been carrying mcferson's body. but what was this? there was another set of tracks coming toward the space ship. they were not gheal's prints, for they were three toed. gheal had five toes. gheal and the creature who had attacked arlen were different--one had three, the other five toes. gheal might not have rescued arlen out of gratitude after all. a natural enmity might have existed between the two races of venusians. arlen's rescue might have been an accident. arlen studied. there was something else that fitted into the picture. if he could fit it correctly, he would have the answer. somehow, now, he doubted if gheal had rescued him out of gratitude; yet, he doubted if the rescue had been purely accidental. arlen returned to the space ship and loaded a haversack with food. he was going into the mountains to get to the bottom of the mystery. he scribbled a note and left it in the control cabin in case renzu or mcferson returned; if either were alive. <tb> the captain followed the stream into a deep-walled canyon opening into the mountains. a short distance from the ship he found gheal's discarded trousers, indicating beyond a doubt that the venusian had come this way after arlen had been knocked unconscious in the sand. a mile or so farther on he saw a print where gheal had placed mcferson on the ground. then, a thrill of gratitude swept over arlen, another set of boot prints appeared on the trail. mcferson was not dead. he was walking. the daylight was fading and arlen realized he would not have much more time to follow the tracks without the aid of his flashlight. the walls of the gorge were almost perpendicular now and nearly a mile high on each side of the stream. the river boiled and churned over the barren rocks, but its movement was the only animation of the scene. nowhere were there signs of life, excepting the footprints on the trail. at last the trail forked upward from the stream, following a narrow ledge of rock along the canyon wall. the footprints of the slain venusian now were wide apart and deeply imprinted in the sand, indicating that the creature had run rapidly down the path. "he probably spotted our ship landing and headed toward us right away," muttered arlen. "his presence outside the craft may have been what made gheal so uneasy yesterday. gheal sensed an enemy near at hand." but this didn't seem to be the answer, either. beyond the next curve the canyon walls slid back and the ledge widened into a gentle slope leading to the top of the canyon. as arlen climbed over the rim he found himself on a plateau. it was dark now, but the place was lighted by a huge campfire not far away. huddled around the campfire were four figures. in the still air of the night, arlen heard guttural grunts of venusians and above these tones he heard the sharp voice of harry renzu issuing commands to these alien beasts. arlen crept forward and concealed himself behind a rock. there were three venusians. he saw something else, too. mcferson, his head swathed in bandages, was sitting in the shadow of a huge square stone. arlen watched. he could not hear renzu's words and he moved forward to obtain a better view, when his hand sank into a sticky mass of slime. "ugh!" he grunted in disgust, lifting his hand. it was covered with a thick, viscous jelly. it was sticky and as he turned his flashlight on the stuff he saw that it was colorless and translucent. it was not a plant or an animal. it did not move, it was cold, and had no structure, nor roots. shielding his light so that it could not be seen from the campfire, arlen examined the ground around him. there were other small pools of the stuff in the hollows of rocks and in thick masses on the ground. the captain examined the material more closely. it looked strangely familiar, and some of the text-book science he had learned in college came back to him. he remembered examining stuff like this once under a microscope. it was not petroleum, but something vastly different--something that was synonymous with life. it was protoplasm! <tb> vic arlen gasped. "protoplasm! inanimate protoplasm!" he forgot he had been nauseated by the slime a moment before and began to examine the stuff closely. of course, it was protoplasm, it couldn't be anything else. vic arlen had studied it. he knew. nothing could hold water granules in suspension in exactly the same way; nothing had the same baffling construction. but there was a question: scientists admitted life could not exist without protoplasm, but could protoplasm exist without life? in living protoplasm, death alters the structure. but other processes than life could, conceivably, preserve the stability of the substance. this would explain the existence of inanimate protoplasm on venus. and why didn't inanimate protoplasm exist on the earth? arlen thought for a moment and had the answer for that too. animal life lives on protoplasm, as well as being protoplasm itself. animate protoplasm can reproduce its kind, but the inanimate kind can neither fight back nor replace its losses. the inanimate protoplasm on the earth had disappeared with the appearance of the first animal life. the coming of the first microbes had caused it to "decay." if protoplasm existed on the face of venus it meant there were no bacteria, no germs of any sort--_no life!_ how could arlen explain gheal without evolution from the simple to the complex? was evolution working differently on venus? again arlen had run up a blind alley. the campfire cast a flickering red glow against the clouds. in spots above the skies were tinted with other glows from the craters of venusian volcanoes. it was not absolutely dark, but it was far from being as light as a moonlit night on the earth. arlen crept closer to the scene. he could see the venusians plainly now. two of them had three toes, while one had five. the five-toed one was gheal. renzu stood before them, grasping his cane. he would make sharp commands and the venusians would rise. if they disobeyed, he would strike them with the cane. they would shriek with pain. at last these maneuvers ceased and renzu turned to mcferson. "they have to be taught everything," he said. "they have no reflex actions, no emotions, no instinct--nothing that the lowest creatures on earth may have. yet they have everything that makes those things in the creatures of the earth." mcferson did not reply. he was watching with staring eyes; eyes filled with horror. renzu reached behind a rock. he drew what appeared to be a human skeleton from the shadow. as arlen looked a second time, he saw that it was not a human skeleton, but an imitation built of the silver rods and wires that renzu had transported to venus. the truth was dawning on arlen, but it was unnecessary now, for renzu was explaining. "i have created life, mcferson. i have moulded a human likeness out of protoplasm and fitted it over bones of silver. an electrical device i have made starts the biological processes going and the protoplasm, working with chemical exactitude, reforms itself into glands, organs, muscles and nerves. the product is a beast, inferior to man but superior to the highest animal on earth, except that he is totally devoid of such things as reflexes, instincts, emotions and other survival psychological processes." as he spoke, renzu was moulding some of the protoplasm over the framework of bones. arlen understood now why the silver rods had protruded from the venusian he had found on the beach. those pieces of silver had been the creature's bones. "i made four of the creatures on my previous expedition. brooks helped me construct three of them, including the creature that attacked and killed arlen on the beach. i made gheal myself. gheal was a masterpiece. he was almost, but not quite human. that is why i took him to earth with me." "you're inhuman, renzu!" mcferson managed to say. "you're less human than gheal!" "gheal was more human than you think, mcferson. brooks, you know, was killed by one of his creations. the same monster that killed arlen accounted for him. yet that monster, in some ways, was above average. at least he had the beginnings of an instinct. he wanted to kill. after brooks was killed, i used his bones for gheal's skeleton." arlen stared in speechless horror and amazement. "and that isn't all. i'm going to use arlen's bones for a creature more human than gheal. perhaps, mcferson, your bones may be used for something greater still. i will make other men, and women, from silver wire and protoplasm, and create a race of venusians that will bring life to this planet. think of a planet that has evolution beginning with man and ending with something greater than man has ever dreamed. and i, mcferson, will be the god of this race!" mcferson tried to rise, but gheal rose with a low throated growl, and the spaceman sank back on the ground. <tb> renzu had finished moulding the protoplasm over the silver bones. with the help of one of the venusians he lifted the still form into the air and placed it carefully inside the stone behind mcferson. the stone had been hollowed to form a rock sarcophagus. arlen saw in the firelight that electric wires ran from a small battery beside the box. renzu touched the switch. there was a flash of blinding light and sparks flew over the box. then renzu turned off the current and opened the sarcophagus. he worked rapidly with his hands and then stepped back, holding his cane before him. from the box emerged another venusian. a replica of gheal's three-toed companions. for a moment the creature stood motionless, staring from the sight glands at his surroundings. renzu struck the monster sharply with his cane. the brute moved. again renzu struck and the creature moved. at last it seemed to understand, after renzu struck it repeatedly. the beast got out of the box. renzu belabored his creation unmercifully with the cane, each movement had to be directed. "they have to be taught everything," renzu said. "they understand nothing but pain. i have to beat instincts and reflexes into their dumb brains, for they have no inherited ones." that also explained why renzu was a complete master over gheal. the venusian depended on renzu for everything. so interested was arlen watching renzu train the newly made venusian, that the captain did not hear the scrape of a leathery hide on the rocks behind him. he was unaware of the danger until a ropy cord of some vile, repulsive tentacle seized him, pulled him off his feet to the ground and dragged him toward the camp fire. the rays of the firelight revealed arlen's captor: a serpent as large as a python which held him in the crushing folds of its body as it moved deliberately toward renzu. renzu was amazed at the sight of arlen. "i thought you were dead!" he gasped. "no," arlen said. "your creation didn't quite succeed in killing me." renzu smiled. "but i see that you did bring your fine bones to me after all!" he struck the serpent sharply with his cane and the monster released his grip on arlen. "the animal that caught you, captain, was one of our first experiments. it was by charging a string of protoplasm with electricity, that we discovered that we could make it live. the result was the pseudo-python, who makes a good watchdog, if nothing else. it's entirely harmless, since it feeds entirely on inanimate protoplasm. unfortunately for brooks, it was this creature that caught him and held him while no. 3--the venusian--killed him." "it was deliberate murder," said arlen. "perhaps terrestrial law would define it as murder," renzu said. "but here on venus there is no law. it was a scientific experiment." "and you will murder mcferson and me?" "i need your skeletons. they will be a fine heritage for future races of venusians. think how you and mcferson will be glorified in venusian mythology." renzu's eyes were glowing in the firelight with madness. arlen looked at the hideous venusians, seated nearby, watching idiotically. it was diabolical! "now comes an important decision. shall i use you, or mcferson, first?" <tb> mcferson closed his eyes. "the man's insane, cap!" arlen looked about him. the python was nearby, coiled neatly beside a rock, ready to spring if he tried to escape. one of the venusians rose and threw some shale on the fire. it was crude petroleum shale. an idea came to arlen. if he could put out the fire, he might be able to escape in the darkness. then arlen remembered. his disintegrator was still in his pocket. renzu, interested in his experiment, had forgotten to search him, believing perhaps that arlen had been disarmed in the attack on the beach. arlen was tempted to use the weapon now, and to blast renzu and his hideous tribe of monsters out of existence. but to kill a man without giving him a chance was not arlen's way of doing things. the venusians, too, now had a right to live. had they attacked, arlen would not have hesitated to kill, but arlen realized that the only vicious venusian was dead. perhaps renzu himself had taught that single venusian how to kill. "mcferson," spoke arlen, "are you all right? did gheal hurt you?" "he bloodied my nose and knocked me out," mcferson said. "he didn't mean to harm me. gheal really is gentle as a kitten." "i think i will use your bones first, arlen," said renzu. "you may sit down beside mcferson. i may as well warn you that there is no chance of escape. the python guards the only way back and my venusians enjoy the creation of another of their kind. they won't let a chance to see it be spoiled." renzu began filling some woven baskets with the inanimate protoplasm as arlen sat down beside his companion. "could you run for it, if i knocked out the campfire?" arlen asked. "i can run, but how will you knock out the fire?" vic arlen acted quickly. his hand brought the disintegrator out of his pocket and he fired straight into the center of the campfire. the atomic blast instantly consumed the inflammable material in the fire and the plateau was dark. "run!" arlen cried. "and look out for the python." arlen sprang forward. he heard a leathery scrape ahead of him. it was the serpent. he dodged back. suddenly from behind came a hoarse cry. arlen turned, ready to blast the venusian that had shouted. but the venusian did not attack. instead, it darted forward, and with a flying leap it sprang upon the python. a roar came from the venusian's throat. it was gheal. arlen would have recognized the voice anywhere. the faint glow from the volcanoes showed him the edge of the plateau. renzu was screaming behind him and he heard the pad-pad of the running feet of the three remaining venusians. but arlen was clear and mcferson was running beside him. arlen took his flashlight from his pocket and used it to follow the narrow ledge down the mountain into the canyon. behind the two men, sounds of pursuit grew fainter. "we're safe," arlen said, slackening his pace. "renzu won't follow us as long as he knows we're armed." "he's armed, too," mcferson said. "he wants our bones too badly to use a disintegrator on us," arlen laughed. the two men traveled on. the venusian dawn came swiftly. "you see, mac," arlen went on, "we're not human beings to renzu, but part of an experiment. science has overshadowed renzu's sense of values. perhaps he murdered jimmy brooks; we know he would have murdered us to perfect an experiment. renzu was creating life, and he would kill to do it. he wanted to be the god of a world that started with a complex organism instead of a simple microbe." "the only trouble is that the life lacked instincts that it took terrestrial animals millions of years to acquire," mcferson added. "that's what creation may be, mac," said arlen. "we did more in a few minutes than renzu did with all his scientific knowledge. gheal learned the meaning of gratitude. i treated him kindly, and he repaid me by helping us escape." they reached the ship. the sea was boiling over the sands. here and there, along the water's edge as the dawn broke over venus, they saw globose formations of inanimate venusian protoplasm, seemingly awaiting the spark that would turn them into living organisms. venus was in an azoic age, but life was beginning to appear. it was life created by a human god, who also was a human devil, a monster. future generations of venusians might worship harry renzu, unknowing that it was the lowly gheal that brought the first worthwhile instinct to their race. somewhere, far behind in the canyon, were four hideous monsters and a beast that resembled a serpent. this stampede of protoplasmic creation was led by its mad god, driven onward by the lust of this insane demiurge for the bones of his fellow deities. "okay!" said arlen, priming the rockets. "okay!" shouted mcferson. _the traveler_ was ready to rocket home. collector's item by evelyn e. smith illustrated by emsh [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from galaxy science fiction december 1954. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] [sidenote: _being trapped in the steaming h--l of venus is no excuse for forgetting one's manners--but anyone abducted, marooned, tricked, kept from tea might well crack under the strain!_] "what i should like to know," professor bernardi said, gazing pensively after the lizard-man as he bore the shrieking form of miss anspacher off in his scaly arms, "is whether he is planning to eat her or make love to her. because, in the latter instance, i'm not sure we should interfere. it may be her only chance." [illustration] "carl!" his wife cried indignantly. "that's a horrid thing to say! you must rescue her at once!" "oh, i suppose so," he said, then gave his wife a nasty little grin that he knew would irritate her. "it isn't that she's unattractive, my dear, in case you hadn't noticed, though she's pretty well past the bloom of youth--" "_will_ you stop making leering noises and go save her or _not_?" "i was coming to that. it's just that she persists in using her ph.d. as a club to beat men into respectful pulps. men don't like being beaten into respectful pulps, whether by a man or a woman. now if she'd only learned that other people have feelings--" "if you don't stop lecturing and go, i will!" his wife threatened. "all right, all right," he said wearily. "come on, mortland." * * * * * the two scientists slogged through the steamy, odorous jungle of venus and soon reached the lizard-man, who, weighed down by his captive, had not been able to travel as fast. "you blast him," the professor told mortland. "try not to hit miss anspacher, if you can manage it." "er--i've never fired one of these things before," mortland said. "can't stand having my eardrums blasted. however, here goes." he pointed his weapon at the lizardlike creature in a gingerly manner. "ah--hands up," he ordered. "only fair to give the--well, blighter a sporting chance," he explained to professor bernardi. to their amazement, the lizard-man promptly dropped miss anspacher into the lavender-colored mud and put up his hands. miss anspacher gave an indignant yelp. "seems intelligent in spite of the kidnaping," mortland commented. "but how does he happen to understand english? we're the only expedition ever to have reached venus ... that i know of, anyway." he and the professor stared at each other in consternation. "there may have been a secret expedition previously and perhaps they left a--a base or something, which would explain why--" "if you two oafs would stop speculating, you might help me out of here!" miss anspacher remarked in her customary snappish tone. professor bernardi leaped forward to obey. "you don't have to pull quite so hard! i haven't taken root yet!" she came out of the mud with a sound like two whales kissing. she brushed hopelessly at her once-white blouse and shorts. "oh, dear, i look a mess!" professor bernardi did not comment, being engaged in slapping at a small winged creature--about the size of a bluejay, but looking like a cross between a bat and a mosquito--that seemed interested in taking a bite out of him. it escaped his flapping hand and flew to the top of mortland's sun helmet, where it glared at the professor. "since you seem to understand english," miss anspacher said to the lizard-man through a mouthful of hairpins, "perhaps you will be so kind as to explain the meaning of this outrage?" "i was smitten," the alien replied suavely. "passion made me forget myself." professor bernardi looked thoughtfully at him. "a prior expedition isn't the answer. it wouldn't have troubled to educate you so thoroughly. therefore, the explanation is that you pick up english by reading our minds. correct?" the lizard-man turned an embarrassed olive. "yes." * * * * * now that he was able to give the creature a more thorough inspection, bernardi saw that he really didn't look too much like a lizard. he definitely appeared to be wearing clothes of some kind, which, in the venusian heat, indicated a particularly refined degree of civilization--unless, of course, the squamous skin protected him from the heat as well as the humidity. more than that, though, he was humanoid in almost a hollywood way. he had a particularly fine profile and an athletic physique, which, oddly, his scales seemed to enhance, much like a movie idol dressed in fine-meshed medieval armor. naturally, he had a tail, but it was as well proportioned as a kangaroo's, though shorter and more graceful, and it struck professor bernardi as a particularly handsome and useful gadget. for one thing, the people from earth were standing uncomfortably in the slippery mud, while the lizard-man was using his tail much in the fashion of a spectator stool, leaning back against it almost in a sitting position, with his armor-shod feet supporting him comfortably. for another, the tail undoubtedly served for balance and the added push of a walking stick and perhaps for swift attack or getaway. very practical and attractive, the professor concluded--too bad man had relinquished his tail when climbing down from the trees. "thank you," the saurian said with uneasy modesty, looking at him. "good of you to think so. you are a fairly intelligent species, aren't you?" "fairly," the professor acknowledged, preoccupied with a clever idea. perhaps existence on venus wasn't going to be as unpleasant as he had anticipated. "from reading my mind, you know what this blaster can do, don't you?" "i'm afraid so." "then you know what i expect of you?" "yes, sahib. i'se comin', massa. to hear is to obey, effendi." the creature turned and went briskly back toward the camp, leaving the others to stumble after him. mrs. bernardi gave a shriek as his handsome scaled form emerged from the greenish-white underbrush, haloed in luminous yellow mist. algol, the ship's cat, prudently took sanctuary behind her, then peered out to see what was going on and whether there was likely to be anything in it for him. "this is our native bearer," professor bernardi explained as the three scientists burst out of the jungle. "my name is jrann-pttt." the creature bowed low. "at your service, madame." "oh, carl!" mrs. bernardi clapped her hands. "he's just perfect! so thoughtful of you to find one that speaks english! i do hope you can cook, pitt?" "i will do my best, madame." * * * * * algol daintily picked his way through the mud toward the saurian, sniffed him with judicial deliberation; then, deciding that anyone who smelled so much like the better class of fish must be all right, rubbed against his legs. "well," remarked miss anspacher, using the side of the spaceship as a mirror by which to redden her somewhat prissy lips, "that makes it practically unanimous, doesn't it?" "all except professor bernardi," said jrann-pttt, looking at the scientist with what might have been a smile. "he doesn't like me." "i see that your telepathic powers are not quite accurate," the professor returned. "i do not dislike you; i distrust you." "the fact that the two terms are not entirely synonymous in your language would argue a certain degree of incipient civilization," the lizard-man observed. "you know, carl," mrs. bernardi whispered, "he has an awfully funny way of talking, for a native." "frankly i don't like this at all, professor," captain greenfield said, mopping his brow with a limp handkerchief. "if i hadn't been off looking for a better berth for the ship--all this mud worries me--this'd never have happened." "you mean you would have let the lizard get away with miss anspacher?" the big man's face flushed crimson. "i don't think that's funny, professor." bernardi quickly changed the subject, for he realized that the captain, being by far the most muscular of the party, was not a man to trifle with. "tell me, greenfield, did you succeed in finding a better spot for the ship? i must admit i'm worried about that mud myself." "only remotely dry spot around is an outcropping 'bout two kilometers away," greenfield said grudgingly. he shifted his camp stool in a futile search for shade. even though the sun never penetrated the thick layer of clouds, the yellow light diffused through them was blinding. "might be big enough, but it's not level. could blast it smooth, but that'd take at least a week--earth time." bernardi pulled his damp shirt away from his body. "well, i daresay we'll be all right where we are, if we're not assailed by any violent forces of nature. on earth, this might be a monsoon climate." "if you ask me, that monster is more of a danger than any monsoon." bernardi sighed. although by far the most competent officer available for the job of spaceship captain, greenfield was not quite the man he would have chosen to be his associate for months on end. still, beggars--as miss anspacher might have eloquently put it--could not be choosers. "what makes you say that?" he asked, trying to set an example of tolerance. "don't like the idea of him cooking for us," the captain said stubbornly. "might poison us all in our beds." "well, don't eat in your bed," suggested mortland, strolling out of the airlock in the company of the cat. algol, however, finding that the spot beside the captain's camp stool was as dry as anything could be on venus, decided to turn back. * * * * * "the difficulty is easily overcome, captain," the professor said, still holding on to his patience. "you can continue to cook your own meals from the tinned and packaged foods on board ship. the rest of us will eat fresh native foods prepared by jrann-pttt." "but why," miss anspacher interrupted as she emerged from the airlock with a large cast-iron skillet, "should you think jrann-pttt wants to poison us?" both men rose from their stools. "stands to reason he'd consider us his enemies, miss anspacher," the captain said. "after all, we--as a group, that is--captured him." "hired him," professor bernardi contradicted. "i've telepathically arranged to pay him an adequate salary. in goods, of course; i don't suppose our money would be of much use to him. and i think he's rather glad of the chance to hang around and observe us conveniently." "observe us!" greenfield exclaimed. "you mean he's spying out the land for an attack? let's prepare our defenses at once!" "i doubt if that's what he has in mind," professor bernardi said judiciously. "he may be staying because he wants to be near me," miss anspacher blurted. overcome by this unmaidenly admission, she reddened and rushed from them, calling, "yoo-hoo, jrann-pttt! here is the frying pan!" algol woke up instantly and followed her. "frying" was one of the more important words in his vocabulary. captain greenfield stared across the clearing after them, then turned back to bernardi with a frown. "i don't like to see one of our girls mixed up with a lizard--and a foreign lizard at that." but his face too clearly betrayed a personal resentment. "don't tell me you have a--a fondness for miss anspacher, captain," professor bernardi exclaimed, genuinely surprised. undeniably miss anspacher--although no longer in her first youth--was a handsome woman, but he would not have expected her somewhat cerebral type to appeal to the captain. on the other hand, she was the only unattached woman in the party and they were a long way from home. greenfield picked a fleck of dried violet mud from the side of the ship and avoided bernardi's eye. "one of the reasons i came along," he said almost bashfully. "thought i'd have the chance to be alone with her now and again and impress her with, with...." "your sterling qualities?" bernardi suggested. the captain flashed him a glance of mingled gratitude and resentment. "and now this damned lizard has to come along!" "cheer up, captain," said the professor. "i'll back you against a lizard any time." * * * * * although the long twilight of venus had deepened into night and it could never really be cool there by terrestrial standards, the temperature was almost comfortable. everything was quite black, except for the pallid purple campfire glowing through the darkness; the clouds that perpetually covered the surface of the planet prevented even the light of the stars from reaching it. "tell me more about the cross-versus the parallel-cousin relationships in your culture, jrann-pttt," miss anspacher breathed, wriggling her camp stool closer to the saurian's. "anthropology is a great hobby of mine, you know. how do your people feel about exogamy?" "i'm afraid i'm rather exhausted, dear lady," he said, using one arm to mask a yawn, and one to surreptitiously wave away the saurian head that was peering out of the underbrush. "i shouldn't like to give a scientist like yourself any misinformation that might become a matter of record." "of course not," she murmured. "you're so considerate." * * * * * a pale face appeared in the firelight like some weird creature of darkness. terrestrial and extraterrestrial both started. "miss anspacher," the captain growled, "i'd like to lock up the ship, so if you wouldn't mind turning in--" miss anspacher pouted. "you've interrupted such an interesting conversation. and i don't see why you have to lock up the ship. after all, the night is three hundred and eighty-five hours long. we don't sleep all that time and it would be a shame to be cooped up." "i'm going to try to rig up some floodlights," greenfield explained stiffly, "so we won't be caught like this again. nobody bothered to tell me the day equals thirty-two of ours, so that half of it would be night." "then i won't see you for almost two weeks of our time, jrann-pttt? are you sure you wouldn't like to spend the rest of the night in our ship? plenty of room, you know." "no, thank you, dear lady. the jungle is my natural habitat. i should feel stultified by walls and a ceiling. don't worry--i shan't run away." "oh, i'm not worried," miss anspacher said coyly, throwing a stick of wood on the fire. "small riddance if he does." "captain greenfield!" that part of the captain's face not concealed by his piratical black beard turned red. "well, if he can read our minds, he knows damn well what i'm thinking, anyway, so why be hypocritical about it?" "that's right--he is a telepath, isn't he?" miss anspacher's face grew even redder than the captain's. "i forgot he.... it _is_ getting late. i really must go. good night, jrann-pttt." "good night, dear lady." the saurian bowed low over her hand. leaning on the captain's brawny arm, miss anspacher ploughed through the mud to the ship, followed by the mosquito-bat and algol, who had been toasting themselves more or less companionably at the fire. the door to the airlock clanged behind all four of them. * * * * * the other saurian's head appeared again from the bush. _jrann-pttt_, the insistent thought came, _shall i rescue you now_? _why, dfar-lll? i am not a prisoner. i'm quite free to come and go as i please. but let's get away from the strangers' ship while we communicate. they do have a certain amount of low-grade perception and might be able to sense the presence of another personality. at any rate, they might look out of a port and see you._ keeping the illuminator on low beam, dfar-lll led the way through the bushes. _seems to me you're going to an awful lot of trouble just to get zoo specimens_, the youngster protested, disentangling its arms from the embrace of an amorous vine. _there's really no reason for carrying on the work since lieutenant merglyt-ruuu ... passed on._ jrann-pttt sat down on a fallen log and, tucking up his graceful tail, signaled his junior to join him. _in the event that we do decide to return to base, some handsome specimens might serve to offset the lieutenant's demise._ _return to base? but i thought we were...._ _we haven't found swamp life pleasant, have we? after all, there's no real reason why we shouldn't go back. is it our fault that merglyt-ruuu happened to meet with a fatal accident?_ _we-ell ... but will the commandant see it that way?_ _on the other hand, if we don't go back, wouldn't it be a good idea to attach ourselves to an expedition that, no matter how alien, is better equipped for survival than we? and carrying out our original purpose seemed the best way of getting to meet these strangers informally, as it were._ _they are unquestionably intelligent life-forms then?_ _after a fashion._ jrann-pttt yawned and rose. _but why are we sitting here? let's start back to our camp. we will be able to converse more comfortably._ they made their way through the jungle--now walking, now wading where the mud became water. small creatures with hardly any thoughts scurried before them as they went. _the commandant may have already made contact with their rulers_, dfar-lll suggested, springing forward to illuminate the way. _in that case, we couldn't hope to remain undiscovered for long._ _oh, these creatures are not venusians. there's no intelligent life here. they hail from the third planet of this system and, according to their thoughts, this is the only vessel that was capable of traversing interplanetary space. so we needn't worry about extradition treaties or any other official annoyances._ _if they're friendly, why didn't you spend the night in their ship? it certainly looks more comfortable than our collapsible moslak--which, by the way, collapsed while you were gone. i hope we'll be able to put it up again ourselves. i must say this for the lieutenant--he was good at that sort of thing._ jrann-pttt made a gesture of distaste. _he was unfortunately good at other things, too. but let's not discuss him. i'm not staying with the strangers because i want to pick up one or two little things--mostly some of our food to serve them. i used up all the supplies in my pack and i want them to think we're living off the land. they believe me to be a primitive and it's best that they should until i decide just how i'm going to make most efficient use of them. besides, i didn't want to leave you alone._ the younger saurian sniffed skeptically. * * * * * "honestly, pitt," mrs. bernardi said, keeping to leeward of the tablecloth the lizard-man was efficiently shaking out of the airlock, "i've never had a--an employee as competent as you." but the word she had in mind, of course, was "servant." "i do wish you'd come back to earth with us." "perhaps you would compel me to come?" he suggested, as algol and the mosquito-bat entered into hot competition to catch the crumbs before they sank into the purple ooze. "oh, no! we'd want you to come as our guest--our friend." _naturally_, her thoughts ran, _a house guest would be expected to help with the washing up and lend a hand with the cooking--and, of course, we wouldn't have to pay him. though my husband, i suppose, would requisition him as a specimen._ _i fully intend to go to earth with them_, jrann-pttt mused, _but certainly not in that capacity. nor would i care to be a specimen. i must formulate some concrete plan._ the captain was crawling on top of the spaceship, scraping off the dried mud, brushing away the leaves and dust that marred its shining purity. the hot, humid haze that poured down from the yellow clouds made the metal surface a little hell. yet it was hardly less warm on the other side of the clearing, where miss anspacher tried desperately to write up her notes on a table that kept sinking into the spongy ground, and hindered by the thick wind that had arisen half an hour before and which kept blowing her papers off. the sweet odor of the flowers tucked in the open neck of her already grimy white blouse suddenly sickened her and she flung them into the mud. "we won't be going back to earth for a long time!" she called. gathering up the purple-stained papers, she came toward the others, little puffs of mist rising at each step. "we like it here. lovely country." how could she think to please even the savage she fancied him to be by such an inanity, jrann-pttt wondered. no one could possibly like that fetid swamp. or was it not so much that she was trying to please him as convince herself? was there some reason the terrestrials had for needing to like venus. it hovered on the edge of the women's minds. if only it would emerge completely, he could pick it up, but it lurked in the shadows of their subconscious, tantalizing him. "i'd like to know when we're going to start putting up the shelters," mrs. bernardi said, pushing a streak of fog-yellow hair out of her eyes. "i can't stand being cooped up for another night on that ship." "you're planning to put up shelters--to live outside of the ship?" this would seem to confirm his darkest suspicions. even a temporary settlement would leave them too open to visitation from the commandant. what his attitude toward the aliens might be, jrann-pttt didn't know. he might consider them as specimens, as enemies or as potential allies. what his attitude toward jrann-pttt and his companion would be, however, the saurian knew only too well. had they reported the lieutenant's demise immediately, it was possible the commandant might have been brought to believe it was an accident. now he would unquestionably think jrann-pttt had killed merglyt-ruuu on purpose--which was not true; how was jrann-pttt to know that the mud into which he'd knocked the lieutenant was quicksand? "anything against putting up shelters?" captain greenfield growled from his perch. "monster!" the mosquito-bat shrieked at the cat. "monster! monster!" * * * * * there was a painfully embarrassed silence. "the creature is not intelligent," jrann-pttt explained, smiling. "it merely has vocal apparatus that can reproduce a frequently heard word, like--you have a bird, i believe, a--" he searched their minds for the word--"a parrot." "monster!" the mosquito-bat continued. "monster! monster!" "shut up or i'll wring your neck!" the captain snarled. the mosquito-bat obeyed sullenly, apparently recognizing the threat in his tone. but the concept of "monster" hung heavily in the air between the terrestrials and the lizard-man. _they should not feel so bad about it_, he thought, _for they are the monsters themselves. but that would never occur to them and i can hardly reassure them by saying...._ "don't worry," professor bernardi said smoothly. "to him, it's we who are the monsters." a sudden gust of wind nearly whipped the tablecloth out of jrann-pttt's hands. he fought with it for a moment, glad of something tangible to contend with. "about the shelters," he said. "they might not stand up against a storm." "so this is monsoon country," bernardi observed thoughtfully. "do you know when the storms usually come, jrann-pttt?" the other shook his head. "peculiar. there usually is a season for that sort of thing." "i ... come from another part of the planet." "storms here are bad, eh?" the captain commented, swinging himself down easily. "frankly, that worries me. ship's resting on mud as far as i can see, and if there's one thing i do know something about, it's mud. if it got any wetter, the ship might sink." "maybe we should leave," mrs. bernardi suggested. "go to another part of the planet where it's drier, or--" she tried not to show the sudden surge of hope--"leave for home and come back after the rainy season." there was a sudden silence, and jrann-pttt found himself able to pick up the answers to some of his questions from the alien minds. his worst fears were confirmed. plan a was out. but something could still be done with these creatures. "doesn't she know?" the captain demanded accusingly. "you brought her here without telling her?" bernardi spread his hands wide in a futile gesture. "she should know; i've told her repeatedly. she just doesn't understand ... or doesn't want to." "i know they'll forgive us," mrs. bernardi said stubbornly. "we--you--haven't done anything really wrong, so how could they do anything terrible to us? after all, didn't they refuse you the funds because they said you couldn't--" "shhh, louisa," her husband commanded. jrann-pttt smiled to himself. --"do it," she went on. "and you did. so they were wrong and they'll have to forgive us." "tcha!" miss anspacher said. "since when was there any fairness in justice?" "on the other hand," mrs. bernardi continued, "we have no idea of how dangerous the storms here could be." "very dangerous," jrann-pttt said. "for you, perhaps," the captain retorted. "maybe not for us." "now that's silly," miss anspacher said. "you can see that jrann-pttt is much more--" she blushed--"sturdily built than we are." "i don't mean that we could face it without protection," the captain replied angrily. "naturally i mean that our superior technology could cope with the effects of any storm." "well, captain, we'll have to put that superior technology to use at once," the professor told him. "you'd better start blasting that rock." laden with equipment and malevolent thoughts, the captain trudged off into the murky jungle. the others would not even offer to help. confounded scientists; they certainly took his status as captain seriously. he wished, for a disloyal moment, that he had stayed on earth. the quiet routine of a test pilot had prepared him for nothing like this. were miss anspacher and adventure worth it? at the moment, he thought not. but he was on venus and it was too late to change his mind. jrann-pttt followed him into the jungle, keeping some distance behind, for he had good reason to suspect that greenfield would take his warm interest in terrestrial technology for plain spying. or, worse yet, he might try to press the lizard-man into service; jrann-pttt felt he had demeaned himself quite enough already. "have you noticed," miss anspacher asked, pushing the mass of damp brown hair off her neck as she came alongside him, "how the--the smell--" _a scientist does not mince words_--"of the swamp has grown stronger?" jrann-pttt halted. he had a good idea of what the captain's reactions to the sight of himself and miss anspacher arriving hand-in-hand would be. "yes, it is getting rather overpowering. perhaps, for a lady of your delicate sensibilities, it would be best to--" "i can stand a bad smell just as well as a male--any male!" "perhaps even better," jrann-pttt said, "for i was on the verge of turning back myself." "oh," she said, appeased. "well, in that case, i'll go back with you ... how quiet everything is!" he had not noticed. for him, it would never be quiet because of the stream of jangled thoughts constantly pouring into the back of his mind from everything sentient that surrounded him. for a moment, he wondered what it would be like to be non-telepathic like the terrestrials, to have peace from the clamor of confused impressions, emotions and ideas that persistently beat at his mind. but that would be wondering how it was to be deaf to avoid discord, or blind to shut out ugliness. "the lull before the storm, i suppose," she said brightly. _now is his opportunity to kiss me--only perhaps they don't have kissing in his society. his mouth does seem to be the wrong shape. and if i kissed him, it might violate a taboo._ during their short absence, the citrine clouds that closed off the sky had changed to a sinister umber. it was now almost as dusky in the clearing as in the jungle itself, when jrann-pttt and miss anspacher returned and joined the others. professor bernardi stood looking up with sharp gray eyes at a sky he could not see. "i hope greenfield can finish the blasting more quickly than he estimated," he muttered. "will we hear the noise way out here, carl?" his wife worried nervously. "only two kilometers away? of course we'll hear it. i do wish you wouldn't always be asking such stupid questions." she shivered. "well, i hope they get it over with right away. if we just have to sit here waiting and waiting and waiting, i'll go mad. i know i will." "you should try to keep your nerves in check, louisa," miss anspacher snapped. _silly little fool._ "at least i can control my glands!" mrs. bernardi flared back. _sex-starved spinster._ "i shall make some tea, ladies," jrann-pttt interposed. "i'm sure we will all feel the better for it." mrs. bernardi smiled at him feebly. "you're such a comfort, pitt. i don't know why you of all creatures should be the one to remind me of home." "home," remarked mortland, emerging from the airlock, "is where the heart is. did i hear someone say 'tea'?" * * * * * as jrann-pttt hung the kettle over the fire, suddenly the air erupted in stunning violence of sound. the ground undulated under their feet and water slopped out of the kettle, almost putting out the fire that rose high to claw at it. rivulets of thick, muddy liquid welled out of the ground and drabbled their feet. the women turned pale. algol gave a faint cry and hid under mrs. bernardi's skirts, trembling, while the mosquito-bat tried to lift mortland's toupee and hide in his hair. the ship itself quivered and seemed to jump slightly in the air, then returned to its resting place. all was quiet again, quieter than it had been before. mortland anxiously gnawed his light mustache. "better hurry with that tea, there's a good fellow. i'm violently allergic to loud noises." "they'll probably continue all day," the professor said with almost malevolent cheerfulness, "so you might as well get used to them." _who is he to have nerves? i am easily the most sensitive person here, but i manage to control myself._ "i don't know how i'm going to stand it!" mrs. bernardi shrieked. "i just know something terrible is going to happen." "please try to restrain yourself, louisa," her husband ordered. "after it's over, you'll find we'll be much more comfortable and secure with the ship resting on rock." "if you ask me, that blast made it sink a little," mortland said. "i wonder whether--" he was interrupted by a thrashing in the bushes. dfar-lll burst forth, shedding scales. _do not despair, jrann-pttt. i am here, ready to save you or die at your side._ the women clutched each other, miss anspacher praying silently and fervently to juno, lakshmi, freya, isis and a host of other esoteric female deities she had picked up in the course of her avocational researches. "he seems to be one of jrann-pttt's people," bernardi observed, "so there should be nothing to fear." _dfar-lll, you fool!_ jrann-pttt ideated angrily. _nothing's wrong. they're just blasting out a better berth for their vessel. and now you've spoiled my plans._ "what did you think at that poor little creature!" mrs. bernardi blazed. "he's crying!" and, sure enough, amethyst tears were oozing out of the young saurian's large, liquid eyes. _i du-didn't mean any harm._ "monster!" mrs. bernardi accused jrann-pttt. "all men are monsters, whether they're aliens or not." "you're so right, louisa!" miss anspacher exclaimed, regarding the younger creature in an almost kindly manner. _i'm sorry, r-lll_, jrann-pttt apologized. _i was upset by that noise, too. how could you possibly know what it was? come, let me introduce you to the creatures._ dfar-lll stepped forward diffidently. jrann-pttt put a hand on the moss-green shoulder. "allow me to introduce my companion, dfar-lll," he said aloud. the youngster looked at him. mrs. bernardi thrust out her hand. "i'm very glad to meet you, lil." _agitate it with one of yours. it's a courtesy. don't let her see how repulsive she is to you. remember, you're just as repulsive to her._ dfar-lll offered a shy, seven-fingered hand. "pleased ... to meet you ... ma'am," the young lizard squeaked. "why, he's just a baby, isn't he?" mrs. bernardi asked. _i am not a baby!_ dfar-lll thought indignantly. _at the end of this year, i shall celebrate my pre-maturity feast, or i would have. and furthermore--_ there was another thunderous blast of sound. after the ground had stopped trembling, the six found themselves ankle-deep in muddy water. algol, who was in considerably deeper than his ankles, mewed fretfully. mrs. bernardi picked him up and comforted him. "perhaps blasting wasn't such a good idea," the professor muttered. "maybe i should tell greenfield to call a halt and we'll take our chances with the storm. as a matter of fa--" "the ship!" mortland cried. "it _is_ sinking!" and the big metal ball slowly but visibly was indeed subsiding into the mud. "stop it, somebody!" miss anspacher snapped in her customary schoolroom manner. the professor was pale, but he held on to his calm. "what can we do? even if we could get the captain back in time, there's no way we can stop it. it's too heavy to pull out manually, and the engines, of course, are inside." as they watched in horror, the ship sank deeper and deeper, picking up momentum as more of it went under. with a loud, sucking sound, it vanished into the ooze. muddy water gurgled over it and, where the ship had been, there was now a small lake. "this could be the beginning of a legend," miss anspacher murmured. "or the end." there was another vibrant detonation. "someone ought to go tell the captain there's no use blasting any more," bernardi said wearily. "we have nothing to put on the rock when he smooths it off." he began to laugh. "i suppose you could call this poetic justice." and he went on laughing, losing a bit of his former self-control. _there goes plan b_, jrann-pttt thought. a star of intensely bright green lightning split the clouds and widened to cover the visible expanse of sky. there was a planet-shaking clap of thunder that made greenfield's puny efforts sound like the snapping of twigs in comparison and it began to rain hard and fast. * * * * * "if only i hadn't gone and blasted that damn rock," the captain grumbled, squeezing water out of his shirt-tails, "we'd have been all right. probably the storm wouldn't have done a thing to the ship except get it wet. if you can even call it a storm." "i can and i do," jrann-pttt replied, haughtily squeegeeing his wet scales. "all i said was that a storm might be coming up and it might be dangerous. how was i to know it would last only half an hour?" "even the camp stools pulled through," greenfield pointed out, "and you said shelters wouldn't stand up." "i only said they might not. can't you understand your own language?" the fissure in the clouds had not quite closed yet and through it the enormous, blazing disk of the sun glared at them, twice as large as it appeared from earth. it was a moot point as to whether they'd be dried out or steamed alive first. "might as well collect whatever gear we have left and get it to higher ground," miss anspacher said efficiently. "two feet of water won't do anything any good--even those camp stools." "it's my belief you wanted this to happen," greenfield accused jrann-pttt. "you wanted to get rid of us." "my dear fellow," jrann-pttt replied loftily, "the information i gave you was, to the best of my knowledge, accurate. however, i happen to be a professor of zoology and not a meteorologist. apparently you people live out in the open like primitives," he continued, ignoring dfar-lll's admiring interjection, "and are accustomed to the vicissitudes of weather. i am a civilized creature; i live--" _or used to live_--"in an air-conditioned, light-conditioned, weather-conditioned city. it is only when i rough it on field trips like this to trackless parts of the--globe that i am forced to experience weather. even then, i have never before been caught in a situation like this." _in fact, i was never before caught or i wouldn't be in this situation at all._ "oh, jrann-pttt," sighed miss anspacher, "i knew you couldn't be just an ordinary native!" "how did you get into this situation then?" professor bernardi asked. he had an unfortunate talent for going directly to the point. "the third member of our expedition died," jrann-pttt explained. "he was our dirigational expert. our guide." "how did he happen to--" "are we just going to stand here chatting," miss anspacher demanded, "or are we going to do something about this?" "what can we do?" mrs. bernardi asked weakly. "we might just as well lie down and--" "never say die, louisa," miss anspacher admonished. "i suggest we go to my camp to see what shape it's in," jrann-pttt said, furiously putting together plan c. "some of the supplies there might prove useful." captain greenfield looked questioningly at bernardi. the professor shrugged. "might as well." "all right," the captain growled. "let's pick up whatever we can save." * * * * * since there wasn't much that could be rescued, the little safari was soon on its way. jrann-pttt led, carrying algol in his arms. behind came mortland, bearing a camp stool and the kettle into which he had tucked a tin of biscuits and into which the mosquito-bat had tucked itself, its orange eyes glaring out angrily from beneath the lid. next came mrs. bernardi with her knitting, her camp stool and her sorrow. dfar-lll followed with two stools and the plastic tea set. close behind was miss anspacher, with the sugar bowl, the earthenware teapot and an immense bound volume of the _proceedings of the physical society of ameranglis_ for 1993. professor bernardi bore a briefcase full of notes and the table. the rain had damaged the latter's mechanism, so that its legs kept unfolding from time to time, to the great inconvenience of captain greenfield, who brought up the rear with the blasting equipment. behind them and sometimes alongside them came something--or someone--else. [illustration] "surely your camp must have been closer to ours than this," miss anspacher finally remarked after they had been slogging through mud and water and pushing aside reluctant vegetation for over an earth hour. "i am very much afraid," jrann-pttt admitted, "that our camp has been lost--that is to say, inundated." "what are we going to do now?" the captain asked of the company at large. professor bernardi shrugged. "our only course would seem to be making for one of the cities and throwing ourselves upon the na--jrann-pttt's people's hospitality. if professor jrann-pttt has even the vaguest idea of the direction in which his home lies, we might as well head that way." _i wonder whether the natives could help us raise the ship._ "i'm sure my people will be more than happy to welcome you," jrann-pttt said smoothly, "and to make you comfortable until your people send another ship to fetch you." the terrestrials looked at one another. dfar-lll looked at jrann-pttt. professor bernardi coughed. "that was the only spaceship we had," he admitted. "the first experimental model, you know." _we don't expect to stay on this awful planet forever. after all, as louisa says, the government will have to forgive us. public opinion and all that._ "oh," the saurian said. "then we shall have the pleasure of your company until they build another?" there was silence. "we have the only plans," the professor said, gripping his briefcase more tightly. "i am the inventor of the ship, so naturally i would have them." _if we brought back some specimens of venusian life--of intelligent venusian life--to prove we'd been here...._ "matter of fact, old fellow," mortland said, "we took all the plans with us so they couldn't build another ship and follow--" "mortland!" the professor exclaimed. "but they're telepaths," miss anspacher said. "they must know already." everyone turned to look at the saurians. "i have ... certain information," jrann-pttt admitted, "but i cannot understand it. you are in trouble with your rulers because they would not give you the funds, claiming space travel was impossible?" "that's right," bernardi said. _not really specimens, you understand. guests._ "and you went ahead and appropriated the funds and materials from your government, since you were in a trusted position where you could do so?" bernardi nodded. "of course the question is now academic, for the ship is gone, but since you proved the possibility of space travel by coming here, wouldn't your government then dismiss the charges against you?" "that's exactly what i keep telling him!" mrs. bernardi exclaimed. but her husband shook his head. "the law is inflexible. we have broken it and must be punished, even if by breaking it we proved its fundamental error." _why let him know our plans?_ _why, jrann-pttt, that sounds just like our own government, doesn't it?_ _yes, it does. we should be able to establish a very satisfactory mode of living with these strangers._ "we'd hoped that after a year or so the whole thing would die down," mortland explained frankly, "and we'd go back as heroes." "do you know the way to your home, jrann-pttt?" the professor asked anxiously. "since we were able to catch a glimpse of the sun, i think i can figure out roughly where we are. all we must do is walk some two hundred kilometers in that direction--" he waved an arm to indicate the way--"and we should be at the capital." "will your people accept us as refugees?" miss anspacher demanded bluntly, "or will we be captives?" _which is what i'll bet the good professor is planning for you, if only he can figure some way to get you and, of course, ourselves back._ "we should be proud to accept you as citizens and to receive the benefits of your splendid technology. our laboratories will be placed at your disposal." "well, that's better than we hoped for," the professor said, brightening. "we had expected to have to carve our own laboratories out of the wilderness. now we shall be able to carry on our researches in comfort." _no need to trouble the natives; we'll be able to raise the ship ourselves. or build a new one. and i'll see to it personally that they have special quarters in the zoo with a considerable amount of privacy._ "if i were you, i wouldn't trust him too far," the captain warned. "he's a foreigner." "you ought to be ashamed of yourself, captain!" miss anspacher said. "i, for one, trust jrann-pttt implicitly. did you say this direction, jrann-pttt?" she stepped forward briskly. there was a loud splash and water closed over her head. captain greenfield rushed forward to haul her out. "well," she said, daintily coughing up mud, "i was wet to begin with, anyway." "you're a brave little woman, miss anspacher," the captain told her admiringly. "this sort of thing may present a problem," professor bernardi commented. "i hope that was only a pot-hole, that the water is not going to be consistently too deep for wading." "there might be quicksand, too," mrs. bernardi said somberly. "in quicksand, one drowns slowly." dfar-lll gave a start. _surely you don't intend to lead them back to base?_ _precisely. the swamp is unfit for settlement._ _but to return voluntarily to captivity?_ _who mentioned anything about captivity? assisted by our new friends, we have an excellent chance of taking over the ship and supplies by a surprise attack._ _but why should these aliens assist us?_ jrann-pttt smiled. _oh, i think they will. yes, i have every confidence in plan c._ "i suggest," the professor said, ignoring his wife's pessimism, "that each one of us pull a branch from a tree. we can test the ground before we step on it, to make sure that there is solid footing underneath." "good idea," the captain approved. he reached out the arm that was not occupied with miss anspacher and tugged at a tree limb. and then he and the lady physicist were both floundering in the ooze. "well, really, captain greenfield!" she cried, refusing his aid in extricating herself. "i always thought you were at least a gentleman in spite of your illiteracy!" "wha--what happened?" he asked as he struggled out of the mud. "something pushed me; i swear it." jrann-pttt mentalized. "it seems the tree did not like your trying to remove a branch." "the tree!" greenfield's pale blue eyes bulged. "you're joking!" "not at all. as a matter of fact, i myself have been wondering why there were so many thought-streams and yet so few animals around here. it never occurred to me that the vegetation could be sentient and have such strong emotive defenses. in all my experience as a botanist, i--" "i thought you were a zoologist," bernardi interrupted. "my people do not believe in excessive specialization," the saurian replied. "trees that think?" mortland inquired incredulously. "they're not very bright," jrann-pttt explained, "but they don't like having their limbs pulled off. i don't suppose you would, either, for that matter." "i propose," miss anspacher said, shaking out her wet hair, "that we break up the camp stools and use the sticks instead of branches to help us along." "good idea," the captain said, trying to get back into her good graces. "i always knew women could put their brains to use if they tried." she glared at him. "i thought we'd use the furniture to make a fire later," mortland complained. "for tea, you know." "the ground's much too wet," professor bernardi replied. "and besides," miss anspacher added, "i lost the teapot in that pot-hole." "but you managed to save the _proceedings of the physical society_," mortland snarled. "serve you right if i eat it. and i warn you, if hard-pressed, i shall." "how will we cook our food, though?" mrs. bernardi demanded apprehensively. "it's a lucky thing, mr. pitt, that we have you with us to tell us which of the berries and things are edible, so at least we shan't starve." the visible portion of jrann-pttt's well-knit form turned deeper green. "but i regret to say i don't know, mrs. bernardi. those 'native' foods i served you were all synthetics from our personal stores. i never tasted natural foods before i met you." "and if the trees don't like our taking their branches," miss anspacher put in, "i don't suppose the bushes would like our taking their berries. louisa, don't do that!" but mrs. bernardi, with her usual disregard for orders, had fainted into the mud. pulling her out and reviving her caused so much confusion, it wasn't until then that they discovered algol had disappeared. * * * * * the party had been trudging through mud and water and struggling with pale, malevolent vines and bushes and low-hanging branches for close to six earth hours. all of them were tired and hungry, now that their meager supply of biscuits and chocolate was gone. "remember, carl," mrs. bernardi told her husband, "i forgive you. and i know i'm being foolishly sentimental, but if you could manage to take my body back to earth--" "don't be so pessimistic." professor bernardi absent-mindedly leaned against a tree, then recoiled as he remembered it might resent being treated like an inanimate object. "in any case, we'll most likely all die at the same time." "i never did want to go to venus, really," mrs. bernardi sniffled. "i only came, like algol did, because i didn't have any choice. if you left me behind, i'd have had to bear the brunt of.... where is algol?" she stared at jrann-pttt. "you were carrying him. what have you done with him?" the lizard-man looked at her in consternation. "he jumped out of my arms when you fainted and i turned back to help. i was certain one of the others had him." "he's dead!" she wailed. "you let him fall into the water and drown--an innocent kitty that never hurt anybody, except in fun." "come, come, louisa." her husband took her arm. "he was only a cat. i'm sure jrann-pttt didn't mean for him to drown. he was just so upset by your fainting that he didn't think...." "not jrann-pttt's fault, of course," miss anspacher said. "after all, we can't expect them to love animals as we do. but algol was a very good sort of cat...." "keep quiet, all of you!" jrann-pttt shouted. "i have never known any species to use any method of communication so much in order to communicate so little. don't you understand? i would not have assumed the cat was with one of you, if i had not subconsciously sensed his thought-stream all along. he must be nearby." everyone was still, while jrann-pttt probed the dense underbrush that blocked their view on both sides. "over here," he announced, and led the way through the thick screen of interlaced bushes and vines on the left. about ten meters farther on, the ground sloped up sharply to form a ridge rising a meter and a half above the rest of the terrain. the water had not reached its blunted top, and on this fairly level strip of ground, perhaps three meters wide, algol had been paralleling their path in dry-pawed comfort. "scientists!" louisa bernardi almost spat. "professors! we could have been walking on that, too. but did anybody think to look for dry ground? no! it was wet in one place, so it would be wet in another. oh, algol--" she reached over to embrace the cat--"you're smarter than any so-called intelligent life-forms." he indignantly straightened a whisker she had crumpled. * * * * * "look," mortland exclaimed in delight as they attained the top of the ridge, "here are some dryish twigs! don't suppose the trees want them, since they've let them fall. if i can get a fire going, we could boil some swamp water and make tea. nasty thought, but it's better than no tea at all. and how long can one go on living without tea?" "we'll need some food before long, too," professor bernardi observed, putting his briefcase down on a fallen log. "the usual procedure, i believe, would be for us to draw straws to see which gets eaten--although there isn't any hurry." "i'm glad then that we'll be able to have a fire," mortland said, busily collecting twigs. "i should hate to have to eat you raw, carl." _mr. pitt and his little friend are delightful creatures_, mrs. bernardi thought. _so intelligent and so well behaved. but eating them wouldn't really be cannibalism. they aren't people._ _that premise works both ways, dear lady_, jrann-pttt ideated. _and i must say your species will prove far easier to peel for the cooking pot._ "monster! what are you doing?" mortland dropped his twigs and pulled the mosquito-bat away from a bush. "don't eat those berries, you silly ass; the bush won't like it!" the mosquito-bat piped wrathfully. jrann-pttt probed with intentness. "you know, i rather think the bush wants its berries to be eaten. something to do with--er--propagating itself. of course it has a false impression as to what is going to be done with the berries, but the important fact is that it won't put up any resistance." "all right, old fellow." mortland released the mosquito-bat, which promptly flew back to the bush. "i'm not the custodian of your morals." "i wonder whether we could eat those berries, too," professor bernardi remarked pensively. "carl!" mrs. bernardi's tear-stained face flushed pink. "why--why, that's almost indecent!" "we eat beans, don't we?" mortland pointed out. "they're seeds." "we also eat meat," miss anspacher added. there was silence. "i imagine," mrs. bernardi murmured, "it's because we never get to meet the meat socially." she avoided the saurians' eyes. "we'd better see how monster makes out, though," miss anspacher observed, replenishing her lipstick, "before we try the berries ourselves. the fact that the bush is anxious to dispose of them doesn't mean they can't be poisonous." "why should monster sacrifice himself for us?" mortland retorted hotly, overlooking the fact that monster's purpose in eating the berries was almost certainly not an altruistic one. "if we can risk his life, we can risk our own." he crammed a handful of berries into his mouth defiantly. "i say, they're good!" algol sniffed the bush with disgust, then turned away. "see?" said miss anspacher. "they're undoubtedly poisonous. when he's really hungry, he isn't so fussy." she combed her hair. "but is he really hungry?" bernardi asked suspiciously. "come here, algol. nice kitty." he bent down and sniffed the cat's breath. the cat sniffed his interestedly. their whiskers touched. "i thought so. fish!" "you mean," mrs. bernardi shrieked, "that while we were struggling through that water, alternately starving and drowning by centimeters, that wretched cat has not only been walking along here dry as toast, but gorging himself on fish?" "now, now, mrs. bernardi," jrann-pttt said. "being a dumb animal, he wouldn't think of informing you about matters of which he'd assume that you, as the superior beings, would be fully cognizant." "you might have told us there were fish on this planet, mr. pitt." "dear lady, there is something i feel i should tell you. i am not--" "they're here on the other side of the ridge," greenfield called, bending over and peering through the foliage. "the fish, i mean." "the pools look shallow," bernardi said, also bending over. "the fish should be easy enough to catch. might even be able to get them in our hands." he reached out to demonstrate, proving the error of both his theses, for the fish slipped right through his fingers and, as he grabbed for them, he lost his balance, toppled over the side of the ridge into the mud and water below and began to disappear, showing beyond a doubt that the pools were deeper than he had thought. "carl, what are you doing?" mrs. bernardi peered into the murky depths where her husband was threshing about. "why don't you come out of that filthy mud?" his voice, though muffled, was still acid. "it isn't mud, my dear. it's quicksand!" "rope!" the captain exclaimed, grabbing a coil. "hold on, chaps!" cried a squeaky voice. "i'm coming to the rescue!" a stout twelve-foot vine plunged out of the shadows and wrapped one end of itself around a tree--disregarding the latter's violent objections--and the other end around professor bernardi's thorax, which was just disappearing into the mud. "now if one or two of you would haul away, we'll soon have him out all shipshape and proper. heave ho! don't be afraid of hurting me; my strength is as the strength of ten because my heart is pure." "it's that vine!" dfar-lll exclaimed. "so that's what has been following us all along!" * * * * * "i can accept the idea of a vegetable thinking," professor bernardi gasped as he was pulled out of the quicksand, "although with the utmost reluctance." he shook himself like a dog. "but how can it be mobile?" "you chaps can move around," the vine explained, "so i said to myself: 'dammit, i'll have a shot at doing that, too.' hard going at first, when you're using suckers, but i persevered and i made it. look, i can talk, too. never heard of a vine doing that before, did you? fact is, i hadn't thought of it before, but then i never had anyone to communicate with. all those other vines are so stupid; you have absolutely no idea! hope you don't mind my picking up your language, but it was the only one around--" "we are honored," professor bernardi declared. "and i am deeply grateful to you, too, sir or madam, for saving my life." "think nothing of it," the vine said, arranging its leaves, which were of a pleasing celadon rather than the whitish-green favored by the rest of the local vegetation. "now that i can move, i'll probably be doing heroic things like that all the time. are you all going to the city? may i go with you? i've heard lots about the city," it went on, taking consent for granted, "but i never thought i'd get to see it. everybody in the swamp is such an old stick-in-the-mud. i thought i was trapped, too, forced to spend the rest of my life in a provincial environment. is it true that the streets are filled with chlorophyll? do you think i can get a job in a botanical garden or something? perhaps i can give little talks on horticulture to visitors?" the mosquito-bat looked out of the tea kettle austerely. "monster!" it piped shrilly. "the very idea!" the vine snapped back indignantly. "oh, well," it said, calming down, "you probably don't know any better. it's up to me as the intelligent life-form to forgive you, and i shall." jrann-pttt and dfar-lll looked at each other in consternation. _do you think there really are cities on this planet, sir? can there be indigenous intelligent life? if so, it may have already got in touch with the commandant._ _impossible_, jrann-pttt replied. _the vine probably just heard us talking about a city. after all, it picked up the language that way; very likely it absorbed some terrestrial concepts along with it. if there are any real settlements at all, they must be quite primitive--nothing more than villages. no, it's we who will build the cities on venus. combining our technology with the terrestrials', we could develop a pretty little civilization here--after we've disposed of the commandant, so he can't report our disappearance. we don't want any publicity. so much better to keep our little society exclusive._ * * * * * "wonder what time it is," the captain remarked as he rose and stretched in the dim yellow light of the long venusian day. "must have slept for hours. my watch seems to have stopped." "mine, too." mortland unstrapped his from his wrist and shook it futilely. "waterproof, hah! if we ever get back to earth, i shall make the manufacturer eat his guarantee." "oh, well, what does time matter to us now?" professor bernardi pointed out as he rose from his leafy couch with a loud creak. all of them--even the saurians--had aches and pains in every joint and muscle as a result of the unaccustomed exercise and the damp climate. "we are out of its reach. it has no present meaning for us." this depressed them all. only the vine seemed in good health and spirits. "i notice you're all wearing clothes except for the short four-legged gentleman with the home-grown fur coat," it chattered happily. "do you think i'll be socially acceptable without them? i wouldn't want to make a bad impression at the very start--or would leaves do?" everybody looked at jrann-pttt. "we are not a narrow-minded species," he said hastily. "i'm sure your leaves will be more than adequate." after a breakfast of fish and berries stewed in tea--which the vine declined with thanks--the various members of the party gathered up their belongings and resumed their journey. encrusted with dried purple mud and grime, their clothes deliberately torn by anti-social shrubbery, their chins--of the males, that is--disfigured by hirsute growths, the terrestrials made a sorry spectacle. it was hot, boiling hot, and more humid than ever. "well," said miss anspacher, letting the swahili marching song with which she had been attempting to encourage the company peter out, "i do hope we'll reach your city soon, jrann-pttt. i must say i could use a hot bath." she added hastily, "hot baths are a peculiar cultural trait of ours." "i could use one myself," jrann-pttt said. he brushed his scales fastidiously. "i'm looking forward so to meeting your relatives," she said, grabbing his left arm determinedly. "i'm not violating a taboo or anything, am i?" _it isn't really slimy; it just feels that way._ "not one of my people's. but i'm afraid you are violating a terrestrial taboo, judging from the thoughts i pick up from your captain's mind." "oh, him--he's a stupid fool!" "not at all. rough, perhaps. untutored, yes. but with a good deal of native intelligence, although fearfully primitive." "perhaps i was too harsh," miss anspacher observed thoughtfully. _the captain ... is good-looking in a brutal sort of way, although not nearly as handsome or even as spiritual in appearance as jrann-pttt. and sometimes i almost think he_--she blushed to herself--_shows a certain partiality for my company._ she did not, however, let go of the saurian's arm when the captain bustled up, prepared to put a stop to this, but tactfully, if possible, for he had begun to realize that his rude ways did not endear him to her. "ah--we're making very good progress, aren't we, pitt?" he interrupted, trying to insinuate himself between the two. "excellent." "how soon do you think we'll be at your city at this rate?" jrann-pttt shrugged. "since i have no way of telling what our rate is or how far we have gone, how can i tell? as a matter of fact, you might as well learn now as later--i am not a venusian. there is no intelligent life native to venus." "oh, really!" the vine interposed indignantly. "saying a thing like that right in front of me! what would you call me, then, pray tell?" jrann-pttt kept his actual thoughts to himself. "a mutation," he said. "probably you are the first intelligent life-form to appear upon this planet. scholarly volumes will be written about you." "oh?" the vine seemed to be appeased. "i accept your apology. perhaps i'll learn to write and do the books myself, because i'm the only one who can understand the real me." "but how can you show us the way to your city if you're not native to venus?" bernardi demanded, whirling fretfully upon the saurian. "what is this, anyway? each time you come up with a different story!" "see?" said the captain. "didn't i tell you he was up to no good?" "i should like to lead you to our base," jrann-pttt replied with quiet dignity. "i am telling you the truth now since i feel i should have your consent before proceeding farther." ??????? dfar-lll projected. "i hesitated before, because i wasn't sure i could trust you. you see, the spaceship in which we came to this planet is a prison ship, with a crew consisting of malefactors--thieves, murderers, defrauders--dispatched to the remote fastnesses of the galaxy to fetch back zoological specimens. our zoo, i must say, is the finest and most interesting in the universe." "monster!" the mosquito-bat squeaked. "shhh," mortland admonished. "don't interrupt." "i was in command of our ill-fated expedition...." _oh_, dfar-lll projected. _for a moment there, sir, you had me worried._ "when we reached venus, i was, i must admit, careless. i gave the crew a chance to mutiny and they did. slew most of the officers. dfar-lll and i were lucky to escape with our lives." "but you might have told us!" mrs. bernardi's voice held reproach. "until we knew what kind of beings you were, we couldn't let you know how helpless and unprotected we were." the women seemed moved, but not the men. "leading us on a wild goose chase, were you?" the captain challenged. jrann-pttt drew a deep breath. "it was my hope that all of you would consent to help us get our ship back from these criminals. then we could fly to my planet--which is the fifth of the star you know as alpha centauri--where, i assure you, you would be hospitably received." _we aren't really going back home, jrann-pttt, are we? i'd sooner stay here in the swamp than go back to that jail._ _have confidence in me, r-lll. as soon as we have disposed of the commandant and his officers, i can put our ship out of commission. the terrestrials won't be able to tell what's wrong. they know nothing about space travel. the fact that they got their crude vessel to operate was probably sheer luck._ but the younger was not to be diverted. _will we kill them after we've disposed of our officers? i should hate to._ _certainly not. we shall need servants and i don't trust the prisoners in the ship--all criminals of the lowest type!_ aloud, he said to the bewildered terrestrials, "if you don't want to help us, i shall understand. no sense your interfering in another species' quarrels, particularly as we must seem like monsters to you." "monster!" the mosquito-bat agreed. "monster, monster, monster!" no one tried to stop him. jrann-pttt sensed that somehow he had lost a good deal of his grip on the terrestrials. finesse, he thought angrily, was wasted on these barbaric life-forms. bernardi sighed. "i suppose we'll have to help you." _no reason why his ship shouldn't stop off at earth before it goes to alpha centauri. no reason why it should even go to alpha centauri at all, in fact._ "if you ask me," the captain said, "he's one of the criminals himself." "but nobody asked you," miss anspacher retorted, the more acidly because she had been wondering the same thing. "shall we resume our journey?" "hold on," the vine said. "i don't want to intrude or anything, but it hasn't been made quite clear to me whether or not i'm included in the invitation to this alpha centauri place, and i wouldn't want to keep going only on the off-chance that you might ask me. i really think you should, because you led me astray with your fair promises of glittering cities." "the cities of our planet do not glitter," jrann-pttt replied, wishing it would wither instantly, "but certainly you are invited. glad to have you." "oh, that's awfully decent of you," the vine said emotionally. "i shan't forget it, i promise you." * * * * * they plodded onward, the vine chattering so incessantly that a faint gurgling which accompanied them went unnoticed. the gurgling grew louder and louder as they pushed on. finally, "i keep hearing water," mortland remarked. "we must be approaching a river of some kind." a few minutes later, bursting through a screen of underbrush, they found themselves confronted by a river whose bubbling violet-blue waters extended for at least four kilometers from shadowy bank to bank, with the ridge tapering to a point almost in its exact center. apparently, while they had been trekking along the elevation, the surrounding terrain, concealed from them by the dense and evil-minded vegetation, had imperceptibly taken off, leaving the ridge to become a peninsula that jutted out into the river. they seemed to be stranded. all they could do was retrace their steps and, since they had no idea how far back the split became part of the mainland again, the return journey might last almost as long as it had taken them to get there. "i know we're heading in the right direction," jrann-pttt defended himself. "i wasn't aware of the river because we must have come by an overland route." although he was telling the truth, at least insofar as he knew it himself, no one, not even dfar-lll, believed him. "but let's rest a bit before we turn back," mortland proposed, flopping to the ground. "i'm utterly used up." "maybe we don't need to go back," the vine said. "not all the way, anyhow." everyone stared. it waved its leaves brightly at them. "i notice the captain thoughtfully brought along lots of rope and there were scads of fallen logs just a bit back. couldn't you just lash the logs together with the rope and make a--a thing on which we could float the rest of the way? on the water, you know." the others continued to look at it open-mouthed. "just a little idea i had," it said modestly. "may not amount to much, but then you can't tell until you've tried, can you?" "it--he--means a raft, i think," mrs. bernardi said. jrann-pttt probed the raft concept in her mind, for he found the vegetable's mental processes curiously obscure. "what an excellent idea!" he exclaimed. "it does not seem infeasible," professor bernardi admitted tightly. by now, he was suspicious of everyone and everything. _if i had never broached the idea of space travel to those peasants_, he thought, _i would be on earth in the dubious comfort of my own home. that's what comes of trying to help humanity._ * * * * * "well," observed the captain as the heavy raft hit the water with a tremendous splash, "she seems to be riverworthy." he rubbed his hands in anticipation, much of his surliness gone, now that he was about to deal with something he understood. "since she is, in a manner of speaking, a ship, i suppose i assume command again?" he waited for objections, glancing involuntarily in jrann-pttt's direction. there were none. "right," he said, repressing any outward symptoms of relief. he efficiently deployed the personnel to the positions on the raft where he felt they might be least useless, the gear being piled in the middle and surmounted by algol, who naturally assumed possession of the softest and safest place by the divine right of cats. _the captain does have a commanding presence_, miss anspacher thought, _and a sort of uncouth grace. moreover, he cannot read my mind--in fact, he often cannot even understand me when i speak._ "all right!" he bellowed. "cast off!" the vine unfastened the rope that it had insouciantly attached to a tree trunk, remarking to the others, "don't let the trees intimidate you. actually their bark is worse than their bite." now it dropped lithely on board the raft, looking for a comfortable resting place. "please don't twine around me," miss anspacher said coldly. "if you insist upon coming with us, you will have to choose an inanimate object to cling to." "all right, all right," it tried to soothe her. "no need to get yourself all worked up over such a mere triviality, is there? i'll just coil myself tidily around one of those spare logs. i must say you're warmer, though." _yes, she is, isn't she?_ thought the captain, and squeezed her hand. * * * * * the raft drifted down the river. since the current was flowing in the desired direction, there did not appear to be any need to use the poles, and everyone sat or reclined as comfortably as possible in the suffocating heat. the yellow haze had become so thick that they seemed to be at the bottom of a custard cup. [illustration] "i do hope we're heading the right way," professor bernardi said, _although who knows what is right and what is wrong any more_? "perhaps we aren't," mrs. bernardi mused, stroking algol, who had crawled into her lap. "perhaps we will go drifting along endlessly. every sixteen days, it will get dark and every sixteen days it will get light, and meanwhile we will continue floating along, never going anywhere, never getting anywhere, never seeing anything but haze and raft and river and each other." algol wheezed in his sleep. "nonsense!" jrann-pttt said rudely. "i have a compass. i know the direction perfectly well." "and yet you let us think we were wandering about blindly." miss anspacher gave him a contemptuous look. the captain pressed her hand. "since you seem to breathe the same air and eat much the same food that we do, mr. pitt," mrs. bernardi changed her tack, "i suppose we'll be physically comfortable on your planet for the rest of our lives. our children will be born there and our children's children, and eventually they'll forget all about earth and think it was only a legend." "but you did expect to settle permanently on venus, didn't you?" the vine asked, bewilderedly. "or for a long visit, anyway. so i don't really see that it makes much difference if you go to jrann-pttt's alpha centauri place. so much nicer to be living with friends, i should think." "but alpha centauri is so very far away," mrs. bernardi sighed. "there wouldn't be much chance of our ever getting back." "look!" mortland exclaimed. "the river's branching. which fork do we take?" * * * * * jrann-pttt, who had been dabbling his arms idly in the translucent violet-blue water, withdrew them hastily as nine green eyes, obviously belonging to the same individual, rose to the surface and regarded him with more than casual interest. he consulted his compass. "left." "contrarily!" the mosquito-bat suddenly squeaked, pointing a small rod at his companions. "rightward." there was a stunned silence. "monster!" mortland cried in reproach. "you can talk! how could you deceive us like that?" "can talk," the creature retorted. "me not intelligent life-form, ha! who talks last talks best. have not linguistic facility of inferior life-forms, but can communicate rudely in your language." "remember," mortland cautioned, "there are ladies present." "have been lying low and laughing to self--ha, ha!--at witlessness of lowerly life-forms." "but why?" mrs. bernardi demanded distractedly. "haven't we been kind to you?" "you be likewise well treated in our zoo," it assured her. "all of you. our zoo finest in galaxy. and clean, too." "now really, sir, i must protest--" professor bernardi began, trying to extricate a blaster unobtrusively from the pile of gear in which the too-confident terrestrials had cached their weapons. monster gestured with his rod. "this is lethal weapon. do not try hindrancing me. hate damage fine specimens. captain, go rightward." "oh, is that so!" greenfield retorted hotly. "let me tell you, you--you insect!" "george!" miss anspacher clutched his arm. "do what it says. for my sake, george!" "oh, all right," he muttered. "just for you, then. told you not to trust any of 'em," he went on, reluctantly poling the raft in the ordered direction. "foreigners!" "fine zoo," the mosquito-bat insisted. "very clean. run with utmost efficientness. strict visiting hours." * * * * * "and there goes plan d," the vine said lightly. there was a hint of laughter in its voice. jrann-pttt stared at it in consternation. "are you also from the alpha centauri system, sir?" it turned its attention to the mosquito-bat. "naturally i'm curious to know where i'm going," it explained, "since i seem definitely to be included in your gracious invitation." "alpha centauri, hah!" the mosquito-bat snorted. "i from what earthlets laughingly term sirius. alpha centauri merely little star." "now see here!" jrann-pttt sprang to his feet. criminal he might be, but he was not going to sit there and have his sun insulted! "gentlemen! gentlemen!" miss anspacher cried. "no use getting yourself killed, jrann-pttt!" "correctly," monster approved. "elementary intelligence displayed. why damage fine specimens?" _from one prison into another_, the saurian mentalized bitterly. _yes_, returned dfar-lll, _and it's all your fault._ the junior lizard burst into tears. _i wish i had let merglyt-ruuu do what he wanted. i would have been better off._ "sirius," the vine repeated. "that's even farther away than alpha centauri, isn't it? i never thought i would get that far away from the swamp! this really will be an adventure!" "how do you know--" professor bernardi began. "frankly," it went on, "i don't see why you chaps are so put out by the whole thing. what's the difference between alpha centauri and sirius anyway? matter of a few light-years, but otherwise a star's a star for all that." "to jrann-pttt, we wouldn't have been specimens," mrs. bernardi said, belatedly recognizing the advantages of alpha centauri. "no, not specimens," the vine told her easily. "i don't suppose you know he had no intention of taking you back to his system. he wanted you to help him kill the officers of his ship so they couldn't look for him and the other escaped prisoner or report back to his planet. then he was going to put the ship out of commission and found his own colony here with you as his slaves. i'd just as soon be a specimen as a slave. sooner. better to reign in a zoo than serve in a swamp!" "just how do you know all this?" miss anspacher demanded. "it's obvious enough," bernardi said gloomily. "another telepath." _how can we compete or even cope with creatures like these? what a fool i was to think i could outwit them._ "telepathy just tricksomeness," the mosquito-bat put in jealously. "i have no telepathy, yet superior to all." "but why should mr. pitt want to kill his officers?" mrs. bernardi asked querulously. "he's the commandant, isn't he? or is he a professor? i never got that straight." "he was one of the criminals on the ship," the vine told her. "what you might call a confidence man. this is about the only system in the galaxy where he isn't wanted. he did tell you the truth, though, when he said they were sent on an expedition to collect zoological specimens. dangerous work," it sighed, "and so his people use criminals for it. they were sent out in small detachments. our friend here killed his guard in a fight over a female prisoner, which was why--" "but what happened to the female prisoner?" miss anspacher's eye caught dfar-lll's. "oh, no!" she gasped. "why not?" dfar-lll demanded. "i'm as much of a female as you are. maybe even more." the captain leaned close to miss anspacher. "no one can be more feminine than you are, dolores," he whispered. "but he--she's so young!" mrs. bernardi wailed. the vine made an amused sound. "don't you have juvenile delinquents on earth?" "oh, what does all that matter now?" jrann-pttt said sullenly. "we're all going to a sirian zoo, anyway." "correctly," approved the monster-bat. "finest zoo. clean. commodious cages. reasonable visiting hours. very nice." mrs. bernardi began to cry. "now," the vine comforted her, "a zoo's not so bad. after all, most of us spend our lives in cages of one kind or another, and without the basic security a zoo affords--" "but we don't know we're in cages," mrs. bernardi sobbed. "that's the important thing." professor bernardi looked at the vine. "but why are you--" he began, then halted. "perhaps i don't want an answer," he said. there was no hope at all left in him, now that there was no doubt. "you are wise," the vine agreed quietly. algol arose from mr. bernardi's lap and rubbed against its thick pale green stem. he knew. the mosquito-bat looked at both of them restlessly. the yellow haze had deepened to old gold. now it was beginning to turn brown. "it's twilight," miss anspacher observed. "soon it will be dark." "perhaps we'll sail right past his ship in the night," mortland suggested hopefully. the mosquito-bat gave a snort. "ship has lights. all modern convenients." suddenly the air seemed to have grown chilly--colder than it had any right to be on that torrid planet. all around them, it was dark and very quiet. "i think i do see lights," mortland said. "must be ship," monster replied. and somehow the rest of them could sense the uneasiness in the thin, piping, alien voice. "must be!" "your ship's a very large one then," bernardi commented as they rounded a bend and a whole colony of varicolored pastel lights sprang up ahead of them. "not my ship!" the mosquito-bat exclaimed in a voice pierced with anguish. "not my ship!" before them rose the fantastic, twisting, convoluting, turning spires of a tall, marvelous, glittering city. "you will find that the streets actually are filled with chlorophyll," the vine said. "and i know you'll be happy here, all of you. you see, we can't have you going back to your planets now. no matter how good your intentions were, you'd destroy us. you do see that, don't you?" "you may be right," bernardi agreed dispiritedly, "although that doesn't cheer us any. but what will you do with us?" "you'll be provided with living quarters comparable to those on your own planets," the vine told him, "and you'll give lectures just as if you were in a university--only you'll be much more secure. i assure you--" its voice was very gentle now--"you'll hardly know you're in a zoo." menace of the mists by richard storey a nameless horror poured from the sea-bottoms of venus, driven by a soulless intelligence that could not be beaten. four earthmen stood in the way of the voracious horde, knowing they could not escape--but swearing they would not admit defeat. [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from planet stories may 1943. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] macaloon rose in the stirrups of his saddle-lizard. his guide, a venusian fishman, trembled nervously at the mount's side and pointed straight ahead. macaloon followed the direction of the quivering four-jointed, scaly arm. "see, bossmac?" the reptilian native hissed in fright. "bosslimpy speak truth. cen'pedes ready to march. soon they attack us. then is all over." on the other lizard, little al birchall tried to peer through the bright white fog of venus. it was like attempting to gaze through a bedsheet. macaloon lifted a pair of infra-red binoculars to his eyes. instantly, the glasses dispelled the blinding mist. "see anything, mac?" birchall asked. mac stared ahead without answering. before him lay the black, motionless ocean which covered all the planet except a few hundred large islands. at the shore he saw movement, an enormous inky wave that flowed ponderously up over the land and steadily inched forward. countless thousands of foot-long creatures were swarming out of the water and falling into dense marching ranks. the beasts, like huge centipedes, each had dozens of swift legs. the front half was legless, though, and looked like the human part of a centaur. it wasn't only the posture that made the resemblance. they had round heads, shaped like skulls, with deadly mandibles; and clever arms and hands grew out of their shoulders. centaurpedes--even more than the heat, the mud and the fog, they were man's most murderous enemy on venus. silently, mac handed the binoculars to al birchall. "bossmac," the fishman pleaded, "we go 'way, not fight cen'pedes? they kill and eat us; nothing we can do." mac watched al lower the glasses from his eyes. he did it very slowly at first, then grinned when he caught mac's gaze, and flipped the binoculars across. "they sure look dangerous," he said. "they are," mac answered quietly. "they can strip the flesh off our bones in three minutes flat." below them, between the tall bulk of the two mounts, the fishman's long, flat head turned from mac's face to al's. "bossal, tell bossmac we not able fight cen'pedes," he begged sibilantly. "they come--" the thin, scaled hands waved excitedly, "like biggest army you ever see, make war on mine. you kill and kill, more come. please, we go to man city!" macaloon jerked his lizard's reins around in the direction of the mine. al's mount came alongside. the fishman groaned, then began trotting before them on swift webbed feet. they splashed over the eternal mud, through the ever-present white fog. should they give up the fight against the shrewd, heartbreakingly persistent vermin? if they did, they would have to abandon the mine which had become their lifework. they would have to blow up the place before retreating. for all life on venus was amphibious, but centaurpedes were deliberately trying to quit the water, knowing their semi-civilization could reach its mechanistic goal only on land. unable to prop the porous native rock with the brittle, primitive plastics they used instead of metals, they were striving to take over an iron mine that had already been started by human engineers. then, with the metal they could produce, they would make tools and raise cities ... and manufacture weapons with which to push men clear off the planet. their forays had forced a number of mines out of existence. two years ago, before al birchall became the fourth partner here, an undersea colony of 'pedes swarmed down on this place. surrounded on all sides, the men had put up a long, bitter fight. if adonis city, half around the globe, hadn't finally sent a rocket ship, they would have been lost. in the rocket, mac had tried flame-strafing with the bow jets, swooping back and forth across the black mass of besiegers. but the wily animals merely dug deep in the mud and waited till he passed overhead, then continued the attack. since he couldn't be everywhere at once, part of the army was always surging forward. at best, the strafing only slowed down the assault. but then limpy austin, up in the lookout tower, sighted foraging parties in the rear, dragging up food supplies in the form of gigantic dead meat-eaters. mac had rocketed over the rear of the army, burning the food into useless charred fragments. starving, the attackers were at last forced to retreat to their ocean city, but only until they could figure out a new strategy. mac said, "we'll stick." otherwise, he knew, he'd have to go back to ferrying fruit boats between south america and antarctica. birchall would revert to his old confidence games all over the system. swede steffansen would have to manipulate a freight crane on mercury again. and limpy austin--well, there wasn't much a semi-cripple could do, outside of being lookout and radio operator for his friends. * * * * * the two riders approached the mine enclosure which struggled into visibility through the smothering haze. the fishman, fleeter than the lumbering saddle-lizards, had already reached the high wire fence. he gestured wildly at the guard nearest him, an alert armed venusian who stood on a stilt-platform that overlooked the fence to the mud flats beyond. the guard pressed a button that opened a gate in the wire barricade. the mounted men pounded through, and over the wide muddy stretch to the concrete wall. deeply embedded in the ooze, with the rock bed for a foundation, the wall paralleled the outer fence and closed in the entire mining grounds. its polished outer face was deeply indented, like a sharply curved concave lens. no joints showed in the smooth surface. but limpy austin, up in the glass-walled lookout room atop the stilt blockade house, saw them. he opened a tightly fitting door in the concrete rampart. they rode through into the compound, dismounted near the closed-cabin freight tractor that stood beside the smelter. "the 'pedes are coming, aren't they?" asked a slow, heavy voice behind them. swede steffansen came around the lizards. he was a big, placid man, but his sky-blue eyes--blue as the heaven of earth, not this white hell--were troubled now. he said: "i could tell by the way the pack animals are acting. they're touchy." "they caught the scent," mac answered. "the attack's due in about two hours. let all the animals out. we don't want them stampeding during the battle." swede nodded, slogged off toward the corral. "tell the fishmen we're in for a fight with 'pedes," mac ordered birchall. "weed out the weak sisters. they'd only get in our way, anyhow." stepping high to avoid splashing, al bounded off in the direction of the tipple at the mine entry. macaloon went into the blockade house and climbed to the lookout room. limpy austin was standing at the infra-red glass wall. his left arm and leg were shriveled, and one side of his face was twisted up in a sardonic leer. mercurian paralysis, that strange disease which immobilizes either half of a person depending on whether it is contracted at the day or night side, had made a hopeless cripple of him. he turned around when mac came in. "well?" he asked. "they're coming, all right," mac grunted. he leaned over the control panel, pushed the button that clanged the cease-work alarm down in the mine. then he threw the lever that halted the ore cars to bring the men to the surface. "how do things look?" limpy pursued. mac shrugged. "we ought to have a better chance than before. there are four of us this time." limpy shuffled to the radio. with his slender, sensitive right hand, he twisted the dials. "adonis city," he said harshly into the microphone. "limpy austin calling adonis city...." there was a squeal of static. "adonis city," replied a harried voice. "come in, austin, but make it short!" "what's up?" "'pede attack on every damned mine. how about you? aren't they--" "yeah," limpy cut in. "that's why i'm calling. send over a ship. ours is wrecked." the weary voice cursed. "i can't, austin. we figured you had a boat, so we shipped them all to the other mines." "okay," limpy shrugged. "then we'll have to do without." "why don't you guys blow up the place and leave?" "maybe we'll have to. i don't know. when you get a chance--" "yeah," the man replied hastily. "the first ship that comes in, you guys get. so long, and good luck!" limpy switched off and glanced inquiringly at mac, his paralyzed grin a slash of seemingly pure evil. "looks bad, mac." "maybe," macaloon said curtly. "if we can hold out till they give us a boat, we'll come through all right." nevertheless, he frowned, worried by the simultaneous attacks. there was something ominous behind them--and he didn't know what. * * * * * limpy was sullen; the more the right side of his face drew down in anger, the more sardonically leered the frozen left side. swede's placid features showed no emotion, but his clenched fists did. mac alone tried to appear cheerful, though his mind was furiously analyzing their grave situation. while birchall said nothing, peering absently into space. silently, the men pulled on steel-soled shoes, lead-fiber gloves and infra-red goggles. on their backs they strapped compact battery-radios with short antennae, a fixed microphone at the chest. the loudspeaker atop each small set, at neck level, could be heard in anything short of a vacuum or explosion. then the defenders armed themselves with flame-throwers and machine guns that shot steel-piercing bomb bullets. straightening, mac asked: "how many fishmen are staying?" "twenty-one," snarled birchall. mac grinned wryly. "cheer up, al. that's better than i figured on." he turned. "limpy, stay up at lookout. warn me when the 'pedes are getting close. swede, you and al set up ammunition dumps in the compound. then make sure the explosives and contacts will work fast if we have to blow up the place in a hurry." while the others dispersed, mac gathered a squad of fishmen, armed with flame-throwers and led them outside the high fence. methodically, they burned down all vegetation for a distance of several hundred yards, to prevent the centaurpedes from creeping up close under cover. when mac and his detachment were returning, limpy opened a sluice from the central control tower. oil poured into the shallow water-filled moat that ringed the wire barrier. a thick, greasy film spread over the water. meanwhile, the rest of the fishmen had been deployed around the inside of the fence. they stood nervously holding their flame-throwers, their membrane-covered eyes bulging anxiously. up on the stilt towers, the best native marksmen pressed their quivering scaled shoulders against the stocks of mounted machine-guns. mac felt a pang of gratitude. he knew what their decision to stay had meant. all life on venus dreaded the centaurpede with a blind, wild terror. "hey!" limpy's voice grated through the radio. "come up to the lookout room!" macaloon rushed through the mud and climbed to the glass-walled chamber. he glanced questioningly at limpy. the lookout man wordlessly handed him a pair of binoculars and pointed to the coast. swede and al burst in, as usual, asked no questions. but birchall was babbling at a terrific rate. "shut up!" limpy said tensely. mac stared at the ocean. his jaw muscles suddenly bunched into hard knots. at wide intervals, six black waves were lapping over the shore and rolling down on the mine like a flood--a deluge with gigantic mandibles and fiendish cunning, a torrent miles long and spread far over the muddy plain. "that's never happened before," limpy whispered. "it was always one colony to a mine." swede and al took turns at the binoculars. no change came over swede's face. birchall's, though, contracted in horror. "they got together!" he yapped. "we're done for, mac! we can't fight six colonies all at once, and without a boat!" scowling, mac jammed his hands into his pockets. "they're using holding attacks on the other mines to tie up help from adonis city. meanwhile, they're concentrating their main force here." "smart little devils," rumbled swede. "we ought to quit!" al chattered. "we can't lick them!" his face whiter and more contorted than ever, limpy said: "why don't you guys beat it?" mac's head jerked up sharply. swede looked at limpy in mild surprise. al birchall's chin dropped. "what do you mean--us guys?" al demanded. "what about you?" both sides of limpy's face grinned sardonically. "no boat, all the animals set free--you'll have to run for it. and me? well, i'm not much good at running. but you three can escape, if i'm not along to hold you back." "i'm a heel," snarled birchall. "forget what i said." "sure, limpy," swede added with clumsy joviality. "this little ape is always talking before he thinks. we're sticking--all of us." "cut it out!" snapped limpy. "somebody has to stay here to throw the dynamite switch. i don't need any help." "nobody's throwing any switch," mac declared. "this is our mine, and no damned vermin are taking it over!" "but you'll never beat them," pleaded limpy. "and even if you did, they'd only keep coming back until they got the place. you can't wipe them out once and for all." "someday, somebody will," mac said. "in the meantime, we can fight like hell. 'pedes haven't any more intelligence than a bee, but even they get tired of being slaughtered." "a bee?" al asked. "i thought 'pedes were smart devils." "not individually, according to graves, the old-time biologist." "then how can they plan and act all together?" "they have some way of coordinating, graves claimed. how does a beehive act as a unit? we don't know, but it does just the same." "can't i talk you fellows into leaving?" begged limpy. "no!" al stated flatly. limpy shrugged. shuffling over to the window, he pointed down at the closed-cabin tractor beside the smelter. "then how about letting me use that as a tank?" he asked. "i'm not much good here, anyhow. the 'pedes wouldn't be able to get at me, inside the cabin, and i could crush and burn them down till they quit." "that was tried once at a mine," said mac. "the 'pedes dug tank traps. the driver killed himself after being stuck in one for a week. it didn't matter; he'd have died soon enough. but even when he skipped the traps, the 'pedes dodged the treads. they don't just stand around and wait to be crushed." the right side of limpy's face drew down in disappointment. "you guys are suckers to stick around. i'm just a rubber cog." "rubber cog, huh?" al yelped. "how do you think we're going to fight without a lookout man?" "don't talk like a sap, limpy," added mac with gruff gentleness. "we need you a lot more than you need us." a slow, sad smile spread over limpy's twisted features. "okay, if that's how you feel about it." "that's how we feel about it," swede answered. they went down to their stations within the enclosure. in deadly silence, the camp waited for the first blow. * * * * * it came when the tension was almost unbearable. through his infra-red goggles, macaloon could see a vast, dark smear, advancing inexorably, like the ominous march of a black glacier. before the ordered ranks came the expected stampede of animals. as if they had studied the break-through tactics of the extinct nazis, the 'pedes were driving huge beasts ahead of them, living tanks that were meant to smash down the mine's fortifications. enormous meat-eaters were thundering along on vast legs, crushing smaller carnivores in their frenzied flight. fleet, timid vegetarians raced beside their killers, but neither thought of anything except the hideously lethal creatures close behind them. when the animals were close to the fence, mac snapped an order into his microphone. instantly, flame-throwers spat at the pool of oil surrounding the mine. a fierce blaze sprang up. the demented rabble scattered right and left--all but the meat-eaters, the biggest beasts on venus. too stupid to fear fire, they were the greatest danger. in idiot terror, they crashed toward the fence. somehow, the fishmen stood their ground. mac knew how they felt. it was a sensation of unnerving horror to watch a gigantic animal plunging toward you, to stare at the enormous fangs in the slavering yard-wide mouth, to feel the ground trembling beneath their tremendous feet.... macaloon opened fire. from every side of the camp, he heard answering blasts. the pounding of the machine-guns made a furious clatter. bullets exploded savagely in the great bodies. then horrible bellows of agony drowned every other sound. for minutes after a man managed to pump an endless burst of slugs into a meat-eater, and saw the flesh erupt in bloody blobs, he couldn't help shaking, though he knew the monster was already dead on its feet. then the vast beast collapsed into the mud with a deafening splash, and he wondered if he could ever forget the terrifying sight. when the thick, oily smoke thinned out, the smaller animals had fled into the fog. mac sent out a squadron of fishmen, who destroyed the dying meat-eaters. if the bodies had been allowed to remain, the 'pedes would have used them as a food supply. the fishmen came back inside, and all the fog-wrapped world was silent. on noiseless feet, the oncoming army moved with impossible precision toward the camp. twenty-five defenders against uncounted millions, with only a web of wiring and a concrete wall between them and the jaws of doom. and even if they won, victory would be no more than a truce.... * * * * * the six armies of centaurpedes met and fused. narrower and narrower grew the gap between the mine and the unending wave of repulsive vermin. then, when they were almost at the fence, the main army suddenly slowed down, and the two wings broke into double-swift march, advancing on both sides of the barrier. "turn on the juice!" mac snapped into his microphone. abruptly, the fence began shooting off big blue sparks in the wet air. the main body of centaurpedes halted a few yards away and remained impassive. inside, the fishmen stood frozen, staring in terror at the long, multi-legged animals, the round, intelligent-looking heads, the huge mandibles, and the upright shoulders with pairs of clever hands and arms. behind the camp, the encircling wings met and joined. more advanced until the surrounding army was uniform in depth. then, with a single movement, the black cataract flooded straight at the wire fence. "hold your fire!" mac yelled at his fishmen. around the compound, he heard swede and al shouting the same order. but it was too much to expect of fear-tightened native nerves. spasmodic bursts of fire spurted out. undaunted, the horde pressed on against the fence. crackling and flashing, the electrified wire suddenly flung out great streamers of sparks. the moist chitinous bodies shriveled into ashes. a stink of burned flesh polluted the heavy fog. apparently at an inaudible signal, the entire mass of 'pedes fell back out of danger. macaloon was awed. he knew that the rear of a human army, unable to see what was happening up front, would keep pushing forward. but a secret knowledge, impossible to men, made the centaurpedes act as a single entity. looking along the fence, mac could see detachments of 'pede scouts, moving warily toward the sparking barrier. while the army watched, the reconnoiterers experimentally touched the wire. a flash and they were destroyed, but not before serving their purpose. they had given the army a chance to analyze the fence's properties. again the entire force moved forward, this time with more caution than before. macaloon looked on anxiously, knowing they were aware of the danger. "mac!" cried al's voice. "what're they going to do?" "they're too smart to keep electrocuting themselves," said macaloon tersely. "they must have a plan." "but what is it?" "i don't know," mac admitted. the first ten lines halted within a foot of the flashing barricade. the next nine marched forward and mounted the backs of the first lines. then each succeeding rank climbed those in front. "a pyramid!" al yapped. the fishmen gaped up at mac, then back at the 'pedes. they were close to cracking. "wait!" mac ordered. "wait till boss-limpy says they're almost to the top of the fence. then fire low. don't keep firing after the pyramid falls!" the sporadic firing ceased. immense gaps had appeared in the pyramid, but the fence had heated red. the drain on the generators would be enormous, and this macaloon had feared more than the few invaders that might drop across. swiftly, the pyramid grew until it was as high as the fence. then, up in the lookout room, limpy barked a signal. flame leaped out at the lowest line of 'pedes, slashed back and forth. all in an instant, the pyramid collapsed. the centaurpedes retreated, leaving a ring of charred bodies around the fence. but the survivors were as numberless as ever. in the sudden silence, agonized shrieks rang out across the compound. "what's wrong, limpy?" demanded macaloon. "it's al, but i can't see what happened!" "stay where you are, swede!" mac ordered. "keep the fishmen fighting!" he raced to birchall's station, saw that al's flame-thrower had jammed. hundreds of centaurpedes had hurled themselves over the fence and surrounded two natives. others had brought up a tree trunk and hammered a big hole in the wire. through the gap, a full regiment was pouring into the enclosure. "take care of the ones inside!" al shrieked. "i'll stop them!" "don't be a fool!" shouted mac. "fall back and get another flame-thrower!" unheeding, al smashed a path to the fence with the butt of his weapon. 'pedes were already climbing up his body and wasting no time. he bit his lip and charged on. the trickle of blood running down his chin was the smallest one flowing from his torn flesh. in a last desperate lunge, he grabbed the ends of the broken fence. "_al!_" mac cried out. he was too late. a sheet of blue flame had sprung up. there was a piercing scream of pain beyond endurance. then birchall hung limply, caught, as he had intended, by the jagged ends of wire. his mangled, lifeless body, through which the current flowed, had closed the gap. * * * * * a sudden film spoiled mac's vision. savagely, he blinked it away. with vicious fury, he burned down the swiftly crawling centaurpedes around him. the two fishmen, no longer surrounded, shuddered free of their fright and began to help. under the fierce heat, all the animals in the enclosure curled and died. murderously calm, mac fired a steady blast through the fence at the pyramid outside. sizzling and frying, the formation fell to the ground. in spite of that, the 'pedes had won this battle. they had unleashed a new weapon while the defenders had turned to watch the struggle. a rain of vermin seemed to come from the sky. for, thrust deep into the mud outside the fence, were whip-like catapults. ten animals were drawing back each slingshot, flinging a 'pede into the enclosure! dismayed, macaloon watched them hurtle over the wire in unbelievable numbers. shooting wildly at them, yet fixed to the ground they were defending, the fishmen were desperately near panic. "stop firing!" mac shouted. his order was ignored. he cursed and pulled half of the natives away, giving their flame-throwers to the remaining guards. the first half he sent inside the compound with snapped instructions. the others he placed just before the concrete rampart. armed with two weapons instead of one, each fishmen had double firing power. "let them reform their ranks inside the camp," mac ordered. "then let them have it!" limpy communicated the command to swede on the other side of the compound. the haphazard blasts stopped. undisturbed now, the centaurpedes well into military formation, as mac had expected. when their lines were twenty deep, they advanced, a black, tight unit with champing mandibles. "now!" macaloon roared. a withering wall of flame lashed out, burning down the invaders by the hundreds. but reinforcements kept flying over the blue-flashing fence. and under cover of the air invasion, the pyramids were being built again! the fishmen, backed up against the curved concrete barricade, were unable to reach this new threat with a stream of fire. obeying his previous instructions, a squad of fishmen came staggering through the doors in the wall. they dragged oxygen and hydrogen tanks that were connected in pairs by flexible, insulated hoses with triggered nozzles. "forward!" mac commanded. limpy passed the word around the besieged mine, and fishmen advanced with blazing flame-throwers. behind them, the reserves hauled up the tanks. slowly, stubbornly, the tide of centaurpedes was driven back into the fence. an ear-splitting crackle, and they were gone, a smoking pile of cinders. even after the camp was clear, mac did not rest. he drove the reserves to the fence and kept them firing at the enemy beyond. "not the 'pedes!" he shouted. they looked up, bewildered, wondering why ammunition should be used, if not to burn down the foe. "melt the catapults!" he ordered. the natives understood at last that the hand-weapons were too feeble to reduce the crude plastic slingshots, but that the tank flame-throwers were not. they blasted out at the catapults. but the centaurpedes were damnably shrewd. in half the time it had taken the fishmen to comprehend, the vermin had begun pulling up their slingshots and retreating out of range. harrying his forces to get the catapults, mac glanced aside and swore viciously. in the gaps between his widely spaced crew, more pyramids were forming. "forget the slingshots!" he yelled. "they can wait till later!" the revised order didn't make sense to the fishmen. they couldn't see that, while their attention was diverted, the main army could pour over the fence on a secure pyramid. they blasted away at the slingshots and ignored the wall of 'pedes. the deadly animals saw their chance and acted. with quick cunning, they sent over a torrent of invaders. chattering in fear, the fishmen switched their attack to the pyramids, but they were too late. they were being driven back by the vermin inside the fence, and more and more were coming over. "i can't hold them, mac," came swede's unalarmed voice. "i can't either," mac said tensely. "get the fishmen and fuel tanks into the compound." shrill screams erupted from the natives. faced by alert, precise ranks marching toward them, they threw down their weapons and rushed for the concrete wall. * * * * * mac ran forward, cursing. he grabbed an oxy tank and pulled it to safety. most of the thrower fuel was safe in the camp, but the tanks outside would be badly needed if the attack continued in force. but regiments of 'pedes had by-passed the ammunition and posted guards to prevent their being rescued. hard-faced, mac ordered a fishmen to go out into the enclosure with him. while mac kept back the horde with a hail of fire, the shivering native pulled a tank into the compound. mac increased the size of the raiding parties. again and again they sallied out, until the bulk of the abandoned fuel was saved. sweating, mac signaled to limpy in the blockade house. the hermetic doors in the wall slid shut. the natives stood on the ledge on the inner side of the rampart, watching with horror-filled eyes as the fiendish beasts tried to scale the concave surface. mac called swede by radio, then trudged through the mud to the blockade house. the three men met in the lookout room. seeing swede, mac realized for the first time how dirty, wet and exhausted he was himself. they were both blackened with mud and flame blasts, their clothing grimy and sopping. limpy's good eye was harrowed, the frozen side of his face contorted in an evil grin. "poor al," muttered swede. he sank down ponderously on a chair. "he was a game little fellow. i'll miss him." without replying, limpy turned around. he stared sightlessly through the infra-red windows at the white fog and the eternal mud, the seething mass of centaurpedes and the shaking, gabbling fishmen. all around the mine, seeming to reach every horizon, stretched the completely encircling army of vermin. but that was not what limpy was seeing. mac came over to the window. "i saw al die, too," he said in a harshly gentle voice. "if i have to kick off that way, i hope i'll be as brave as he was." "maybe you'll get your chance sooner than you think," limpy snarled. "six armies against us, one dead, our boat no good, the fence useless, the fishmen demoralized--" he whirled. "what are we waiting for? why don't we blow up the place and quit?" "because we still have a chance," mac answered. "they've taken our first line of defense, but we still have the second." "the wall?" swede grunted. "think that'll stop them long?" "long enough," promised mac. "it's thirty times as high as they are, and three feet out of plumb-line with the bottom. before they figure out how to get across, maybe adonis city'll be able to send us a rocket. get them on the radio, anyhow, limpy. we're carrying the whole weight of the attack. they've got to give us a ship." limpy shuffled to the panel. he set the dials, then spoke mechanically into the microphone: "adonis city. limpy austin calling adonis city...." several minutes went by. he looked up. "they don't answer." "keep trying," mac said. "everybody must be calling them from all the other mines." "that's what i mean," swede put in earnestly. "we fight; the other mines fight. sometimes we win; sometimes the 'pedes do. whatever happens, it's never finished. we spoil their old tricks, so they figure out new ones. they're devils, mac. we can never lick them for good." "someday, somebody will," mac said stubbornly. he gripped the sill and stared out through the infra-red glass. in the outer compound was a black fester of centaurpedes, crawling like gigantic lice before the concrete barricade. "nothing can stop them," swede said beside him. "they'll find a way of getting over. they always do. and then--" mac's skin began to creep. to be eaten, the flesh stripped off your bones while you're alive and screaming.... the fence had halted them, and they'd built pyramids. when flame-throwers cut down the pyramids, they used catapults. now the wall was holding them back, but they'd work out some method of hurtling over. then those armored bodies would push back the defenders until they could retreat no farther. before those steel-hard mandibles, one man after another would go down, a living skeleton, covered with black, crawling vermin.... mac shuddered. "as long as that wall holds them," he said, "it isn't hopeless. but the sooner the boat gets here, the better off we'll be. are you trying adonis city, limpy?" "all over the dial!" limpy groaned. "they don't answer!" swede shook his head. "the fishmen know what the odds are. look at that." mac saw three natives fling up their arms, claw over the wall and throw themselves into the 'pedes' jaws. they fought to their feet and raced toward the fence, but their fleetness didn't save them. long before they reached the wire, they were black and shapeless, covered from head to foot with clinging, rending animals. "the fence," swede explained quietly. "that's why they went crazy." * * * * * far to the right, a corps of centaurpede engineers had hauled up the huge tree trunk. using it as a battering ram again, they smashed down a section of the barrier. now they were rushing in, tearing the chargeless fence to pieces. as the two men watched tensely, another section collapsed with a splash into the mud. instantly, the 'pedes began moving it toward the concrete wall. "i knew they'd find a way," said swede. "they're going to use the fence segments as ladders." he turned away. mac, continuing to stare down, suddenly stiffened. the 'pedes were acting queerly, moving around sluggishly, as if they had lost interest in their task! he frowned and faced his companions. "that's funny," he muttered. "they're stopping--they seem confused." limpy shrugged and went on twirling the dials. swede glanced out, then looked at mac with upraised eyebrows. "they look the same to me," he said slowly. "you seeing things, mac?" startled, macaloon shot his gaze back to the scene below. swede was right! the 'pedes had resumed their work! mac stood still for a moment, his mind racing swiftly, trying to grasp the significance of that momentary halt. then he whirled, facing limpy. "what were you doing just a moment ago?" limpy raised his head from the dials. "trying all the wave lengths. adonis city isn't on its usual--" "i thought so!" mac yelled triumphantly. "get back to the length you had before!" "but there wasn't any answer." "they're halfway to the wall," swede muttered abstractedly. "get that wave length again!" mac snapped. limpy's right shoulder shrugged. he twisted the dial gently while macaloon turned back to the window and stared out tensely. "hold it!" he suddenly ordered. "don't touch those dials!" swede and limpy looked at him puzzledly. he pointed down at the swarming enclosure. limpy shuffled over to him, followed the direction of his finger. "they've dropped the fence," whispered the lookout. "they don't seem to know what they're doing." "yah," swede said in an awed voice. below, the centaurpedes were moving about aimlessly, as if they had forgotten their orders. they had completely lost their terrible machine-like precision! "i don't get it," swede complained in bewilderment. "what's wrong with them?" mac's grin was hard and tight. "they're directed by a central brain, a sort of queen 'pede which coordinates their actions by ultra-short-wave commands, the way a queen bee directs a beehive. that's the secret of their synchronization!" "and i was working the ultra-short--" limpy stopped, stunned. "that's the idea," mac nodded. "our signals blanket theirs! they can't get orders from the main intelligence, so they don't know what to do!" for a moment, the men were silent. slowly, then, swede said: "now all we have to do is kill the brain." "yeah," limpy agreed bitterly. "what a chance of getting through! where's the queen 'pede, or the brain, or whatever it is?" mac squinted through a pair of binoculars. he gazed along that meandering tangle of disorganized vermin. abruptly, he halted. a mile beyond the ravaged fence was a small patch of integrated activity, a regiment of centaurpedes that still functioned in unison. "there's the truth," he muttered. "or more likely, there are six of them, one from each undersea colony. they probably formed a council of war to attack us. that's why we almost lost." "_almost?_" swede echoed. "but we can't fight them now!" mac shook his head. "we won't lose," he said grimly. "i'm going to kill the council of war." "you're crazy!" limpy cried. "you'd have to run through a mile of mud and 'pedes. brain or no brain to direct them, they'll pull you down instinctively. mac, you won't have a chance!" macaloon looked out at the wandering army. "i think i will," he said. he went to the door. "they won't attack together. open the wall, limpy. don't mind if a few 'pedes get through. you can take care of them. just keep that ultra-short-wave blanket clamped down over their minds. so long." * * * * * he ran down the metal steps and across the mud toward the smelter. tearing open the door of the closed-cabin tractor, he jumped inside and slammed the port shut. he started the motor, drove past the blockade house. swede and limpy were at the window. mac waved. a door in the wall swung wide for him. he tooled through, the door closed and he was among the centaurpedes. infinitely disgusting things, a few individuals attacked the tractor in blind rage, clamping their mandibles on the steel parts and clinging senselessly. others gaped up in blank wonder as the machine bore down on them. he heard them _crack_ and _squish_ beneath the threads. he drove straight at the fence. it went down and he was out of the enclosure, entirely surrounded by vermin. on all sides, farther than he could see, were purposeless animals, no longer in orderly ranks, obeying a single dictate. how long would they remain severed from the controlling brains? desperately, mac fixed in his mind the position of the place where he had seen unified activity. he headed directly for the war council of intelligent centaurpedes. the treads of his tractors made sucking, splashing sounds through the mud. 'pedes, not bright enough by themselves to get out of the way of danger, died by the thousands under the grinding chains. he was drawing closer, into the thickest cluster of all. the vermin here were also wandering around, but they seemed to be trying to make up their minds. mac knew the blanketing wave was weaker here, that the council of queens 'pedes was struggling to get its nearer minions under control again. before that happened, they had to be destroyed. but where were they? two hundred yards away was a great battle square of centaurpedes, setting themselves with idiot bravery to stop his invincible machine. mandibles opened wide, they crouched back, ready to spring and rend the indestructible steel. were the 'pede dictators in the center of that battalion? theoretically, they should be, but mac knew better than to expect the obvious. were they brain-like, slug-like, or did they hide their vast significance behind protective disguises of mediocrity, pretending to be nothing but ordinary centaurpedes? the tractor lumbered on across the mud, smashed into that wall of nauseating bodies. the cracking and squashing made his stomach heave, yet he kept grinding ahead. "damn your murdering hearts, where are you?" he bit out. he crashed through the battalion, started to turn back for another charge. instead, he clamped his teeth together and continued savagely. far before him, he had seen several 'pedes, identical with the rest, racing in different directions toward the ocean. they had set up a rear guard to cover their retreat. he wrenched the wheel aside. _crack!_ "one!" he gloated. another was scampering furiously twenty feet ahead. he drove down on it, exulted when he heard the treads crush the hard chitinous shell. "two!" "three!" the revolting beasts were fleet, but the tractor was swifter. one after another, he ran them down, his lips twisting in a fierce grin each time he heard one squash beneath his treads. at last, two miles from camp, he stopped. he had destroyed the last 'pede trying to escape to the ocean. but had he killed the brains that had directed this gigantic assault on the mine? * * * * * he pivoted and started back to the compound. the 'pedes were still ambling around, following their single purposes. he could never have got through if the ultra-short wave hadn't actually blanketed the brains' commands. but were the animals merely disorganized only as long as the broadcast continued, or had their rulers really been killed? mac reached the mine. limpy opened a gate in the concrete wall, and he drove through. a moment later, he was in the lookout wall, standing beside his two partners, gazing out the window. "did you get them?" limpy asked breathlessly. mac leaned forward and watched with intent eyes. slowly, like brainless creatures gradually coming to a decision, the endless mob of centaurpedes began moving away. they didn't march, as they had advanced to the attack. they wandered off in the general direction of the sea from which they had sprung. "i got them," mac said. he straightened and turned around wearily. "get in touch with adonis city, limpy. give them the wave length that blankets the queen 'pedes' instructions. tell them to relay the information to mines that are under siege." "we've won?" asked swede incredulously. "yes," mac replied. "and this time it's for good. we'll be able to beat off every attack from now on. only, i don't think they'll go on fighting much longer. they'll have to quit." swede sat down ponderously. "i'm glad, mac. not for us; for al. he didn't die uselessly." "no," mac said. "he didn't." fumbling with the radio dials, limpy grinned. none but his close friends could know that grief made his grin wider and more evil-looking than ever. the thing of venus by wilbur peacock on far-off steaming venus, three earthlings faced awful death. and the only man who could save them from the veiled planet's unknown thing was kenton--disgraced, dope-sodden ex-space patrolman. [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from planet stories spring 1942. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] the gailang gas hung in low soft waves over the motley crowd of the tiny, hidden gailang den. laughter rose hysterically from the trio of women slummers, as the gas tore their natural reserves and modesty into shreds. a scarred space-pirate drooled over a handful of martian moon-diamonds, the disruptor gun handy to his gnarled fist. the gas-tender, his flat nose buried in a tiny mask, watched the crowd of inscrutable eyes, his hands flickering, now and then, over the pet-cock studded panel before him. val kenton lolled back in his padded booth, his eyes glazed with the drugging gas, his right hand fumbling aimlessly at the pipe resting on the battered table. his face was slack and whiskered, but even two months of lying drugged could not take the firmness from his mouth or the squareness from his jaw. he didn't see the two men wearing the blue uniforms of the s.p. come in, nor did he feel their heavy hands as they lifted him between them. he was smiling slightly in his sleep, his subconscious completely concerned with a martian dancing flower, when the two men tossed him into the rear seat of a cruiser and sent it speeding toward the grim forbidding walls of the s.p.'s prison. * * * * * val kenton came to with the acrid bite of neutralizing gas twisting his stomach in violent nausea. he retched, turned on his side, reaching automatically for the gas-pipe. his hand encountered nothing, and he opened dazed eyes, stared uncomprehendingly around. "leave me alone!" he snarled, "i paid your bloody money for a private booth!" a heavy palm smashed across his face, brought him, raging, to his feet. he lashed out with both hands, felt a grip of steel on his shoulder whirl him and throw him back to the laced-steel bunk. "sober up, kenton," a hard voice snapped, "i haven't got time to waste." val kenton came slowly to a sitting position, rubbed his aching forehead with his hand, finally forced his bleary eyes to focus on the uniformed man standing so grimly before him. the man was blocky, his grizzled hair a stiff shock above a craggy face. he wore the uniform of an s.p. colonel, with the triple bars that only a charter member of the space patrol could wear. his eyes were unfriendly as he stared at the unshaven, younger man before him, but deep in their gray depths was a terrified panic that he could not completely conceal. "snap out of it, kenton," he barked. val kenton swayed drunkenly to his feet, saluted insolently. "captain val kenton, of the cruiser pegasus, reporting for duty, sir," he said blurrily, mockingly, "day's orders, sir?" he stared about the cell, hate growing in his eyes, the jut of his chin becoming even more stubborn. his hand fumbled for a cigarette, and he lit it with a glow-lighter, as his gaze grew speculative. "well?" he prompted nastily. "look, val," the colonel sat on the bunk edge. "i need your help." val kenton laughed, and there was a deep hate and bitterness in the tones that brought the blood rushing to the patrolman's features. "you go to hell, you damned, snobbish, slave-driver," val kenton snapped coldly, "you got me cashiered out of the patrol; now i wouldn't like anything better than to push a disruptor into your belt and press the firing stud!" the blocky patrolman's knuckles were white, the muscles ridged and taut, but he kept his voice even and unruffled. "i'm not asking for myself," he said grimly, "this is for elise." "elise? what have i got to do with her any more?" "she's marooned somewhere on venus--may be dead on one of the islands." the colonel's voice broke despite his iron control. "for god's sake, val," he finished desperately, "you've got to find her and bring her back!" but val kenton was not listening. his mind was far away, drawing back the memories of long languorous nights beneath a tropical moon, remembering the soft shush-shush of waves lapping at the shore, of the whisper of the trade winds through tree fronds. he was recalling the lithe grace of elise's slender body as they whirled to the muted strains of a hidden orchestra. he was conjuring back again the perfume of her hair and the softness of her voice as she whispered to him of her love and her plans. and then he was back in the present, feeling the solid grip upon his shoulders, seeing the fear reflected in matthew barber's eyes. he felt the first twinge of fear himself, and his face hardened and grew stiff. "elise on venus?" he asked, "what the devil is she doing there?" "she went with tony andrews. he was finishing the job you started, and she stowed away in his ship. when i found the note she left, it was too late to do anything." the blur of hate in val kenton's mind then was a savage thing that seemed to drain all strength from his body. he whirled, faced the gray stone wall, afraid the other would see the murder-lust that lay so near the surface of his eyes. "to hell with tony," he grated between set jaws, "he was the one who squealed on me!" colonel barber's mouth tightened in distaste, and for one interminable second his hand toyed with the butt of his disruptor pistol; and then he was his old competent self again. "he only did his duty, val," he said slowly, "after all, you broke your oath and the interplanetary laws, when you smuggled those drugs and gasses from mars." * * * * * val kenton turned, blazing eyed, and so twisted were his features that the patrolman took an involuntary step backward. "i swore i'd get him for that!" he spat sibilantly, "i swore i'd get revenge for what he did to me! and now this is my chance." he shook his head. "i'll not help rescue him," he stated flatly. "but lord, val, you can't let elise and johnson, the chemist, die just because of an insane hate against a man who did not harm you maliciously!" "i can and i will! hell, what do i care what happens to them? tony betrayed me, got me sent up for trial. elise dropped me like a red-hot comet. and you cast the deciding vote that kicked me out of the service with a reputation that keeps me out of any ship that flies." his hand moved forcibly. "no, i'll never lift a hand to save any of you from anything!" he slumped to the bunk, sucked absently on the cigarette, his wide shoulders shaking from the violent emotions that sped through his turbulent mind. he heard the sudden indrawn gasp of the colonel's breath, nurtured a turgid satisfaction that the other was in trouble with which he could not cope. "you absolutely refuse to help find the girl you loved, and to endeavor to rescue her and the others?" barber said tensely. sudden vicious slyness darkened val kenton's eyes. "i didn't say that," he countered, "before i make a definite decision, we've got a little talking to do." "i'll promise anything within reason." "i want back my old rating; i want command of the finest ship in the service; and i want a presidential pardon." colonel barber's face had aged twenty years; he was suddenly an old broken man. he shook his head slowly, defeat in his gray features. "i can't do any of those things, val," he said slowly, "and you know it. but i will bring all the weight i can swing your way, to clear your name and give you a new start." val kenton laughed, but there was no amusement in his eyes or features. "i've got you over a barrel," he snapped, "you've got to play my way. i'm the only living man who has ever penetrated venus' cloud envelope, the only human who can find those islands and effect a rescue before elise and tony and johnson starve to death--or are killed by attacking venusians. and you've heard my demands; either meet them, or the whole patrol can't find them in time to save their lives." colonel barber shifted ponderously, his face like chiseled granite. "that is your final word?" "that's my final word." "but, val--?" "get out, and leave me alone! come back when everything is settled, and we'll talk business. until then, don't bother me." "you dirty, slimy little rat!" colonel barber slapped val kenton squarely across the mouth. "i thought maybe elise was right, and that you had just gone crooked for a moment; but now i can see just what kind of a man you really are." he spat directly into the seated man's face. "i'll go myself, before i get on my knees to you!" val kenton came lithely to his feet, and his driving fist rocked the old patrolman hard against the wall. he followed his advantage, smashing with both hands, his eyes sullen and hate-filling. he laughed aloud as blood spurted from barber's face. and then the patrolman rallied, striking back with the power and precision that came from forty years of patrol work. his right hand slashed out, drove the lighter man aside, his left darting in for a neck blow that partially paralyzed kenton's left arm. they stood and slugged for seconds, their breathing harsh and strained, their hands like brutal bludgeons smashing--smashing--smashing. and colonel barber's physical condition gave him the edge. he took the offensive, driving val kenton before him, releasing his grief and terror in a wild flurry of blows that stretched the other on the cement flooring. val kenton went down, tried to force his arms to lift him again. there was a dull respect in his mind for the other man, but it vanished almost instantly as agony from the patrolman's blows flooded his body. he shoved again with both hands on the floor, then crumpled into a fold of blackness that closed instantly over everything. colonel barber leaned gaspingly against the wall, his eyes calmly speculative as he watched the feeble twitching of the unconscious kenton. after a bit, he moved to the cell door, pounded for attention, gave quick orders when the guard arrived. moments later, four guards carried val kenton's slack body out of the cell and up the ramp that led to the outside. they placed val kenton as directed, then left silently, their eyes puzzled as they glanced at colonel barber bent over the note book in the bright glow of the landing-field lights. three minutes later, a scout cruiser fled with roaring jets into the blackness of star-sprinkled space. it took a high trajectory for seconds, then curved into a flattened arc that pointed a few degrees ahead of the green speck of light that was venus, in the direction of the planet's flight. slowly, the rocket-blast dwindled in size until it was a tiny reddish speck in space. after a bit, even that was gone--and there was only the blackness of nothing, against which the stars shone like tiny diamonds on a black velvet drape. * * * * * val kenton came slowly back to consciousness, his senses blurred and distorted. he opened his eyes, blinked dazedly when they caught sight of shiny familiar instruments on the panel before him. he tried to move, found that he was strapped to the cushions of the pilot seat. he licked dry lips, shook his head, wondering if the beating he had taken had driven him insane. he felt the steady rhythmic vibration of the pounding rockets in the ship, and he relaxed as suddenly as if a dam had broken within his mind. he saw the note then, for the first time. it was clipped to the instrument panel, and was evidently a sheet of paper torn from a note book. he scowled thoughtfully, lifted it from the clip, tilted it a bit so that he could read it in the radi-light's glow. "val, (he read) you have no choice now. by the time you read this, i will have issued orders for you to be shot on sight as a traitor. your only chance to save your life lies in rescuing elise and the others. i'm sorry that i must use this method of forcing you to do what you would do if you had not let your hate warp your mind as it has done. "elise and the others are marooned on an island they said was shaped like a turtle. their radio went dead immediately after the single message. "find them and bring them back, val, and i'll do everything in my power to clear your name." barber. * * * * * val kenton sat for a long time, reading and rereading the note, really understanding the gravity of the situation for the first time. he crumpled the note in his capable hand, gazed unseeingly about the tiny cabin. and then anger drew white lines down his face, and his hands reached out to the controls to swing the ship toward mars. he knew only too well how hopeless the task was that had been given him; not one man in a million had a chance to bring it to a successful conclusion. his hands slowly relaxed then, dropping from the control studs, sinking back to his lap. he knew that he had no choice in the matter, for, should he not try, he would be disrupted into disassociated atoms by the first patrol ship that sighted him and his tiny cruiser. slowly, the anger faded from his mind, and clear reasoning came in its place. his forehead washboarded with thought, and memories took a coherent pattern. he remembered the turtle-shaped island now, recalling that it moved in the current of what he had called the north flow. as to the present position, that could be found only by searching. val kenton swore bitterly, tiredly. five years before, he would have welcomed the adventure and danger that faced him--but then he had had a brilliant future to look forward to, and he had had the vitality of youth with which to combat any danger. now, he was but the hulk of the man he had been, his body shattered by the drugs he had used in ever increasing quantities for months. he had no future now, that is, a future of the type and quality that might have been his; instead with his record, he could look forward to only a future of smuggling and piloting pirate craft, with a blasting death waiting for his first wrong move. his expedition had been the last attempt to explore the water world of venus. five big expeditions had failed before him, their survivors never leaving the planet they had sought to conquer. he had succeeded in searching venus and returning, only because he had never landed his ship on any of the floating islands that made up the only stable landing fields anywhere in the great wastes of water. he had followed the currents of waters, mapping them as best he could, charting the islands that rode them like great boats, but some deep instinct had kept him from landing his ship. he had seen no signs of life on the planet, had found no traces of the expeditions that had preceded him. at last, satisfied that he could make a larger and more complete examination at a later date, he had swung out of the venusian clouds and sent the rocket roaring toward his base on mars. it was on his return to earth from mars that he had smuggled the drugs and gasses whose discovery had brought him before the court martial, where his rank and reputation had been stripped from him forever. he recalled those memories now, and his features were hard and bitter. then, as suddenly as though it had never been, the expression faded from his face, and he was grinning ruefully at his blurred reflection in the shiny surface of the cabin wall. his deep eyes flicked almost casually over the complex instruments before him on the panel, and his mind instantly figured his position. his hands moved deftly over the studs, adjusting a few errors made by colonel barber in his haste; then he set the robot control and swung his pilot seat around to face the rear wall of the cabin. he slid open a cabinet door, loosened his chest strap so that he might bend forward. he worked a cream into his stubbled face, used a paper towel to wipe away his beard. then as best he could, using water sparingly, he gave himself a quick bath. refreshed, he closed the cabinet, opened another at the first one's side. he ate ravenously of the condensed food, finally leaning back with a sigh of repletion. he felt better now, felt better than he had in months. he had the pounding hull of a patrol cruiser beneath his feet, and he had a definite mission to complete--and it was only now that he realized how much he had missed both. he refused to think upon the fact that he was a patrolman again only by virtue of his imagination, instead, preferring to forget the years that had passed so horribly since he had had any command. he reached out, gave a half turn to the inner pane of the polaroid, quartzite port, felt contentment filling his mind when he gazed into the nothingness of space. he saw the swinging of the stars, caught sight of the blue earth far behind. his hand fumbled for a cigarette, and he smoked it slowly, relishing the moment, feeling a presentiment that its equal might never come again. he checked the automatic pilot again, then stretched back in his padded seat. his fingers fumbled at the switch that would flick on the "sleep" rays. for an interminable moment, he thought regretfully of the chaos he had made of his life. then his finger tightened on the switch, and, as the nimbus of light swelled and pulsated from the protected globe above his head, drifted into a dreamless slumber that would end only when the cruiser was within the gravity field of venus. * * * * * venus was no longer a green point of light; it loomed ahead like some cottony ball whirling in space. the patrol cruiser circled it warily, val kenton's fingers resting lightly on the control studs of the instrument panel. he whistled tunelessly, as he brought the ship in closer and closer. he pressed a firing stud, and the rocket ship nosed down toward the clouds below. for the first time in hours, there was a sense of movement as the batts of clouds rushed up to meet the ship. now there was something breath-taking in the way that the cruiser seemed to be dropping. the first tendrils of hazy clouds whipped about the ship. the thrumming of the rockets rose to a higher crescendo, and the force-screen's voltmeter leaped higher as the friction of the clouds tried to cremate the flashing ship. and then there was only a gray darkness, all of the light of space nullified by the thicknesses of clouds. val kenton sent the ship lower, his fingers playing over the studs like a master pianist playing a piano. he handled the ship with the instinctive ability that had made him famous as a patrolman. moments flowed one into the other, and the clouds seemed to press against the quartzite ports with a visible strength. then the ship was through the clouds, and a thousand feet below the majestic ocean tossed and tumbled in a silent display of strength and ruthlessness that was spine-tingling to see. val kenton's breath exploded with a tiny sigh of relief. he felt again that sense of silent awe at the unreality of the scene below. for contrary to general belief, there was light on the surface of venus. because of the miles-deep thicknesses of clouds, scientists had long stated that there could be no illumination on the water-planet's surface. on his first trip to venus, val kenton had dispelled that conjecture; he had discovered that the sea was alive with an incredibly tiny marine worm. these worms glowed with the will o' the wisp paleness of a firefly, and the light generated by the billions of worms was reflected back from the low clouds with a pale brilliance that was startling. val kenton remembered his first sight of the glowing ocean, felt again the thrill that had first touched his heart. he swung the space cruiser toward the north pole, peered tensely from the port. beneath him, the milky ocean was a shifting, white-capped wash of silvery light, gleaming with a phosphorescent sheen, its turbulence a shifting kalaedoscope of shattered, intermingled colors glowing with every tint of the spectrum. val kenton gasped suddenly; for, exploding from the water in a spray that resembled fire, a scaly blunt something suddenly appeared. for one second, its three hundred foot body was black against the water, and then, majestically, it slid from sight into the depths again. val kenton whistled soundlessly, tensed with sudden horror, realizing how horrible an antagonist the creature could make against the puny frailty of a human. he sent the ship hurtling northward, ever, ever faster, eyes seeking for one of the few islands that dotted the boundless ocean. for more than an hour, he sped, a thousand feet in the air, feeling fatigue clutching at him, his eyes growing strained and tired. in the second hour of flight, he sighted the first island. he circled it warily, eagerly looking for the expedition's ship, feeling futility beating at him when he found nothing in the green, luxuriant jungle growth to show that humans had ever landed there. he spun the ship in a tight circle, sent it flashing to the west, toward a low bit of blackness that hugged the water line. his eyes lighted, when he finally made out the turtle-like outline of the island. his lips were firm and his gaze intent as he circled the island slowly, searching for the blot of brightness that would be the terrestrial ship. he saw it at last, tucked beneath the fronds of gigantic ferns, sent the cruiser roaring over it several times, hoping the rockets' echoes would bring any survivors into the open. his features tightened, when no one appeared, and he peered about for a landing place for his ship. and as he turned, his sleeve caught on a knife switch, pulled it open. there was an instant, gargantuan explosion of auxiliary rockets, and the patrol cruiser went corkscrewing toward the island in an insane dive. val kenton went utterly white, his hands darting for the controls, panic driving every bit of expression from his face. he cut all rockets with a swoop of one hand, then fired the two nose tubes in a frantic attempt to spin the ship into the air again. he sensed, rather than saw, the upward rush of the tangled plants below. one second, he had, in which to regret the lack of precision caused by his drug-steeped body, and then the cruiser plowed into the jungle-like growth. he was wrenched from his seat, the safety belts parting like rotten thread, and then he was smashed against the forward bulkhead. his hands groped feebly for support, and then he sagged unconscious, his body tossed back and forth in the tiny cabin as the ship plowed through the interlaced branches and vines to the muddy ground two hundred feet below. with one final bounce, the patrol ship struck the ground, slid on its side for a few yards, then came to a grinding halt, its nose crumpling a trifle as it smashed into the great trunk of a tree. * * * * * val kenton groaned feebly, opened his eyes to stare uncomprehendingly about the cabin of the rocket ship. he lay for seconds against the curved wall, utterly unnerved by the horror of that last flashing moment. he was afraid to move, certain that his injuries would be such that he would have been better off had he died in the crash. at last, he moved his arms and legs tentatively, swearing amazedly when he found that, other than terrible aching bruises, he was unhurt. he came to his feet, examined the instrument panel, marvelling that his last conscious act had been the closing of switches on the panel. he moved slowly, unscrewed the back panel, wriggled into the confines of the rocket chambers in the tail of the ship. he shook his head dully, when he discovered the fused catalyst feed. so seldom was such an accident, the ship's repair locker held nothing that could replace the feed. he crawled back into the control cabin, slumped in the pilot's seat, fumbled for a cigarette. he felt whipped then, felt beaten in a way that he had never sensed. and then, moments later, he ground out the cigarette, opened the weapon cabinet. he buckled on the twin hand guns at his waist, slung a disruptor rifle over his shoulder, then filled his pockets with condensed food. he filled a canteen, looped it over his free shoulder, stood for a long moment peering around the safety of the cabin. then he uncogged the entrance port, dropped lightly to the spongy ground. he crouched where he had fallen, his eyes flicking through the tangled growth, the twin guns in his hands, as he waited for the slight sound that might betoken a hidden enemy. he felt perspiration gathering on his forehead, dashed it away with the back of one hand. the air was sweet in his nostrils after the renewed air of the ship, and when he came slowly to his feet, he felt a surge of power in his body such as he had never known, due to the weakness of the gravity. he moved from the safety of the ship, flicked the control of one gun until it gave only a narrow, slicing beam. he used the gun as an earth native might use a bush knife, the pale beam cutting a path soundlessly before him. he moved swiftly along the path he created, alert for the first signs of danger, glancing now and then at the compass strapped to his wrist. for minute after minute he walked, his mind intent with the problem that faced him. no longer was it a simple attempt to rescue three people from an unfriendly planet; now, if he failed, his life would be forfeit along with the others. his only chance of success lay in finding the others' ship and removing its catalyst feed for replacement of his wrecked one. that is, if the expedition's ship was so damaged that it could not fly, which was self-evident. val kenton spat thoughtfully, paced steadily forward. he sensed vague superstitious terror tugging at his mind when he felt the matted jungle pressing at him from all sides. he peered about, wonder in his eyes, when he saw the gigantic ferns and strange unreal trees that grew in lush aboriginal splendor. he stopped in horror, when the blood-red blossom of a monster plant bent toward him, recognizing that it must be some weirdly evolved cousin of the fly-trap plant on earth. he side-stepped instinctively, stopped with his back against the scaly trunk of a giant fern. for the plant stretched toward him to the full extent of its pale stem, and he could see, deep within the orifice of the crimson blossom, an oozing of juices from back in the cup. val kenton gagged at the simple horror of the blind insensate greed of the plant. he lifted his disruptor, drew the knife edge of its beam in a slashing movement across the stem. there was the faint vibration of a shrill note from the plant, then sap spurted from the severed stem--pumping as though from a beating heart! "my god!" val kenton whispered to himself. "it's alive--like an animal." and then, even as he watched, corruption bloated the carnivore plant and it collapsed into itself. val kenton grimaced, turned away. he swung his disruptor, clearing more path, jumped startledly when he felt something clutch at his ankle. he sprang aside, whirled, his weapon ready. he froze again into motionlessness. for the monster plant was growing with incredible speed from the roots still imbedded in the swampy ground. a blind creeper swung like a cobra's head in a stealthy search for its prey, and then lifted high, a new monster blossom springing into being from the tip of the creeper. within seconds, another flower surged against its stem in a futile attempt to reach the earthman. val kenton wiped the perspiration from his face, backed away from the plant. he shuddered involuntarily, blasted the entire plant out of existence with a sudden movement of his disruptor. then, his eyes searching the jungle for more alien dangers, he began again to cut a path toward the expedition ship far across the island. a shadow crossed his vision, and he glanced up to see something that looked like a cross between a fish and a bat flash between the heavy fronds of the fern-tops high overhead. he watched it for a moment, wondering if it were dangerous, then shrugged ruefully. if it were vicious, he would find out about it sooner or later. his disruptor cleared a path then into a small clearing. he stepped out of the jungle, rested for a moment from the heavy walking, rechecking his compass bearing. it was then that he heard the startled cracks of high-powered disruptor rifles firing from a short distance away. * * * * * whirling, he went in the direction of the sound, his twin guns clearing tangled vines and creepers from his path so swiftly that he went forward at a run. cold sweat bathed his body, but his mind seemed to be a detached entity that watched the entire happening with a calm unhurried interest. he didn't know why he ran; he had no particular reason to race to the rescue of the earthpeople ahead--but the instinctive reactions of years of being a patrolman would not be denied. he stumbled as he ran, his feet slipping and sliding in the ooze that lay but a few inches beneath the surface of the ground. his breath grew ragged in his throat, and a pain knifed at his side, but he kept up his steady running for minutes. at last, he burst from the matted jungle into a clearing that led to the water's edge. he came to a stop, the sudden cessation of movement sending him to his hands and knees. from that position, he rolled until he was sitting, and the twin guns roared a steady stream of death at the fantastic creatures surging toward the half-buried space ship close at hand. the venusian creatures were like things out of a nightmare. they scuttled toward the ship like crabs on great jointed legs. their bodies were covered with hair, and the marine worms within the hair made the beasts glow like great fluorescent lights. each had a globular body, from which a great pupilless eye stared blindly at the ship. they attacked in wave after wave, their numbers rolling from the turbulent sea in an apparently inexhaustible stream. the only sound they made was an almost inaudible scream that drove through val kenton's brain like a needle of fire. he swung his guns, blasting creature after creature out of existence, shuddering at the horribleness of the scene, wondering if the creatures could ever be stopped. disruptors roared from the ship; but the angle made by the ship's landing was such that accurate firing was impossible. the shots flashing from the control cabin's ports could cover but a small portion of the attackers. val kenton fired with increasing speed, the disruptor ray clearing a ragged hole in the monsters. in a detached sort of way, he saw one of the furry crabs clamber up the side of the ship. he saw it squat and a blue liquid pour from its body. he blew the creature into atoms, gaped in amazement when he saw the hole the liquid had eaten in the permalloy metal of the ship. incredulity lay deep in his eyes--for he knew only too well that even hydrofluoric acid had no effect on the metal of which patrol cruisers were made. and then he was too busy to think. the venusian beasts turned as though by an instinctive command and hurtled toward himself. he lifted his guns, erased the leaders as fast as they came. one gun went dead in his hand, and the ray of the other paled into redness. he came to his feet, dropped the hand guns, whipped the rifle from his back. he drew the muzzle flame like a spray of water across the screaming horrors that plunged at him, his mouth open in a soundless snarl, his eyes narrowed and vicious. and so suddenly that he did not comprehend it for a moment, the attack was over, the nightmarish venusians streaming back into the sea. within a split-second, except for the obscene twitching of dead beasts on the steaming ground, the beach was empty. * * * * * val kenton sank onto his heels, unclamped his stiff fingers from the rifle. he fumbled for a cigarette, lit it, his breath hard and shallow. he felt reaction set in, and momentarily wished that he had a whiff of gailang gas to steady his nerves. there was the clanging of metal on metal from the ship, and a man's head came cautiously into view. it stayed that way for a moment, and then a man in the uniform of a patrol captain clambered out of the port. "good god!" the earthman heard the captain say, "it's val kenton who was doing the damage outside!" val kenton laughed then, chuckled with a dryness that was rather horrible to hear. never, had he expected again to find himself a welcome friend of a space patrolman. and the fact that he had this captain owing him gratitude struck him as ironically amusing. but his laughter stilled almost instantly, when he saw the remembered features of the captain. and the hate that had lain so deep within him for years flared into a white heat that seemed to cramp the muscles of his body. "it's val kenton," he called. "and you owe me your life, you damned squealer!" in that one instant, it took every bit of his self-control not to lift the rifle in his lap and blow the other into nothingness. and then the moment was over, and he was coming to his feet, feeling the thudding of his heart in his chest, as elise barber came through the port and dropped lightly to the ground. "val!" elise cried, and the gladness of her tone brought an agony of pain to the emotion he had thought he had stifled forever. val kenton picked up his dropped guns, holstered them. he went forward slowly, the rifle swinging in one relaxed hand. despite himself, he felt a thrill of companionship at the warmth of tony andrews' handshake. "hello, tony," he said quietly. "hello, val," the patrolman answered. "man, it's good to see you!" elise caught val kenton's hand, drew him toward the ship. "let's not stand out here," she said impulsively. "come inside, where we can talk." she drew a deep breath, her blue eyes sparkling. "oh, it's good for the three of us to be together again!" val kenton's smile was stiff and mechanical, as they clambered through the port into the ship's interior. he, too, felt the completeness of the moment; yet, deep in his mind, he knew that the old days of friendly camaraderie were gone forever. * * * * * they sat in the comparatively large cabin of the expedition ship, cigarettes glowing, each trying to ease the tension that lay within them all. val kenton sat in the co-pilot's seat, the lines of five years of dissipation clearly etched in his tired face, his clothes torn and stained. he talked jerkily, trying to avoid the bad points of the past few days, striving to make the situation appear more bearable. "it will be a fairly simple job to fix my cruiser," he said slowly. "tony and i will use the catalyst feed from this ship to replace my fused one." tony andrews grinned, laughter wrinkles in the corners of his clear eyes. he was trim and fit in his uniform, and there was an air of competence and adventurousness in his compact body. "we could use this entire ship for spare parts," he said ruefully. "it will never fly again, after the damage those blasted venusians did to it with that super digestive juice they discharged." johnson, the expedition's chemist, glanced up from a sheet of notes he had taken from his pocket. his eyes were mild and calm as he peered at val kenton. "most amazing thing i've ever seen," he commented. "the digestive juices of those crab-creatures will eat through glass as fast as water will move through tissue paper." he frowned. "it's just possible," he finished, thoughtfully, "that the liquid is in the nature of a weapon--particularly so, since those animals used it in an effort to reach us within the ship." elise shuddered. "please," she said, "talk about something more cheerful! i can still see those hideous eyes staring at us just the way they did during that attack." val kenton nodded cheerfully, filling his senses with the beauty and radiance of the girl. it came to him now as never before how much he had lost when he had turned traitor to himself and his oath. "well, for a starter, what did you discover before you were disabled?" johnson came to his feet, picked up a rifle. "i'll take a look at some of those bodies outside," he said. "i'm just a chemist, but maybe i can pick up a few facts that will be of some use to the next expedition to visit here." he clambered through the port, the sounds of his shoes on the metal strangely loud. behind him, he left a rather strained silence, which was broken at last by tony andrews. "this is the story," he began quietly. "the trip to venus was just routine. we dropped through the clouds, following," he nodded at val kenton, "your directions. we were over such a sea as we had never seen before. there was no sign of life or land. i dropped floats, to determine the currents, and then swung the ship toward the north. we found the first island within an hour. i landed the ship, intending to explore, and such was our incredible luck landed almost on top of the first expedition ship to touch venus." val kenton drew in a sharp breath. "what did you find inside?" tony andrews shook his head ruefully. "not a thing," he admitted, "i searched the ship, which was split and ruptured beyond description, and didn't find a scrap of paper or clothing--or a vestige of human remains." "the crabs?" val kenton asked. tony andrews shrugged. "it's possible! well, the discovery excited us, and we took the ship aloft again, without exploring the island further. for hours, we went from island to island, seeking for signs of life. we found the wrecked remains of three other ships, and all of them as completely empty as the first. we didn't know what to make of it; we couldn't figure out any logical reason for the ships having been so completely gutted." "you don't think the survivors could have set up a hidden camp somewhere to wait for rescue?" val kenton asked grimly. "no! in the first place, the ships made better living places than any they could build; and second, we found no signs of such a habitation on any of the islands." "what happened on this island, that you should become marooned?" "it happened so fast, i couldn't avoid it. we landed on this beach, and were making preparations to explore, when those crabs attacked for the first time. we found out that we weren't safe, only when a great section of the rocket-tube housing gave way because of the powerful, acid-like juice the crabs exuded. i radioed for help immediately, and then the radio went dead. for the past five days, we've been fighting off those beasts at regular intervals." elise sighed deeply in relief, smiled at val kenton. "thank heaven, it's over now," she said feelingly. "now, after fixing the other ship, we can get back to earth--and none too soon to please me!" tony andrews flicked ashes from his cigarette, grinned. "what rescue ship did you bring, val, one of the freighters?" he asked. val kenton shook his head, his eyes diamond hard. he watched the tiny smile of happiness about elise's curved lips for a moment, then swung his gaze to the patrolman's hardening face. "it's a scout cruiser, tony," he said easily. "it was the only ship i could get." val kenton laughed inwardly to himself then, laughed at the irony of the situation, knowing the horror that must be spreading through the other's mind. he rocked a bit from his inner mirth, and a savage satisfaction filled his mind momentarily. for both he and tony andrews knew that, even with the full power of the rocket tubes, the single man cruiser could never carry four passengers back to safety. it might be able to lift into space with three people cramped into the one man cabin--but never with four! one person must be left behind! and val kenton had already decided who that person must be! it was to be tony andrews who was to be marooned to a certain death--left on venus because of the hate val kenton felt for him because of the report he had made to the patrol five years before. * * * * * moments passed, moments in which no one spoke, and in which val kenton could see dreadful realization growing in the patrolman's eyes. val kenton laughed even more to himself, seeing the fear rising in the other man, knowing the horrible terror that the other must be experiencing. elise sensed but dimly the thoughts that were racing through the minds of the men seated before her. she gazed from one to the other with eyes that grew wide and slightly fearful. "is something wrong?" she asked suddenly, "can't the rescue ship be fixed?" tony andrews smiled then, smiled with stiff lips, his eyes bright and confident. "nothing is wrong," he said, "we'll be safe on earth before you know it." a disruptor rifle cracked loudly, the sound whipping in through the open port. tony andrews snapped to his feet. "trouble!" he barked, "elise, you stay here; come on, val!" val kenton paused only long enough to slip newly charged loads into his guns, then swung through the port after the fleet patrolman. he dropped from the port onto the spongy ground, crouched there, his eyes searching the edge of the water for signs of the charging crab-beasts. he straightened slowly, seeing no signs of danger, stared at johnson and andrews nearby. "sorry, to startle you like that," johnson said, "one of those crabs stuck a pincer out of the water, and i took a snapshot at him." val kenton laughed, relaxed with a sigh of pent-up air. "glad it wasn't any worse than that," he said relievedly, "i'm not much in a mood for a fight." tony andrews' gun snapped to his shoulder, and the concussion of the shot sounded strangely flat and deadly. in the water's edge, a furry crab floundered and threshed in savage death throes. and then the water seemed to come alive with the venusian crabs. they scuttled onto the bank from the silver water, their bodies glowing with eerie phosphorescent sheen, their cries ear-piercing. val kenton laughed aloud, swung his twin hand guns into line, flicked their power onto full force. he stood shoulder to shoulder with johnson and andrews, and the combined fire of their guns cut a swathe of death in the charging ranks that broke the attack almost at its onset. "remember mars, when we cleaned out the truds?" tony andrews yelled over the blasting of the guns. val kenton grinned, said nothing, but he felt a sharp nostalgia for those days so long gone in which he and tony had fought side by side on far-off planets. and then another gun added its fire from the port of the ship; and the crabs scuttled back toward the water. "hurrah for us!" elise cried gaily from over their heads, and then her voice broke in sudden horror. for rising from the ocean, coming out of the water as though the water itself was rising in a great lump, came something! it had no shape, no arms, no features--yet it was alive. it moved sluggishly toward the bank like a great solidified wave that towered a hundred feet in the air. it glowed with the phosphorescent fire of the ocean, and preceding it came a tangible aura of unspeakable menace. "god!" johnson croaked, "what is it?" val kenton holstered his handguns, caught up his rifle, blasted a charge of unleashed energy into the vast bulk rising from the ocean. the thing seemed to jump, and the flame of the shot glowed deep within its bulk. then it settled again, without sound, moved closer to the beach. "it's alive!" val kenton gasped, and knew instinctively why the other expeditions' ships were crushed and empty hulls on venus. the thing was a great blob of gelatinous substance that quivered and shook as it approached the land. val kenton fired twice more, gaped in incredulous surprise when the atomic fire did absolutely nothing in the way of stopping it. he backed slowly from the water's edge, the other men moving backward as though by common consent; and they stopped only when their shoulders touched the ship. the sea-thing was almost at the beach now. it halted its forward movement momentarily; and a pseudopod flicked from its glowing surface and settled over the shattered body of a great crab. one second the pseudopod settled there, and then was withdrawn with incredible speed. and where the crab had been was nothing. "protoplasm!" johnson gasped, "it's living protoplasm!" val kenton felt a dull horror clutching at his heart. he had seen experiments with tiny bits of living protoplasm, and he knew the insatiable appetite of the mindless thing. but never in even his most horrible of dreams had he visioned a blob of sentient life that was fully a hundred yards in diameter and which must have weighed hundreds of tons. the protoplasm touched the beach, seemed to flow out of the water. living ropes of itself flipped out of itself, settled over the living and dead crabs; and an instant later the pseudopods flipped back and the ground was bare and sterile. val kenton fired again and again, then stopped in sheer futility. for although his shots had blown bits of the creature away--each of the bits moved with insatiable greed the moment it lit, always flowing toward the nearest source of food. and then the crabs were gone, and the protoplasm was flowing like warm, whitely-glowing tar toward the four earth people and their ship. * * * * * val kenton whirled, took charge of the situation as though he was still the patrolman he had once been. he jerked his head toward the open port. "tony," he snapped, "get inside and bring out that catalyst feed. we can't fight this thing for long; we've got to make a run for it." the patrolman moved without hesitation, swinging into the port, leaving his guns outside. his face was strained and white as he cast one last look at the hungry horror that moved so slowly, so implacably, up the beach. val kenton set the control on his rifle. "set your guns for flame," he said sharply, whirled and helped elise to the ground, "we haven't enough power for atomic fire for any length of time; our only hope lies in holding that thing at bay until tony gets the feed." they stood, the three of them, shoulder to shoulder at the ship's side, and their guns hissed like high pressure jets as they fired in unison at the insensate monster. steam rose and swelled from the protoplasm, and the great blob seemed to draw back. val kenton felt a flame of exultation flare momentarily in his heart. "maybe?" he whispered to himself. then the weird cohesive slime surged forward again. the three guns raved and wailed with unleashed power, and the steam and horrible odor filled the air. great areas of the protoplasm disappeared under the continuous fire, but the power of the guns was not enough to stop the horror from its relentless advance. it moved faster now, seeming to have had new energy released within it from the dozens of crab bodies it had assimilated, and its pseudopods were great flicking blind loops of death questing before it for further sustenance. the rifles went dead, and the two men and the girl lifted the hand guns. the flame from the guns did not have the power of the rifles, and the terror moved even closer. a four foot blob of protoplasm shot from the main body, smashed into the ship, dropped toward the three below. johnson flicked it out of existence with full power from his gun, and the gun went dead. "tony!" val kenton yelled, fighting the fear that cramped at his muscles, when he saw the instant holes eaten in the ship's side. and then tony andrews was dropping from the port, and they were sprinting toward the tunnel val kenton had disrupted in the jungle two hours before. they gasped as they ran, their feet stumbling on the vine and creepers that had grown with incredible speed in the tunnel. they glanced back in time to see the tunnel's end blocked off by the surging protoplasm. there was the rending sound of trees and ferns being crushed behind them, and they ran ever faster. "it can move almost as fast as we," val gasped. elise fell, was brought to her feet by johnson's clutching hand. the entire group ran as they had never run before in their lives, fighting their way through the jungle, blood spurting from innumerable cuts, their lungs clamoring for air. and then they were in a tiny clearing, and val kenton was clutching tony andrews' sleeve. "let them go on," he half-screamed, "johnson can fit the feed; we'll try to hold that thing back for a moment or two." tony andrews nodded, gasped out instructions for johnson to follow. elise whirled when she heard the orders, came close to the patrolman, held him tight. "hurry, tony," she cried. "don't take any more chances than you must." tears sparkled in her eyes. "you know that i'd hate to lose a husband on our honeymoon." "husband?" val kenton gasped incredulously. tony andrews nodded. "yes, we were married just before we started; this was to be our honeymoon." val kenton didn't move, but his hate then was a terrible thing that shook him with its intensity. now he had a double reason for slaying this dishevelled man who stood at his side. he forced his voice to remain comparatively calm, seeking to hide the feelings that tortured him. "run," he said to elise and johnson, "we haven't much time." and then val kenton and tony andrews were alone in the clearing, and the sounds of the flowing death behind them grew louder as the seconds passed. val kenton backed to one side, watched with flame-bright eyes as the patrolman lifted his gun in a futile attempt to stall the monster for precious seconds. he lifted his own gun, centered it on the patrolman's broad back, and his finger tightened on the firing stud. he fired--and in the same split second that he fired, a great crimson hood flashed down over his head and body and tightened about his waist, pinning his arms to his sides. * * * * * val kenton screamed then, his cry reverberating into his ears as the monster, carnivorous flower tightened its grasp. he smelled the sickly sweet odor of the blossom, and giddiness tugged at his senses. his body surged again and again in a futile attempt to break the rubbery-like tension of the plant, fought agoniziedly when he felt the first exquisite agony of the digestive juice biting into his shoulder. then he was free, retching in the clean air, his body being helped erect by tony andrews' firm hands. "whew!" tony andrews breathed raggedly, "i thought you were a goner for a moment!" val kenton straightened then, reading something in the clear eyes of his former friend that he had thought he would never see again in the eyes of any man. he fought the lump in his throat for seconds, then whirled. "let's get to the ship," he said. "it's foolish to try and do anything here." they dodged down the path, the fetid odor of the pursuing protoplasm following them on the light wind. val kenton thought many things then, the thoughts racing through his mind with quicksilver-like speed. and in those flashing seconds, he found the answers to many things that he had refused to face in the past. and then they were at the ship, and elise was waiting at the port. "tony," she called, "johnson can't make the adjustment; he needs your help." val kenton caught the patrolman's arm in a grip of steel. "give me your coat and cap," he snapped, "and get into the pilot's seat." he swallowed heavily. "get johnson into the control cabin with you. i'm going into the rear emergency port, and repair that jet. i don't know if the ship will carry all of us, but you've got to make the try. do you understand?" "yes, but--" tony andrews began puzzledly. "no time for talk," val kenton snapped. "i'll brace myself in that repair space, and tap when i'm ready. after that, it's up to you." he shrugged into the patrolman's coat and cap, straightened his shoulders in the familiar set of the coat. he spun on one heel, went toward the emergency port, then retraced his steps. "will you shake hands, tony?" he asked. a moment later, he climbed into the port, his eyes blurred because of his emotion at the warm pressure of tony andrews' hand. he squirmed into position, fought with the stubborn catalyst feed. within seconds, he had it fixed. he drew a deep breath, then pounded the agreed signal on the metal bulkhead. * * * * * the patrol cruiser staggered a bit in its upward flight, then fled for the clouds high over the water world. and at the moment of its takeoff, the monster blob of protoplasm burst through the surrounding trees, halted as though it knew its prey had escaped. then it moved a bit, and a blind pseudopod came questing from its body. val kenton watched it move toward him, and he waited its coming unflinchingly. he stood straight and proud, the patrol cap cocked jauntily on his head, his shoulders square in the blue coat that bore the crossed comets of the patrol service. he lit a cigarette, watched the protoplasm coming ever closer. he fired the last charge in his gun, laughed aloud at the instant withdrawal of the pseudopod. he saluted gravely, as he had done years before. then, the cigarette canted in firm lips, he went forward--a captain in the space patrol moving forward, never backward, facing danger as tradition demanded. chimera world by wilbur s. peacock don denton had walked into the weirdest enigma he had ever encountered. dead men _lived_, and ships vanished without sound. and to top everything, when he tried to unravel the puzzle--he found that _he_ had been dead for more than a week. [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.] don denton, trouble shooter for the inter-world mining corporation, watched the sailors stowing the supplies aboard his small scout rocket, checking the items from the manifest sheet as they were packed in the storage compartments. "that takes care of that," he said finally, signing the sheet with his thumbprint. "now, i'll be on my way." the skipper nodded, scratched his chin thoughtfully. "i suppose so," he agreed. "are you sure you won't stay to dinner? i've got a cargo of martian _panyanox_ that should taste plenty good to you after two months of spacing on vitamins." don denton grinned, scrubbed a heavy hand through the reddish, curly mop of hair that flamed above his craggy face. he shrugged, the leather jacket growing taut across his deceptively wide shoulders. "nothing i'd like better," he said, "but i've got orders to get to venus and find out why the _lanka_ shipments haven't been coming through on schedule." "trouble?" interest flared in the skipper's eyes. don denton laughed. "i doubt it," he said. "probably some space tramp landed and sold the men some martian _ganto_ seeds. they're probably nursing such large hangovers that they can't work. i'll just take the supplies on, give the boys a pep talk, then head back for earth." "all loaded, captain," a sailor's voice came from the televisor screen. don denton lounged to his feet. "so long, captain," he said, "i'll remember that _panyanox_ invitation, the next time i run into you on mars." "sure, sure, of course!" the skipper flushed. "er, ah--, denton?" "yes?" don denton turned from the door. "i've got a passenger i want to transship to venus." don denton grinned, shook his head. "sorry, captain," he said, "but no can do; company rules, you know." "but this passenger--?" "no," denton said decisively. "in the first place, i can't carry passengers on the scouter; and in the second place, i haven't the slightest desire to be holed up with anybody. sorry, but your passenger will have to get a charter job for the trip." "what i'm trying to tell you," the skipper said, "is that miss palmer has a company pass to ride with you." "miss palmer!" the trouble shooter frowned belligerently. "any relation to palmer who is the manager on venus?" "daughter, i think." "well, you can tell miss palmer for me that she's out of luck. hell, i'll make a bet she's one of two kinds of dames: either she's the flighty kind who thinks it's just too too divine to explore another planet, or she's the needle-nosed kind who'd drive me nuts with her complaints in half a clock-around!" "i can assure you that she fits neither of those descriptions," the skipper said, smiled. "in fact, she's about the nicest bit of meteor fluff that's crossed my rockets in many a day." "thank you, captain," jean palmer said amusedly from behind don denton. she walked past the trouble shooter, turned to face him squarely. "woman hater?" she finished quizzically. don denton flushed, his tan deepening, his startlingly blue eyes evading the mocking, brown eyes of the girl. he shifted nervously from foot to foot, his collar suddenly tight and constricting. "er--no!" he said defensively, "i--er, well, just don't want any company on my ship." he felt the flush deepening beneath the level glance of the girl, and hot blood was suddenly pounding at his temples. the captain had been right; certainly she didn't fit either of the descriptions don denton had given. she was tall, her softly waved crown of hair almost even with the trouble shooter's mouth. and the mannish cut of her plastic dress only served to emphasize the femininity of her body. * * * * * but don denton was not noticing such minor details; he was conscious only of the incredible redness and smoothness of her lips and of the level appraisal of her eyes. he shivered suddenly, vaguely aware that he was unshaven, gangly, with too prominent teeth and ears. "i have a pass to ride with you," the girl said mockingly. "do you think you can get around it?" her tone changed, became suddenly, subtly, frightened and bewildered. "please," she finished, "i must go with you! i haven't heard from my father in three months; i know that something has happened to him!" "well," don denton frowned, was suddenly aware of the dim perfume of her hair. "i guess, if you've got a pass, there's nothing i can do but take you along." "that's fine!" the skipper said heartily, a trifle relievedly. "i told miss palmer you'd probably be glad to give her a lift." "i knew mr. denton wouldn't let me down," the girl said quietly, "i've heard too many stories of his bravery and gallantry." don denton grinned sheepishly, not absolutely certain as to whether the girl was being ironical or not. he searched her face, felt a distinct shock to his nerves when his gaze met with hers. "just routine," he countered deprecatingly. he shrugged, shook hands quickly with the skipper. "i'll see you in a couple of months. thanks for bringing the supplies out of your regular lane; it saved me several weeks of spacing to earth and back." "that's all right, denton," the captain said, "i still remember the fight you put up when those gillies attacked my ship off--" "sure, sure!" don denton cut the flow of the other's words, swung to face the girl. "i'll have a man put your duffle aboard, miss palmer." she smiled, her teeth flashing whitely. "thank you, but i had them taken aboard half an hour ago." don denton blinked in surprise, and the corners of his mobile lips twitched in a wry smile. "all right, then," he said, "let's be getting on; if we miss connections, we'll have to chase venus halfway round the sun." he led the way down the corridor, his thoughts a maelstrom in his mind. he was not a woman hater, nor did he care for them especially, but there was something about the level-eyed slender girl at his back that stirred him deeply. he shook his head slightly, wished that he had not stopped to pick up the supplies from the freighter. he had a vague premonition that the even tenor of his life was destined to be rudely shattered by an indefinable something that he could not fight with the strength of his rangy body nor the solidness of his fists. * * * * * the _comet_ sped in a long parabola from the side of the freighter, a long skid-mark of flaming rocket gas in the darkness behind, and headed obliquely toward venus which gleamed greenly far ahead. don denton pressed the last of a series of studs on the control panel, cut in the robot-pilot, then grinned admiringly at jean palmer. "sorry i was rude back there," he apologized. the girl's answering smile was like a ray of light in the cabin. she stretched lazily in the padded seat, brushed a vagrant lock of hair from her eyes. "i guess it was my fault," she admitted. "i never stopped to think that you might not like the job of playing space taxi with me. but," her eyes were suddenly serious, "i simply have to see if anything is wrong with my father." don denton grinned. "there's nothing to be afraid of on venus," he said confidently. "i've been there half a dozen times, and all i've found was a water world, with very little land. about the only life on the planet is of a fish type, which lives deep in the oceans." "that's what my father told me." "well, he was exactly right; it's about the deadest world i've seen. there are nine patches of land, probably mountain tops, and each of them are covered with _lanka_ plants. i suppose you know that that is what your father is doing there--that is, he's cutting and rendering the plants for their oil?" jean nodded. "yes, he told me. but after all--" she screamed suddenly, clutched wildly at the arms of her seat. and the motion sent her flying into the air, where she struggled for a balance that wasn't there. "easy," don denton said, reached out, drew her back to her seat. "it's that blasted gravity rotor again!" * * * * * he went sideways from his seat, catching a flashlight from a wall-clip as he did so, then pulled himself by the wall hand rail toward the rear of the cabin. "i'm going to be ill," jean said weakly. "chin up," don denton said sharply. "i'll have everything all right in a moment. the clutch on the gravity rotor is about shot, and it quits on me every now and then. when the gravity gets back to normal, you'll feel all right again." he turned on his back, wedged himself beneath a small metal box clamped to the rear wall, swinging the light of the hand flash into the interior of the box. he made a one-handed adjustment, and normal gravity grasped them again. the light of his flash faded, went out, as the gravity became stabilized, then flashed on again the moment the trouble shooter edged from beneath the gravity rotor. jean palmer gasped, and slowly color came back to her white face. don denton nodded to himself, strode back to the pilot's seat, slumped indolently into its padded depths. he flicked the switch on the flashlight, pushed it into its wall-clip. "what made the light go out?" jean asked curiously. don denton shrugged. "the rotor creates some sort of an energy shield," he said, "that blankets out all electrical energy." he gazed solicitously at the girl. "feel better now?" she nodded. "i think so," she said. "i just felt so funny--as though everything in me was upside down." don denton grinned. "i know," he said, "i started spacing when a man rode a ship with the seat of his pants; i've been plenty sick from lack of gravity. hah! this new crop of spacers don't know what it is to live without gravity for months, then find they can't walk the minute they land on some planet--because of gravity pull." "you've done that?" jean's eyes were wide with wonder. don denton grinned self-consciously. "without bragging," he said, "i think i've just about done everything and seen everything. there's very little that would surprise me." jean laughed, and the sound was a tinkling overtone above the dim roar of the rockets. "you know," she said, "you're a rather remarkable person!" don denton flushed, dry-washed his hands in embarrassment. "aw," he said self-consciously, "i'm just doing a job." "well, i like you." don denton became very busy with the compact integrator, his hands suddenly all thumbs. jean palmer leaned over, touched his arm with a slender hand. "i'm glad you're the one taking me to my father," she said. "if there is anything wrong, i'm certain you can straighten it out." "i'll try." don denton met the girl's eyes squarely. "now you'd better take a dose of sleep rays; after all, it will be about eighty hours before we land." "sleep rays on a space ship!" "yes!" don denton paused with one hand on a control stud. "you see, a scouter isn't like a pleasure craft or a freighter. nine-tenths of the time aboard is spent sleeping--conserves food and oxygen." "all right, don," jean said, relaxed comfortably in the cushions. * * * * * don denton pressed the stud, sighed deeply as the purple ray coned down from the overhead bulb and bathed the girl in its nimbus. he straightened the girl's arms a trifle, careful not to permit his head to be touched by the rays, then swung back to the integrator. jean slept peacefully, a slight smile skidding a dimple into sight, the curves of her breasts rising and falling in a gentle rhythm. don denton shrugged, bent again over the integrator. he set up the combination he desired, pressed keys, glanced absently at the answer. nodding, he set the course on the robot-pilot, sighed gustily, sank tiredly into the heavy cushions of his seat. he sat quietly for moments, the smile going from his eyes, a slight frown thinning his mobile mouth. he was more worried than he would have admitted. for this was the first time in eighteen months that the _lanka_ shipments had not come through on schedule from venus. the fern-like _lanka_ plants were of incalculable value to the inhabited worlds, for the oil rendered from the plants was the only perfect cure for cancer and numerous other diseases. its curative powers had been discovered accidentally by two wrecked spacers on venus three years before when one of the spacers had been cured of space-tuberculosis by an enforced diet of cooked plants and venusian fish. don denton remembered the regularity with which the shipments had been coming through and the worry the head office had felt when the oil had failed to arrive on time two months before. he had been called in as a last resort, because he knew the planet from past experience, and because of his reputation as a trouble shooter who always got results. he was worried now. for despite his assurances to jean palmer, he knew that there were dangers on venus. in the depths of its oceans, great, foul, nightmarish creatures lived sluggish lives, and if some accident should rouse them to action, they might well wipe out an entire camp in a few moments. then again, because of the incredible value of the oil, space pirates might have raided the base camp, murdered the men, then escaped with the oil already rendered. "damn!" don denton said thoughtfully. he glanced at the sleeping girl, smiled slightly. he felt a sudden protective instinct in his heart that had never been there before, and his hands clenched unconsciously at the thought of what disappointments and heartaches might lie ahead for her. he shrugged then, grinned wryly into space. well, there was nothing he could do now but wait. if there was some sort of trouble on venus, he would have enough trouble then in trying to cope with it; there was no sense in worrying himself stiff about it now. he'd know soon enough. he clicked on the automatic mechanism of the sleep ray, drifted into dreamless slumber as the purple rays erased all conscious thought from his mind. ii venus was no longer a green planet; it loomed ahead like some woolly ball spinning in space. the _comet_ circled it warily, don denton's fingers resting lightly on the control studs of the instrument panel, his lips pursed a bit as he drove the ship closer to the clouds. "it will probably be several hours before we land," he explained to the wide-eyed jean at his side, "trying to find the _lanka_ camp in that soup down there is quite a job in itself, even after i get the _comet_ through fifteen miles of cloud banks." jean was a trifle pale, but there was a spark of confidence in her eyes. "i think," she said quietly, "i feel like you must have felt the first time you landed here." don denton smiled. "there's no feeling like it," he admitted. "i felt it first on the earth's moon, and i knew then that i'd never be able to settle down into some routine job. i suppose i'll end my life still feeling that thrill, still seeking out hidden places in the universe." he pressed a firing stud, and the _comet_ flashed down toward venus. for the first time, there was a sense of movement, as the spinning clouds rushed to meet the ship. always before, with nothing relative to compare their speed with, and because the inertia-field sent all molecules of ship and contents ahead at the same rate of speed, there had been the sensation of staying at rest in the blackness of space. now, there was something breathtaking in the way that the ship seemed to be dropping. then the first tendrils of cloud whipped lazily about the _comet_. there was the thrum of the rockets rising to a higher crescendo, and the force screen's voltemeter leaped higher to combat the friction of the tenuous air. another second, and the great cottony batts of cloud pressed with invisible force against the ship. and then there was only a grey darkness outside, all light from the sun nullified by the thicknesses of clouds. don denton drifted the ship lower, his fingers flying over the control studs, handling the ship's weight as a horseman controls his mount by a light touch of the reins. there seemed to be no mental passage of time while the ship was sinking. moments flowed into each other, and always the clouds seemed to be pressing with a tenuous strength at the quartzite ports. then they were through the clouds, and a thousand feet below the ocean tossed and tumbled with a majestic silence that was thrilling and menacing. don denton's breath escaped with a tiny sigh of relief, and his eyes flashed to the girl's face, then back again to the window. he was conscious of the close scrutiny she had given him during those tense moments, and he wondered, irrelevantly, if he measured up to her standards. "where's all of the light coming from?" she asked curiously. "from some sort of minute animal life in the oceans. the water is so filled with tiny worm-like forms of life that i doubt if you could find one cupful of clear water anywhere. they glow like fireflies, and the light generated is reflected back from the low clouds." don denton grinned. "i used to call venus the 'light bulb planet'!" "it's beautiful!" jean breathed in rapture. don denton nodded, swung the _comet_ directly north. beneath them, the ocean was a shifting, white-capped wash of silvery light, gleaming with a phosphorescent sheen, its turbulence a shifting kaleidoscope of shattered colors. and then the water was broken, and a scaly, blunt something darted out of the water, fell crashing in a spray of light. "what was that?" jean whispered. don denton swallowed heavily. "i don't know," he said slowly. "probably some deep sea monster; and he must have been fully three hundred feet long!" he sent the _comet_ flashing ahead, the memory of the scaly monster tensing his broad shoulders in a shiver of disquiet. jean sat silently at his side, quiet for once, and he felt a quick stab of emotion when he read the worry that lay deep in her eyes. they cruised for almost an hour before don denton located the base camp. it had moved from island one to island three, and its earthly regularity in the green of the _lanka_ jungle was pleasant to see. "five minutes," don denton said cheerfully, "and you can surprise your dad." "oh, hurry!" jean said, bent close to the port-window. * * * * * don denton nodded silently, but there was suddenly a great fear in him. for nowhere in the camp below was there a sign of life. smoke was not bulging from the short stack of the rendering plant, and men did not dart from the small shacks to greet the landing ship. the camp appeared to be deserted. "i don't see anyone?" jean said puzzledly, fearfully. don denton forced a confident laugh, but his eyes were entirely serious. "they're all probably out in the jungle grubbing up the best grade of plants. don't worry, when they hear the rockets, they'll come stringing in plenty fast." he set the _comet_ down squarely in the middle of the clearing, touched studs, and there was an immediate cessation of noise and vibration. "this is it," don denton said quietly. "slip on an oxy-helmet, and we'll take a look around." he smiled away some of the growing fear in the girl's eyes, but there was a growing panic in him that he could not quell. he could see no one; there was not the slightest sign of life. yet there should be fifteen men working here. don denton shrugged, and there was suddenly a steely gleam in his eyes. he slipped the light helmet over his head, fastened the air-tight cloth beneath his chin. "let's go, jean," he said into the tiny transmitter of his helmet. "be careful not to dislodge your helmet; the air will make you ill unless you are acclimated to it." he could see the tiny tremulous smile on her lips, and he held her hand tightly for a moment. then he spun the cogs of the port-door, felt the slight breeze about his body as the higher compressed air of the ship soughed into the heavy air of venus. he helped the girl to the muddy ground, lifted the ati-gun from his belt, paced slowly toward the main hut, his eyes flashing everywhere for the slightest sign of danger, absolutely certain now that things here were even worse than he had conceived them to be. there was an indefinable threat of danger in the stillness of the great clearing that tightened don denton's nerves. far away, could be heard the dull rumble of the eternal waves on the island's edge, and closer could be heard the soft hissing of the air through the green _lanka_ fronds. the clearing had been baked brick-hard with an ati-cannon; now its surface was spotted with soupy puddles of green mud where the every-day rains had seeped into some hollow. two freighters squatted near the north edge of the clearing, their dulled sides scabrous with great patches of growing rust, their empty ports like great blank staring eyes watching the two terrestrials slowly approach the main hut. "don," jean pressed close to the trouble shooter's tall body, "where is everybody?" don denton shook his head, a furry spider of apprehension crawling up his spine, his eyes piercing and searching as he held the ati-gun in a tremorless hand. he walked slowly forward, the eeriness of the silver-lighted scene touching his sensibilities. [illustration: _the dis-gun wailed in denton's fist._] he fired the moment the slug-like creature came from the hut's door, the wailing hiss of the gun strangely loud. there was a silent scream that crescendoed and titillated in diminishing waves, then the creature collapsed into a protoplasmic mass that quivered horribly for a moment and then was still. "don!" jean said fearfully. the trouble shooter's face was like chiselled granite, and he stepped to the door of the hut and rayed the stinking mass of bubbly flesh out of existence. he handed the twin ati-gun to the girl, nodded toward the hut's interior. "stay here," he snapped, "while i take a look inside. shoot at anything that moves." he smiled then for the first time, seeing the determination in the lines of the girl's chin. then he whirled, stepped within the doorway, his nerves icy cold, the flat muscles of his body ready for instant darting action. he stopped, his breathing a startled gasp. eight men were within the hut, eight men lying in the stillness of death. "good god!" he said, paced swiftly across the floor to the tiers of bunks along the far wall. he went from man to man, feeling for a pulse on each man, the cold sweat of terror breaking on his forehead when he was finally convinced that all eight of the hut's occupants were dead. he shivered, backed to the door, his eyes darting about the cabin, a sharp prodding prescience within him that every movement of his was being watched. he closed the door, stood speechlessly beside the girl for a moment. "what is it, don; what did you find?" jean's fingers tightened on his biceps. * * * * * don denton swallowed heavily, avoided the girl's eyes. "let's take a look at the other sleeping hut," he said tonelessly, tried to keep the horror he felt from his expression. "there is something wrong; i know it!" jean went rigid, her breath catching in her throat. "my father's in there!" don denton shook his head. "no," he said sharply, "he isn't in there; he's probably in the other hut." he caught the girl's arm. "let's take a look, before something happens that's too big for me to handle." they walked swiftly, their guns ready for instant firing, strangely comforted by each other's presence. at the doorway of the second hut, jean again stood guard while the trouble shooter entered. he stood for a moment within the doorway of the hut, his nerves crawling when he saw an almost exact duplicate of the first scene. the only difference lay in the number of men supine in their bunks: there were but six here. don denton winced, recognizing a corpse on a lower bunk as the grey-haired father of the girl outside. he felt a sick futility beating at his mind, when he remembered the reassuring words he had spoken to the girl but a few short hours before. he moved about the hut, seeking for the slightest clue as to the cause of the men's deaths, finally turning back to the door, his search unrewarded, his mind a maelstrom of conflicting theories and thoughts. "jean?" he said quietly, closed the door behind him on the horrible scene within. blood drained from his face, leaving it suddenly haggard and drawn. he whirled, with his back to the hut's wall, the ati-gun jutting nervelessly before him in complete command of the clearing. not a thing moved; there was only the slightest of breezes. he felt the sweat trickling down the flat planes of his cheeks, and the metal of the hut felt incredibly warm against his back. "_jean?_" he called again, desperately. there was only the muffled hollow vibration of the eternal waves pounding against the island. no voice answered his cry. jean palmer was gone as though she had never been. * * * * * don denton stood rigidly for a moment, a nameless fear tugging at his mind, his blue eyes suddenly black with fear for the safety of the girl. "jean?" he called again, knowing that there would be no answer. he ran lithely across the end of the clearing, burst into the first living-hut, made a quick search, dashed back outside, a monstrous fear and hate intermingled in his mind. he went more slowly toward the first freighter, slipped within the uncogged port, moved even more slowly as he made a complete search of the shadowy corners of the hold and cabins. he found nothing but the mold and rust that came from the steamy atmosphere. the second freighter proved to be empty also. and he stood for a moment outside its rusty length, his lips a thin white line, his eyes narrowed into slits. then, never permitting himself to relax, he made a complete search of the grounds, investigating the huts again, searching the rendering sheds, finally stopping, his heart thudding painfully, in the exact center of the clearing. he considered the situation briefly, and his mind came to an abrupt stop against a wall of thought. either the girl had disappeared into the _lanka_ jungle because she thought she had seen something or someone there, or she had been captured, silently, by the menace that had murdered the fourteen men who lay in the bunks within the huts. don denton backed slowly toward the _comet_, his ati-gun tight in his hand, never relaxing, ready to fire at the first sign of a living thing that moved. he uncogged the door-port, slipped through, cogged the door shut again. then he searched the tiny ship from bow to stern, making absolutely certain that he was alone. satisfied that he was safe for the moment, he sagged into the cushions of the pilot's seat, tried to make sense out of the sudden disappearance of the girl. obviously, there was something wrong with the island. fourteen men were dead, _lanka_ plants rotting in the shed, the freighters empty hulks on the clearing's edge. but what could that menace be? he knew, personally, that the only life on venus was in the oceans, a life that had not progressed far enough to permit it to cope with the brains and skill of men. yet jean palmer was gone, taken by the--the _things_ that had slain fourteen men without leaving wounds on their bodies. don denton swore bitterly, his hands clutching the arms of the seat until the knuckles were like polished bone. it was only too evident that the terror had struck but recently; the men's bodies were not decomposed in the slightest. the trouble shooter came from his seat, slid back the panel of the arms cabinet. he slipped into the silk-like folds of the cellu-ray suit, first discarding the oxy-helmet. then he fitted on the wide belt that held the super ati-guns, checked them to make certain their loads were at maximum power. he felt a slight dizziness from the tainted air that had filled the ship when the port had been opened, shrugged the feeling away with the knowledge that his space-hardened body could easily combat the slight toxic poison without effort. he packed a small knapsack with a compact medicine box and food, left a water bottle behind, knowing that he could find rain puddles in the heavy _lanka_ leaves. the rain started then without warning, coming down in a solid smashing sheet, the blasting wind rocking the _comet_ with titanic strength. don denton scowled through the storm, his vision stopped five feet from the quartzite port window by the smashing curtain of water from the low hanging clouds. he paced the control room in tight anxiety, feeling the fear mounting within him, conscious of the driving urgency of quick action, but knowing that he could not fight the torrential downpour. the rain battered down in a solid sheet for more than an hour. and then the rain was over, and there was only the eerie silver light reflected from the clouds. don denton uncoiled impatiently from his seat, fitted on the knapsack, slipped the oxy-helmet over his head, tied the bottom strings about his throat. he felt a momentary panic at the thought of stepping from the safety of his ship on the land where death might strike unseen. then he grinned wryly, shrugged broad shoulders. he had his job to do, a job that he had elected for himself. too, there was the memory of jean's presence that drove him on. if for no other reason, he could not desert the girl who had expressed such complete faith in himself. he twisted the cogs of the port, set the vibra-ray so that no one else could open the door unless he was along. he slipped a bit on the mud of the clearing, turned, slammed the port shut. then, with a super ati-gun in his right hand, he started across the clearing toward the break in the jungle that was obviously a path cut by the _lanka_ hunters. it was then that he halted, his eyes widening in surprise, the sound of his breathing loud in his oxy-helmet. he swung in a complete circle, stifling his gasp of wonder, feeling the fear knotting in his stomach, and conscious of the scaly fingers of insanity plucking at his reason. _for men moved about the rendering hut, and steam spurted from the tall stacks._ don denton half-crouched, and a soundless snarl of amazement twisted his lips. his eyes flashed from the working men around the clearing, blinked bewilderedly at what they saw. or, rather, what they didn't see. for the freighters were gone, vanished from where they had been, only deep gouges in the ground to show that they had ever landed. iii don denton swore soundlessly to himself, and the gun sagged momentarily in his hand. he felt the insane desire to laugh, fought down the feeling with an iron will. this was too much; this was carrying things too far. those men moving about the rendering shed were dead, so dead that there had been no pulse of heart-beats in their veins. yet they walked and worked with a smooth efficiency about the shed five hundred feet away. and the freighters had vanished into the clouds. yet that, too, was impossible; for the rocket blasts would have created such a roar in the air that he could not have missed their going. it was as though his mind had tricked him, had conjured chimeras and mirages out of the air to strip his reason away. he stiffened, the gun lifting in his hand, as one of the men working about the shed turned and ran directly down the field. he gasped silently, recognizing the greyed hair and ruddy face of jim palmer. his hand snapped to a small button on his helmet. "hold it, palmer, don't come any closer!" his voice roared from the tiny annunciator built into the top of his helmet. jim palmer skidded to a stop, menaced by the ati-gun, fell, sprawling in the green mud, as his sudden stop tripped him on the treacherous ground. amazement made a round o of his mouth, and the glad greeting faded from his eyes. "what the hell, denton?" he said sharply. "have you gone space batty?" don denton laughed without humor, shifted the gun muzzle slightly. "i don't know," he admitted. "but i'm not taking any chances on anything until i find out what's going on!" "what do you mean: 'what's going on'?" jim palmer pushed himself to his feet, wiped slimy mud onto his breeches' legs. "hell," he finished, "all of us thought you were dead!" "you--," don denton swallowed, blinked desperately, "you thought i was dead?" he croaked. "why, sure!" jim palmer waved an expressive hand. "we tried to get into your ship for more than a week, but couldn't. and we could see you crumpled in the pilot's seat. so we figured you had died." "look, palmer," don denton said, "i like jokes as well as the next spacer. but i don't like the smell of this one! now, what's the set-up here?" "well, it's just like the one i had on island seven. i--" don denton's voice was like chilled steel. "keep up that clowning," he snapped, "and i'll blow it out of you with an ati-gun blast!" jim palmer paled, took a backward step. "now, look, denton," he said placatingly, "i'm not looking for a fight with you; i've always figured we were friends. if you've got some gripe, get it off your chest, and maybe we can get it straightened out!" don denton felt insanity growing in his mind. he sucked in a deep breath, never taking his eyes from palmer's sweat-streaked face. he didn't know what was going on, could not find a coherent answer for anything, and the empty feeling it left within him frightened him as he had never felt fear before. less than an hour before, he had locked himself in his ship, after seeing fourteen dead men in the huts and after jean had disappeared; and now jim palmer was telling him that that had happened more than a week before. too, he was implying that don denton was mentally unbalanced. don denton then felt the prescience of an alien presence at his back. he whirled, spun to one side, his finger tight on the firing stud of the atomic gun in his fist. then, his face working in surprise, he turned slowly completely about, finally facing jim palmer again. his eyes went wide, when he saw the furtive, fearful steps the other was taking toward the safety of the rendering shed. "well, denton," palmer said worriedly, "i'll talk to you later." "stand right where you are!" there was a quiver to the trouble shooter's voice despite his iron control. "i've just started to ask questions. first, where's jean?" "why she went back to earth on the _moonstone_, the larger freighter. that was four days ago. she was pretty well broken up when she thought you were dead." don denton's forehead washboarded in thought. "there's something fishy here that i don't understand," he said, "but i'm going to get to the bottom of it." "look, denton," palmer's tone was solicitous. "why don't you let carter, the doctor, take a look at you. i mean no offense; but you sound as if you either had a concussion or a touch of space fever." he gestured comfortingly. "come on, take off your helmet, and the doc'll find out what's wrong." * * * * * don denton was fumbling at the lace of his light copper helmet unconsciously, before he realized what he was doing. for some unknown reason, he felt that palmer might be right and that he might have some brain injury. then some vague stubbornness filled his mind, driving away his sudden compliance. his free hand snapped to his belt, whipped out the second ati-gun. "how is it that you and your men are walking around?" he asked, "i could have sworn you were dead?" he waited for the other's answer, conscious of an agonizing headache that had sprung out of nowhere. he still felt that he and palmer were not alone, but his quick whirl a moment before had failed to disclose any lurker in the vicinity. and now, for the first time, he saw the eyes of jim palmer clearly. there was something in them that he could not understand, a pleading to be understood that escaped his senses. and the something that was in them was oddly at variance with the smile on the ruddy face and the reassuring words. "you must have seen us when we were asleep," jim palmer explained, "after working on these _lanka_ plants for so long a time, you get such a slow steady heart action that it takes a stethoscope to find it." "maybe?" don denton said skeptically. "but i still think you were dead." jim palmer laughed, the sound a long booming roll of mirth that drew curious glances from the workers at the rendering shed. his lips writhed back, and his shoulders shook with merriment, but his eyes never changed expression. "do we _look_ dead?" he asked mirthfully. "it isn't what you look like, it's what you are that counts," don denton countered. "i've seen martian zombies that got around pretty well." "yes," jim palmer nodded. "i've seen them. but they don't breathe or eat; and i can assure you that my men and i do both." he stepped forward, stretched his hand in a friendly gesture. "come on," he finished, "put away your guns, and come meet the men. maybe the doc had better take a look at you, too; you don't look so well, you've probably got a touch of fever giving you hallucinations." steam hissed from the muddy ground between them as the trouble shooter fired his left hand gun. "i'm not joking," he snapped. "make a move i don't like, and i'll be damned certain you're dead!" jim palmer sucked in his breath with an audible gasp, and muscles rippled in his heavy shoulders as his arms came up in a threatening gesture. "you're making a mistake, denton," he said brittlely. and, without warning, his face white and strained, he sprang at the other, his whipping arms smashing the guns aside. * * * * * the twin ati-guns roared in a wailing scream of unleashed power, their released streams of energy charring the ground, as don denton's hands clenched in sudden reflex. then the guns were hammered aside, and the bull-like body of jim palmer was straining at the trouble shooter's lithe strength. for one interminable instant, don denton wavered on his feet, then he went backward, carried by the other's weight, his mind numbed by the paralyzing shock that came from a sledge-like fist hammering at his chest. he rolled as he fell, twisted, and his right hand lashed out in a desperate effort to reach one of the fallen guns. a heavy knee pinned his arm to the ground, and he gasped from palmer's weight on his chest. he arched his body, tossed palmer to one side, smashed at him with a two-handed attack that hurled the heavy man a dozen feet away. he slipped as he tried to follow his advantage, felt palmer's hands tearing at the globe of his oxy-helmet. he felt a lace break below his chin, and then his right hand came up in a vicious right cross. palmer sagged, half unconscious from the blow, went entirely slack, as the trouble shooter crossed his left and then his right. don denton crouched for a moment, staring into the blank face of the camp manager, his chest heaving, feeling a slight dizziness as the air of venus mingled with that of his damaged oxy-helmet. then the wailing hiss of an ati-gun brought him to his feet. he dived for his twin guns, turned, raced for the safety of the _comet_, feeling the tingle of released energy as his cellu-ray suit dissipated the shock of a direct ati-blast on his back. he fired twice, as a warning gesture, at the men streaming from the rendering shed, smiled grimly as the tight knot of pursuers broke into individuals. and then he was at his ship, the vibra-ray lock swinging the port open automatically. he spun through the port, cogged it shut behind him, sagged against its solid friendliness, utterly worn with the furious action of the past few minutes. gradually, his breathing slowed to normal, and some of the unnatural fright of the past moments loosened their icy clutch from about his heart. he removed his oxy-helmet, dropped it carelessly to the floor, went slowly to the control room of the ship. he stared from the quartzite port, his brow furrowing in puzzlement. two of the _lanka_ workers were helping the stunned palmer to his feet, while the rest of the men gazed woodenly toward the _comet_. then, as though turned by some common command, the entire group whirled, stalked back across the field, disappeared within the rendering shed. don denton shook his head in bewilderment, sank tiredly into the pilot's seat, found one of his carefully rationed cigarettes in a panel box. touching a radi-light to its end, he leaned back in the cushions, drew slowly on the fragrant smoke. "whew!" he sighed explosively, winced when his exploring fingers found the great bruise on his chest where palmer had struck so viciously. he went over the entire, bizarre situation point by point; and as the moments passed he made less sense out of the entire proceedings. he couldn't figure the slightest of reasons from what was happening. he tried to rationalize the events, ended at a blind alley of thinking. first, he had the fact that the _lanka_ shipments had failed to make their scheduled appearances. so he had been sent to investigate. jean palmer had come along, ostensibly to see her father. then, after landing, he had killed some venusian slug, and found fourteen dead men in their bunks. right after that, jean had disappeared into thin air. an hour and a half later, the dead men were alive, and he had been attacked by jim palmer, whose friend he thought he was. don denton scowled bleakly into space. this set-up was too screwy for him! he thought for a moment of rocketing into space and bringing back the space patrol to make a complete investigation. his blue eyes narrowed abruptly, as he caught sight of the perpetual calendar on the wall. hell! it was still the same day as the day he had arrived on venus. which meant that jim palmer had lied. he snapped his fingers in sudden thought. palmer had not tried to injure him, instead, he had merely tried to remove the oxy-helmet. and that meant another mystery. for palmer knew that the faintly tainted air of venus would not knock out the trouble-shooter. the trouble-shooter growled deep in his throat, crushed out the cigarette, stood and paced to the port window. he frowned from the port, watched the men coming toward the rocket ship. he felt no uneasiness, for he knew that the hull would be impervious to any ati-blasts they might fire in trying to force an entrance. then he stiffened, the blood draining from his face. for walking quietly in the middle of the tight group was jean palmer. don denton swore briefly, didn't move. he watched, as the group came quietly to a halt a hundred feet from the _comet_, their tightness melting away as they stopped. then don denton saw jim palmer lift a heavy strip of leather belt, swing it with a brutal viciousness at the slender shoulders of his daughter. don denton whipped around, a white hot rage blazing in his mind, his breath a choking mass in his throat, as he dashed for the port door. he uncogged it with trembling hands, pushed it open, dropped through, the ati-guns cold in his sweaty hands. he ran toward the silent group, conscious that palmer's arms was lifting for another blow. his hand swept up for a snap-shot. "drop that gun, denton," palmer snapped. don denton snarled soundlessly, squared the muzzle of the ati-blaster on palmer's broad chest, squeezed the firing stud. then a great paralysis seemed to fill his rangy body. he came to a dead stop, his guns still jutting before him, but utterly without the will to press the firing studs. "holster both guns, denton," jim palmer barked. instantly, without a word, the trouble shooter's hands flicked the twin guns back into their sheaths. he stood rigidly, great veins ridging his temples, then all resistance went from his body as he waited for the other to approach. * * * * * jim palmer halted but a few feet from the trouble shooter, the leather strap dangling from his right hand, his feet wide-braced. he bent forward a trifle, stared directly in don denton's eyes. "can you hear me, denton?" he asked quietly. don denton fought the unbreakable control that held his mind and body in complete abeyance. veins stood in high relief on his forehead, and perspiration rolled down his cheeks. he gagged a bit from the noxious air, tried to turn his head from palmer's piercing gaze. "i can hear you, palmer," he said woodenly. "fine." there was still that _something_ far back in palmer's eyes, but there was absolutely no expression on his face. "now, this is what you are to do: you will act as the pilot on the _moonstone_ for the rest of us men. we are turning pirates, and intend to set up our headquarters here. you will get your instruments and whatever else you need from your ship; we leave within the hour." don denton turned without volition, and even the hypnotic control that directed him could not keep the gasp of astonishment from his throat. for there on the edge of the clearing, exactly as they had been before, were the two freighters that had vanished so mysteriously thirty minutes before. but the astonishment was immediately erased from his mind, and he turned robot-like toward the _comet_. he caught one flashing glimpse of the emotionless faces of the men and jean palmer, then he paced slowly toward the gaping port of the scouter. jim palmer walked quietly at his side, staring straight ahead, no emotion touching his ruddy features. don denton tried to think, but a soft impenetrable band of nothingness seemed to absorb all of his thoughts. his only thought was of the command he had just received, and, strangely, that thought seemed to be a perfectly natural thing. "you go in first, denton," palmer said quietly. the trouble shooter obeyed silently, climbing through, standing rigidly until the other had joined him. then he turned, stepped forward. his breath whooshed in a startled gasp, as his right foot stepped squarely on the dropped oxy-helmet, and then he was falling forward, his hands outstretched in a futile effort to regain his balance. he felt his head strike the wall, struggled vainly to get back to his feet. then dull blackness wiped all consciousness from his brain. iv he couldn't have been out for more than a second. he blinked his eyes shook his head slightly when he saw the tiny box of the gravity-rotor over his head, shifted a bit so that he gazed squarely at jim palmer. he laughed then, feeling the tight control-band gone from his mind, sensing the advantage that had come back to him. he twisted a bit, still not understanding all that had happened, and his mouth opened in surprise at what he saw. there were two of them, two grub-like slugs resting quiescently on the metal floor, each of them the exact duplicate of the thing he had shot upon landing on venus. all of the maelstrom disappeared then from his mind, and his thinking grew crystal clear. he saw jim palmer bending toward him, and then the ati-guns were in his hands, and their wailing crescendos of unleashed power filled the _comet_ with screaming echoes. for an interminable instant, the slugs seemed to absorb the ati-rays, then they collapsed into puddles of obscene flesh that disappeared into charred flakes of ash. don denton lay where he was, the guns silent in his hands, seeing the intelligence that flashed into jim palmer's eyes. "oh, my god!" jim palmer said stupidly, stared at the strap he still held in his heavy hand. don denton rolled from beneath the gravity-rotor, came to his feet, dodged around the dazed man, tugged open the nearest panel in the wall. he took two small, belt gravity-rotors from a shelf, handed one to palmer, buckled the other about his head. "put that rotor about your head, palmer," he ordered. "we've got some work to do." he switched on his own rotor, felt nausea cramp at his stomach when the gravity field pulled at his neck muscles. hooking his foot beneath the ship's rotor, he helped palmer fasten the rotor over his greyed hair, then handed the older man one of the ati-guns. "come on," he said. "we've got some hunting to do." he led the way, jumping from the port-door, the gun blasting in his hand, conscious of the _lanka_ manager's bulky body at his side. they went side by side down the field, the wailing roar of their guns screaming in the air, the slugs dying hideously, one by one. and then jean was in don denton's arms, her slender shoulders shaking in a torrent of sobs, and he was soothing her with a clumsy gentleness that felt strange and good to him. * * * * * they sat in the control room of the great freighter, _moonstone_, their faces were turned to where don denton stood at the control panel. the trouble shooter grinned at the fifteen people that made up his audience, and he summed up all of his thoughts and theories. "those slugs," he explained, "were little more than animated brains. they lived somewhere in the oceans, and probably discovered the _lanka_ camps by accident. they had no ways of subduing you men by physical means, because of their grub-like bodies, so they took control of your minds. unluckily, they failed to gain control of one of you men and of both of the freighter pilots; and the three men tried to escape in a small rocket. the rocket crashed, killing all three of the men." jim palmer nodded. "that's what i've got figured out," he said, "but i've just got a hazy memory of the past three months." "well," don denton continued, "these slugs must have got the idea of going to earth and the other inhabited planets, and taking control of them. but they needed your help and a space pilot to transport you and them. they put all of you in a cataleptic state, while waiting for some space pilot to appear. they left a guard, the slug i shot down the moment i begin searching the camp. but before he died, he sent out a call that brought a single slug into camp." jean palmer shivered, held tightly to the trouble shooter's hand. "i know," she said, "i took off my helmet to adjust the oxygen valve, and i looked up to see that whitish thing at the corner of the hut. before i could call out, something seemed to grab my mind--and then i was running toward the jungle. i tried to scream to you, when you found me gone, but i couldn't move." don denton smiled, tightened his strong fingers over the girl's. "it's fairly easy to reconstruct from there on," he said carefully. "the slugs tried to get control of my mind. but because thought is of an electrical nature, absolute control wouldn't pass through the copper of my oxy-helmet. they set a scene to make me think i was crazy, and sent palmer to take off my helmet." "i remember that," jim palmer said thoughtfully. don denton nodded. "well," he went on, "their mental control was enough that it played tricks with my mind. they blanked out my vision when i looked at them, and later, they blacked out the sight of the freighters, trying to make me think that i was so crazy i should take off my helmet for an examination." "i escaped from palmer, went back to the _comet_, then raced out of the ship to save jean from a beating." he shook his head slightly when he saw the pain on palmer's face. "of course it was just a trick to get me outside without my helmet. well, i fell for it; and the slugs took control, making me believe that jim palmer was the master mind engineering everything. but on entering the _comet_, i slipped and fell beneath the ship's gravity-rotor. the field of gravity-energy neutralized the electricity of the thought waves--just as it blanks out the power of a flashlight--and i was able to think again. i blasted the slugs, got two portable rotors and fastened them to palmer and myself, and the two of us cleaned out the slugs." don denton flicked his gaze about the room. "now, if you men intend to stay, you've got to wear tiny gravity-rotors on your heads. it apparently isn't the quantity of power put out that blankets the thought waves, it's possible to use a very weak power. i don't think the slugs will try anything again, but if they do, you shouldn't have any trouble getting rid of them." "we're staying on," jim palmer said grimly, nodded approvingly at the confident glances given him by his men. "and i hope those damned things show up again. i'd like nothing better than to take an ati-blaster to a bunch of those uncanny devils." he grinned suddenly, looked squarely into don denton's eyes. "how about staying on for awhile?" he asked, "there might be a little excitement on this planet that you could dig up?" don denton shook his head. "sorry," he said, "but i've got a date with some friends of mine on mars; we're going to explore some of the new tombs they discovered two months ago. i guess i'll be getting along." he felt the insistent tugging of jean's slender fingers on his. a smile lifted the corners of his lips, and he bent over, kissed her with a quick possessiveness. "my mistake," he said warmly, "_we'll_ be getting along!" he and jean were smiling into each other's eyes then, reading there a future that held many promises of adventure and love and--and things that would be utterly nothing to others than themselves. venus enslaved by manly wade wellman what chance had the castaway earthman and his crossbow-weaponed amazons against the mighty frogmasters of the veiled planet? [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from planet stories summer 1942. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] black velvet infinity all around, punctured and patterned with the many-hued jewels of space--comforting, somehow, because they made the same constellation patterns you used to see on earth. there was the dipper, there scorpio, there orion. but the twinkle was shut off, as though every star had turned cold and silently watchful toward your impudent invasion of emptiness. so big was the universe that the little recess which did duty for control-room, observation-point and living-cabin seemed even smaller than it was; which was very small indeed. planter forgot the dizzy lightness of head and body, here beyond gravity, and turned his wondering eyes outward from where he lay strapped in his spring-jointed hammock, toward the firmament, and decided that there was nothing in all his past life that he would change if he could. "check blast-tempo," came the voice of disbro just beyond his head, a high, harsh, commanding voice. "check lubrication-loss and check sun-direction. then brace yourself. we may land quicker than we thought." planter leaned toward the instrument panel that covered most of the bulkhead to the right of his hammock. the pale glow from the dials highlighted his face, young, bony, intent. "blast-tempo adequate," he called back to disbro. "lubrication-loss about seven point two. three point nine six degrees off sunward. air loss nil." "who asked for air loss?" snubbed disbro from his hammock forward. he was leaner than planter, taller, older. even in his insulated coveralls, bulking against whatever temperature or pressure danger might be threatened by the outer space, he was of a dangerous elegance of figure and attitude. his face, framed in tight, cushioned helmet, was so narrow that it seemed compressed sidewise--dark eyes crowded together with only a disdainful blade of nose between them, a mouth short but strong, a chin like the pointed toe of a stylish boot, a cropped black mustache. back on lost earth, disbro had frightened men and fascinated women. his cunning crime-administration had been almost too neat for the police, but not quite; or he would not have been here, with his life barely held in his elegant fingertips. "venus plumb center ahead," he told planter. "have a look." that last as if he were granting a favor. planter twisted in the hammock. he saw the taut-slung cocoon that would be disbro's netted body, the control board like a bigger, more complex typewriter where disbro could reach and strike key-combinations to steer, speed or otherwise maneuver the ship. beyond, a great round port, at its middle a disk the size of a table-top. against the black, airless sky, most of that disk looked as blue as the thinnest of milk. one smooth edge was brightened to cream--the sunward limb of venus. but even the dimmer expanse showed fluffy and gently rippling, a swaddling of opaque cloud. "that," said disbro, "is our little gray home in the west." "i wonder what's underneath the clouds," mused planter, for the millionth time. "all those science-pots, sitting home on the seats of their expensive striped pants, wonder that," snarled disbro. "that's why they sent eight rockets before us, smack into the cloud. that's why, with eight silences out of a possible eight, they rigged this ninth. that's why, when nobody was fool enough to volunteer, they dug up three convicts who were all neatly earmarked to be killed anyway, and gave them a bang at the job." three convicts--planter, disbro, and max. planter had forgotten max, as everyone was apt to, including max himself. for max had been a sturdy athlete, a coming heavyweight champion, until too many gaily-accepted blows had done something to his mind. doctors said some concussion unbalanced him, but not far enough so that he didn't know right and wrong apart when he killed his manager for cheating on certain gate receipts. and so, prison and a sentence to the chair with the reprieve that came by recommendation of the rocket foundation on march 30, 2082. now max was in the compartment aft, keeping the levers kicking that ran the rocket engines. show max how to do a thing and he'd keep right on doing it until you pulled him away, or until he dropped. what would max's last name be, wondered planter. he studied the face of venus. he sang to himself, softly: "_oh, thou sublime sweet evening star_...." softly, but not too softly for disbro's excellent ears. disbro chuckled. "you know opera, planter? pretty fancy for an ex-con." "i know that piece," said planter shortly. "wolfram's hymn to venus, from _tannhauser_." * * * * * it had started him thinking again. gwen had played it so often on her violin. played it and sung it. those were the days he hadn't known she was married, down in her red-and-gold apartment in the artists quarter. he'd been sculpting her--she'd had the second best figure he ever saw. then he found out about her husband, for the husband burst in upon them. the husband had tried to kill planter, but planter had killed the husband. and gwen had sworn his life away. "check elapsed time," disbro bade him. "fifty-eight days nine hours and fifty-four minutes point seven," rejoined planter at once. "prompt, aren't you? we'll be on venus before the sixty-fourth day." planter saw disbro shift over in his hammock. "i'm going to shave. then eat." disbro turned a stud in the wall. his electric razor began to hum. planter opened a locker-valve and brought forth his own rations--a package of concentrated solid, compounded of chocolate, meat extract, several vitamin agents. it would sustain him for hours, but was anything but a fill to his hunger. he chewed it slowly to make it last longer, and sipped from a snipe-nosed container of water, slightly effervescent and acidulated. a few drops escaped between snout and lip, and swam lazily in the gravityless air of the cabin, like shiny little bubbles. "planter," said disbro, suddenly pleasant, "we're going to fool 'em." he shut off his razor. planter took another nibble. "yes, disbro?" "we'll land at the north pole." planter shook his head. "we can't. this rocket is set at mid-point on the venusian disk." "we can. i've tinkered with the controls. a break for us, no break for the foundationeers at home. they're watching us through telescopes. what they want is our crash on venus, with a great upflare of the exploding fuel. then they'll know that we landed, and can shake hands all 'round on a 'successful advancement.' but we're curving away, then in. i've fixed that. we'll not blow off and make any signal; but we'll live." "north pole," mused planter, pensively. "no spin to venus up there. we'll land solidly. we'll land where it's coolest, and none too cool. her equator must be two degrees hotter than satan's reception hall. the pole may be endurable." "what then?" asked planter. "we'll live, i say. don't you want to live?" planter hadn't thought about it lately. but suddenly he knew that he did want to live. his was a family of considerable longevity. his grandfather had attained the age of one hundred and seven, and had claimed to remember the end of the second world war. "six days to study it over," disbro was saying. "then we'll have a try. if we land alive, we'll laugh. if we die trying, we'll have nothing to worry about. float up here, will you? take over. i'm going to have a little sleep." * * * * * through choking steam, white and ever-swirling, drove the silvery cigar that was the ninth rocket ship to attempt to voyage across space. from its snout blossomed sudden flame, blue and red and blue again--rocket counter-blasts that were designed to act as brakes. they worked, somewhat. the speed cut from bullet-rate to falling-rate. from falling-rate to flying-rate. then, of a sudden, partial clarity around it. within an upper envelope of blinding vapors, venus had a thinner atmosphere, partially transparent. below showed a surface of fluffy greens, all sorts of greens--lettuce, apple, olive, emerald, spinach, sea greens. vegetation, plainly, and lots of it. the ship, steadying in its plunge like a skilled diver, nosed across toward a wet, slate-dark patch that must be open ground. from the stern, where rocket tubes had ceased blazing, broke out a massive expanse of fabric--a parachute. another and another. down floated the craft, thudding, at last, upon its resting place. planter felt a cramping pain. he realized that to feel pain one must be alive. then his head throbbed--it hung head downward. gravity was back. he groped for his hammock fastenings, loosened them, and lowered himself to a standing position beneath, on the round port that had been forward. disbro hung in his hammock, motionless but moaning faintly. planter hurriedly freed him and laid him flat on his back. he fumbled a locker open, brought out a water-pot. a little spurt between disbro's short, scornful lips brought him back to consciousness. "we made it," was disbro's first comment, full of triumph and savagery. "help me up. thanks. whoooh! we seem to have socked in somewhere, nose first." he was right. no sign of light or open air showed through the forward port, nor the side ports from which planter had been wont to study the reaches of space. disbro looked up. the after bulkhead, now their ceiling, had a hatchway. "hoist me," he said to planter, who made a stirrup of his hands and obliged. the slightly lesser gravitational pull of venus made disbro more active than on earth. he caught planter's hammock, got his foot on a side-bracket for steadiness, and climbed up to the hatch. a tug at the clamps opened it, and he wriggled through. "wake up, you big buffalo," planter heard him snarling. max was evidently unconscious up there. planter, without a helper to lift him, made shift by climbing disbro's hammock, then his own, to gain the compartment above. "he'd have died if he had an ounce of brains," commented disbro, pointing. max lay crumpled against the bulkhead, close to the great bank of levers he had been working. in his hands were grasped broken pieces of network from his hammock. "he was out of the lashings when we landed," disbro went on. "we were about to hit, and he grabbed hold. must have passed out. but the big lump's single-minded--abnormally so. he hung on without knowing, and the breaking of those strands kept him from crashing full force." planter knelt and pulled max straight. max was tremendous, a burly troll in his coveralls. his shoulders were almost a yard wide, his hands like oversize gloves. his big face, with its broad jaw, heavy dark brows and ruddy cheeks, might have been handsome, was not the nose smashed in by a blow taken in some old ring battle. "don't waste water," cautioned disbro as planter hunted for the food-locker. "i'll bring him out of it." he knelt and slapped the inert face sharply. max's mouth opened, showing a gap where his front teeth had been beaten out. he gave a grumbling yell, then sprang erect so suddenly that disbro, starting away, almost fell through the hatchway. max saw planter, scowled and snorted, then fell into a boxing stance. he inched forward, his mighty fists fiddling hypnotically. "time!" yelled planter at once. "this isn't a fight, max! we've landed--safe and alive--on venus!" max's eyes widened a little. he grinned loosely, and pulled off his helmet. his skull was thatched with bushy, black hair. "uhh," he said, in a deep, chiding tone. "i forgot. uhhh." "forgot!" echoed disbro scornfully. "he sounds as if he had the ability to remember." planter studied the ports in this compartment. they, too, were obscured by wet-looking grail soil. the ship must be well buried in the crust of venus. what if it was completely submerged, a tomb for them? he glanced upward to another hatchway, one that would lead past the rocket engines. "don't go up," max cautioned him throatily. "hot up there." "brilliant," was disbro's ill-humored rejoinder. "max actually knows that the engines will be hot." planter clapped max on the big shoulder. "it'll be all right," he reassured the giant. "get me a wrench, will you? that long-shanked one for tightening tube-housings will do." * * * * * he scrambled up along the levers, which made a ladder of sorts. the hatch to the engines had to be loosened with the wrench. beyond, as max had sagely warned him, it was stiflingly hot. he avoided gleaming, sweltering tubes and housings, scrambling to where a four-foot circle of nuts showed in the bulkheading. this would be the plate that closed the central stern, among the rear rocket-jets. he began to loosen one. "stop that, you fool!" it was disbro, who had climbed after him and was watching. "who knows about this lower atmosphere of venus?" "i'm going to find out about it," replied planter, a little roughly, for he did not like disbro's manner. he gave the nut another turn. "wait, wait," cautioned disbro. he climbed all the way into view, holding up a glass flask with a neck attachment of gauges and pipings. "i got a sample, through the lock-panel--plenty of air-bubbles were carried down with us. let me work it out before you do anything heroic." disbro was right. he was usually right, about technologies. planter mopped his brow on the sleeve of his coverall, and waited. "yes," disbro was commenting. "oxygen--nice article of that, and plenty. nitrogen, too. just like earth. quite a bit of carbon dioxide. it'll be from all that vegetation. certified breathable. go on and unship that plate." planter did so. he loosed the last net, and pushed against the plate. it stirred easily--the after part of the ship would still be in the open. disbro, climbing after him, caught his elbow. "i go out first," he announced. "they marked me down as senior of the expedition. one side." planter stared quizzically, and once again did as disbro told him. the lean man thrust up the plate like a trapdoor, and crept out. "at last!" he yelled back. "men on venus! come on, planter!" planter called back to max, who was bringing up a bundle of articles disbro had chosen for the venture outside--two repeating rifles, two pistols, several tools, and tins of food, coils of rope. planter helped him with the load, and they got outside with it. disbro had slid down the step bulge of the hull. he clung to a grab-iron, his feet just above the gray muck into which they had plunged. he stared up. "first man to set foot on venus," he was saying. "who was second of you two?" "we didn't stop to bother," planter replied. "what now?" he stared around, to answer his own question. venus was dull, like a very cloudy day at home. the air was moist, but fresh, and little wreaths and veils of mist kept one from seeing far. but he made out that they had found lodgment in a sterile-looking clearing with a muddy floor that might or might not sustain a man's weight. all around was a crowded wall of vegetation--towering high above the range of his vision into upper fog, tight grown as a hedge, and vigorously fat of twig and leaf. planter, no botanist, yet was aware at once of strangeness beyond his power to describe. he knew that specimens should be gathered and preserved to take home. to take home? home to earth? but the ship was almost buried in this mud. he remembered disbro's dry comment--"our little gray home in the west." they were on venus. undoubtedly to stay. max, beside him, gave a sort of gurgling bellow of surprise and fear. "uhhh! something's got mr. disbro!" * * * * * for once, max was being articulate. for once, disbro was being silent. glancing down, planter saw the slender, elegant figure writhed close against the metal hull, clutching with both hands the grab-iron. disbro stared groundwards, and what could be seen of his face was as white as a wood-boring grub. one of his legs was drawn up, knee bracing upon the plates, the other stretched out grotesquely, as if to point a toe at something in the muck. it took a second staring study to realize that a whiplike strand of something that gleamed and tightened was snapped around disbro's ankle. "rope, max," snapped planter. he made a quick hitch around a rocket-tube, and lowered himself in a rush. his free hand grasped a heavy automatic pistol. he paused in his descent just above disbro, studying the black, shiny tether. it protruded from the semi-glutinous mud, which stirred and quivered around the protrusion. a sense was there of rigid grasp and slowly contracting pressure. it was squeezing the captured ankle, it was shortening itself to pull disbro down. disbro said nothing because he had caught his breath for an effort at wrenching free. but he could not do that. his strong, lean fingers were beginning to slip on the grab iron. he turned horror-widened eyes toward planter. "hang on," muttered planter, and aimed his pistol. no sure shot, he nevertheless was close to his target. he fired a .50 caliber slug, another and another. two of them hit the tail, tentacle or proboscis. at once it let go of disbro, gesticulating wildly. blood sprang forth on its shiny integument--venusian blood was red, mused planter, even as venusian herbage was green. disbro gave a choking gurgle that might have been thanks, relief or effort. a moment later he was swarming up planter's rope like a monkey. but planter did not follow. the appendage he had wounded was drawing out of sight, like a worm into its hole; but two more just like it had fastened upon his foot and knee. he lost his grip and fell into the mud. it was like a dip into thick gravy. the stuff lapped and closed over his head, and he let go of the pistol to try to swim. a couple of laborious strokes brought him back to the surface, gasping and blowing away thick lumps from nose and mouth. a moment later two more tentacles were groping and seizing at his shoulder and waist. four bonds now tightened upon him, like lariats. planter seemed to be thinking in two compartments. one set of thoughts dictated his floundering, desperate struggle. the other considered the situation with a curiosity dispassionate and almost mild. the creature that snared him was just what he might have expected--something on the octopus order. how many science fiction stories had dealt with such monsters on strange worlds? the creepy writhings of tentacles appealed to fantasy writers--the neat, simple, active structure of the brute was logical to the great mechanic who devised nature. the thing had him, in any case, if he could not kick or struggle or cut free. _cut free!_ that was it. he had a knife, in the side pocket of his coveralls. he dug for it, almost dropped it from his muddy fingers, then yanked open the biggest blade. he slashed at the nearest tentacle, the one around his waist. it parted like a cane-stalk before a machete. the other arms quivered and slackened, plainly shocked by pain. planter rolled out of their grip, started to swim away anywhere. he looked over his shoulder and saw his enemy as it humped itself partially into view. not such an octopus, after all. the dispassionate part of planter's brain called the thing an animated tall tree. the slender tentacles sprouted from a thicker trunk, that could curve and writhe and wallow, but not so readily. it was of a rubbery gray-brown, and at the upper end, nested among the tentacle-roots, was what must be its mouth. that mouth opened and shut in almost wistful hunger. planter swam furiously. he wanted to reach and climb the stern of the rocket ship, but the thing knew his wish, and moved to head him off. he kicked and fought his way toward the far mass of leaves that bordered this mud-pit. from among those leaves glowed for an instant a sort of splinter of yellow light. a small object sang over planter's helmeted head like a bee, and struck behind him with a little _chock_. it must have found lodgment against the hall-tree thing, which paused in its pursuit to flop and spatter the mud with its tentacles. planter blessed the diversion, whatever it was, and strove nearer to the shore. the forest was alive, he suddenly decided. out of its misty tangle a great leafy branch swung knowingly toward him. he clutched at it, brought away a fat, moist handful of strange-shaped leaves. his other hand made good its hold on the branch itself, and with the last of his strength he dragged himself to where roots hummocked above the mud. then he saw where the branch had come from. a slim, active figure stood among the stems, pressing with both hands upon the base of the branch to make it move into the open. as planter scrambled to safety, the figure relaxed its helpful shoving, and the branch moved back toward the perpendicular. planter gazed in utter lost unbelief at this stranger. it was a woman, young, fair, fine-limbed. she wore the briefest of garments, belted around with strange weapons, and her feet were shod in cross-gartered buskins. upon her tumble of golden curls rode a metal helmet that reminded him of grecian antiquity. her bare arms, round but strong, cradled something with a stock and butt of a musket, but with a short, tight-strung bow at its muzzle--surely the pattern of a medieval crossbow. her face was of a flawless pink-and-white beauty, just now stamped with utter disdain. its short, rosy mouth opened, and formed words. words that planter understood! "you fool," said the girl with the crossbow. "you scurvy fool." * * * * * disbro, barely able to stir for shock and weariness, climbed only a few hand's breadths out of danger before he must stop and wheeze for breath. at last he could make himself heard: "max! you pighead, help me!" "uhh," came the grunt of assent from above, as the big fellow slid down in turn. he slipped a thick arm around disbro, hoisting the tall, slender body as if it were a bundle of old clothes, and slid it across a shoulder like the jut of a crag. then max scaled the rope once again, to the safe top of the nosed-over rocket ship. disbro found his own feet, and shakily wiped his clear-cut face, still pale from exertion and terror. "that was close." "say," ventured max, "mr. planter, he's gone." disbro looked around. the mud expanse around them was stirred up as if by boiling struggles, but there was no sign of planter or the thing with the tentacles. "that thing got him," decided disbro, but max shook his heavy head. "huh-uh," he demurred. "no. the girl, she got him." "girl?" echoed disbro, and scowled. "what girl?" max pointed with a finger like the haft of a hammer. "she was in the trees. got him." disbro peered at the trees, then at max. his scowl deepened. "what are you drivelling about?" "the girl," said max. disbro snorted and skinned his teeth in scorn. "how," he demanded of the misty skies, "do i get mixed up with minus quantities like this? a girl, the man says! here on venus!" "a girl," repeated max firmly. disbro wheeled upon him. "come off of that!" he commanded sharply. "planter's gone. dead. you're all i have to associate with. you'll act sane, whether you are or not." max's big, pained eyes faltered before the glittering accusation of disbro's gaze. "all right," he conceded. "there wasn't any girl there, you idiot!" max nodded. "i saw--" "shut up!" disbro cut him off. "no girl, i said!" "no girl," repeated max obediently. rain began to fall, fat drops the size of marbles. "back inside," commanded disbro. "there'll be lots of this kind of weather. we'll have something to eat, then study another way to reach the trees yonder." "no girl," said max. "but i saw." * * * * * the rain that drove disbro and max back into their shelter filtered through layers of leafage, beginning to wash the mud from planter's clothing. he stared again at his rescuer. "i seem to have understood what you said," he managed at last. "isn't so strange, that?" she flung back, in words somehow run together. "e'en though you're mad enow to sport with yonder muck-worm," and her wide, bright blue eyes flicked toward the danger he had lately avoided, "you'll have the tongue of mankind. art no man?" "man enough, young woman," rejoined planter, a little nettled. "i suppose it's like the fantasies--we can read each other's minds, or something." "something," she echoed, as if humoring a child. "and i owe you thanks for saving my life." "oh, 'twas no great matter." she shouldered the crossbow. "come, for the skygors will be about our heels." she picked her way rapidly among the steam, with the surest and cleverest of feet. women on earth were never so graceful or sure, decided planter, hurrying after. he was aware that he did not step on the muddy surface of venus, but upon a matted over-floor, of roots, fallen stems, ground-vines, sometimes great sturdy leaves like lily-pads grown to the size of double mattresses. "wait, young lady," he called, "who are the skygors, you mentioned and why should they be after us?" she halted again, swung and studied him with more of that disdainful curiosity. "'tis a gruel-brained idiot," she decided, as if to herself. "for that they cast him out. methought 'twas strange that a man should flee, of himself, from sure shelter and victual." it was raining harder. the great roof of vegetation only partially broke that downpour. it sluiced away the coating of mud from planter, and soaked his stout garments through. he felt miserable in the dampness, but his girl guide throve, if anything, in the drops that struck and rolled down her bare arms and shoulders. he saw, too, that she followed something of a trail among the stalks and stems. it was barely wider than his own stalwart shoulders could pass, and wound crazily here and there; but one must stick to it, for to right and left the jungle grew thicker than a basket. he called out again. "miss! young lady!" she turned, as before. "what now?" "this path--what is it? did you make it? tell me things." he made a gesture of appeal, for she was putting on that look of contempt once more. "you see, i'm no more than an hour old on this planet--" "od so! your brain is younger than that. leave me, i have no time for idiots." abruptly she stiffened, widened her eyes, lifted a finger to her red lips for silence. the two of them stood close together in the misty rain, their ears sharpened. planter heard what she had heard--a rustling, crunching approach, along some other angle of the jungle path. the girl wrenched apart two sappy lengths of vine, and with a jerk of her head bade planter slip through into the great thicket. he did so, and she followed. turning, her lithe body close against his, she brought her crossbow to the ready. "danger?" whispered planter, and she nodded bleakly. the approach was coming near. planter judged that whatever threatened them was two-legged, weighty, and great-lunged--many yards off, it wheezed like a faulty engine. his companion's ears were better than his, or more experienced. she gauged the nearness of the stranger, and the crossbow went to her shoulder like a rifle. planter saw that it operated on a spring trigger that would trip a latch and release the string. the bow, violently recovering from its bending, would force the missile along a groove in the top of the stock. all parts--stock, bow, and string--were of some massive dark metal, apparently treated with grease to save it from the constant dampness. the missile itself was not an arrow, but seemed the size and shape of a silvery fountain pen. planter burned to ask questions about it; but the enemy was in sight by now, something of mottled green and black that shouldered upright along the way between the thickets. planter felt his companion's body grow tense against his shoulder. her finger touched the trigger lightly. the metal string twanged, and with a waspy hum the missile leaped toward its target. at the same time, a little burst of flame showed from it, bright yellow. _chock!_ the shot went home, as that other shot against the thing called a muck-worm. down floundered the green-spotted form. at once the girl was out of hiding, and stooping above her quarry. planter, following, peered with wonder and caution. he saw a body larger than himself, and grotesquely of the same build. a dumpy torso on massive back-bent legs like a cricket's; wide flapper feet, a round, low head with a monstrous slash of mouth, big eyes now filming with death, no nose at all--the creature was very like a nightmare frog. but this frog wore garments, of linked and plaited metal wire and rubbery-looking fabric. it had a silver belt, with pouches and holsters. these pouches and holsters the girl was now plundering. "quick," she snapped at planter over her rosy shoulder. "take the spoil. he will have friends, and they must not find us." * * * * * her tone was still reminiscent of disbro speaking to max. planter's ravenous curiosity was at last completely overridden. "young lady," he said flatly. "i'm not prepared to endure any more--" she suddenly screamed, not like a warrior but like any girl who is mortally frightened. planter had the time to realize that she saw something just beyond him. he pivoted and set himself as another of the froggy beings charged. "more skygors!" he heard a cry behind him, and he knew that it was skygors he faced. planter was a boxer of sorts, strong if not brilliant, and his unthinking reflex was to plant his feet, bend his knees, and crouch for attack or defense. that reflex shortened his height by several inches, and saved his life. the skygors that rushed him had pointed a pistol-form weapon, from which came yellow flame as from the crossbow. a silvery object meant to scatter his brains only sang above his head with millimeters to spare. before the pistol-like weapon could aim and spit again, planter had charged in. it was all he could do, but it was enough. he jabbed viciously with his left fist, followed with his right to the abdomen. the left knuckles slashed soft flesh about the wide mouth, his right hand almost broke on a hard belt-buckle. both blows were staggering to the wheezing adversary, who dropped its pistol and yelled with a voice like a steam whistle. it made words, each of them almost deafening to planter. to silence it more than anything else, planter drove in closer still and lifted an uppercut as though it were a shovelful of gravel. it found the point where a terrestrial man would have a chin. down floundered the clumsy body, and planter, with no thought of referees or rules, set his heavy boot on the face and bashed it in. he stepped across the subsiding form, in time to encounter another. this one got great flappy hands upon him. their grip was knowing, powerful, wicked. the skygor plucked him close, its mouth grinned into a gape. it had teeth, it was going to bite. he was held by the shoulders, and doubted if he could break away. instead of trying, he put his own hands to the thing's elbows, drew his right knee tight to his chest and planted a toe in a metal-clad midriff. then, even as the open paw sought to seize his face, he threw himself backward. landing flat on his shoulder blades, he drew down with his hands and hoisted with his feet. his opponent somersaulted in air, and fell with a heavy squashing thump upon the root-tangled floor of the trail. in a flash, planter was up. he jumped with both feet. bones broke under the impact. a second skygor was down--dead or dying-"aside!" the girl was calling, and he obeyed, flattening against a cross-weaving of vine stems. she was risen upon one knee, crossbow to shoulder. it twanged, flashed, and once again its successful charge sounded its _chock_. planter glanced down the trail in time to see a fourth and last skygor drop down. he found that he was gasping for air, and trembling as though the danger were still to come instead of past. the girl rose, came to him, and touched his arm. she smiled, her eyes shone. gone was the contempt, the superiority. she only admired, completely and frankly. "sink me, you're a fighter," she said. "ecod! i saw only the flight of fists, and a skygor went down, and another! you saved my life--and we have four skygors to strip, with none to boom about where we went from here. your name, friend?" "planter," he said. "david planter." "david planter," she repeated. her "a" was very broad, so that she made the name almost "dyvid." again she smiled. "a king's name, is't not? i am called mara. come, help me take what is valuable from this carrion." planter's heart warmed to her. "thanks for your kind words," he smiled back. "but i did what any man would do." "all men are slaves," she surprised him by saying. "you will amaze the other girl-warriors, when i bring you to the nest." * * * * * disbro, standing on the glass port-pane that was now floor for the control-room, labored and cursed at his keyboard. he pressed one, two, an octave. the nosed-over ship stirred, but did not rise. "max!" bawled disbro to the upper hatch. "pressure!" "giving you all there is," max informed him timidly. disbro turned from his controls, shrugging in disgust. "those bow-tubes are jammed or displaced," he cursed. "we can't clear off till we get her up and clean them--and we can't get her up and clean them until they work. huhh!" max's big, diffident face framed itself in the hatchway, registering a small hope. "we're floating," he volunteered. "close to those trees and things." disbro showed interest. "then we'll get our feet on solid ground, or nearly solid. that tentacle-thing won't be sloshing around." he beckoned. "come down." max obeyed. from a locker disbro took a pressure squirt of waterproofing liquid. he sprayed max's clothes, then his own. "that'll shed rain," he said. "buckle on a pistol, if you're smart enough to use one. and give me two." once more the hammocks in the lower chamber, and the levers in the higher, gave them a ladder-way up. disbro, emerging first into the damp, warm mist, saw at once that they had visitors. the ship, as max said, floated close to the mat of growth that fringed the muddy pool. here the jungle consisted of meaty stems, straight, thick and close-set, with tangled fermiform foliage. a little above mud-level, gnarled roots wove into a firm footing, and upon it, pressing from the thickets toward the ship, were huge biped creatures in gleaming metal harness. these had chopped down spongy trunks and branches, on which to venture over the mud-surface as on rafts. coming near the ship, they had passed cables of grease-clotted metal wire around it, mooring it fast to thicker trunks. as disbro stared down, several of them began to converse in tones that rang and boomed like great gongs. half-deafened, disbro still could perceive that their voices had inflection and sense. harness, concerted action, tools, a language--here was a master race, comparable to terrestrial humanity. one of them turned a bulging black eye upward, and saw disbro. its flat face split across, and a mouth like an open gladstone bag shouted its discovery. one green paw, webbed but prehensile, snatched a weapon from a metal-linked waist belt, and aimed it at the terrestrial. but disbro, too, was quick on the draw. his gang-rule on earth had necessitated shooting skill as well as leadership. his own automatic sprang into his hand. "no, you don't!" he snapped, and shot the weapon out of the venusian's flipper. it screamed in a voice that vibrated the steamy air, and its companions started and shrank back in startled wonder. disbro drew a second pistol, leveling it at them. "i'll shoot the first one that moves," he promised, as if they could understand; and understand they did. up went shaky flipper-hands. "no! no!" they boomed in thunderous humility. "don't! don't!" he had not the time to wonder that they spoke words he knew. he swung his weapons in swift arcs, covering them all. max, behind, had sense enough to level the long barrel of a repeating rifle. "please!" roared a venusian who seemed to be a leader. "we do naught to you!" "better not," cautioned disbro loftily. "we're more profitable as friends than as enemies." "friends!" agreed the leader. "friends!" "if you try any funny business--" went on disbro. "well, watch!" he snapped his right-hand gun up and fired. the bullet snipped away a leaf the size of an opened umbrella. as the great green blob drifted down, disbro fired again and again, until, ripped to rags, the leaf fell limply among the venusians. they moaned, like awe-struck fog horns. "understand?" taunted disbro. "savvy? i could kill you all as easy as look at you." "friends!" promised the leader again. "max," muttered disbro, "these birds quit very easily without a fight. but keep me covered from up here." planter's rope still dangled along the hull. disbro slid down, coming to his feet on the raft-heap below. the venusians gave back in wary confusion. disbro allowed himself to smile upward. "see what an ape you are, max?" he chuckled. "you got a look at one of these, and thought it was a girl! you're not much of a picker, max." to the venusian chief he said: "i think i'll muscle in on your territory." * * * * * mara, the crossbow-girl, brought planter to the place she called the nest. it was hollowed out in the thickest part of the towering jungle, as a rabbit's form is hollowed among tall grasses. the floor was of plaited and pressed withes, supported on stumps and roots of many tall growths. rounding upward and outward from this were walls, also of wooden poles and twigs, woven into the growing tangle. the roof was similarly made, but strengthened and waterproofed with earth, dried and baked by some sort of intense heat. the space thus blocked off was shaped like the rough inside of a hollow pumpkin, and in size was comparable to the auditorium of a large theater. within it were set up smaller huts and bowers. there were common cooking-fires, in ovens of stone and mud-brick, and a great common light suspended from the ceiling by a long heavy chain. this was a metal lamp, fed by oily sap from some sort of tree. finding the nest was difficult. mara had picked a careful way through mazes of thick vegetation, paying special attention to the rearranging of leaves and branches behind them. sagely she explained that the skygors, when hunting her kind, were thus completely lost. even at the very doorstep of the nest, the tangled vines, branches and leaf-sprays obscured any hint of such a place at hand. the dwellers in the nest were all women. they came cautiously forward, twenty or so, as mara ushered planter inside. they were active specimens, dressed scantily and attractively, like mara. most of them were young, several comely. all were fair of skin and hair, a logical condition in the cloudy air of venus. they wore daggers, hatchets, ammunition pouches. even at home, they all carried crossbows. "what does this man here?" demanded a lean, harsh-faced woman of middle age. "is he not content with servitude?" mara shook her head. "he's like none we know. he fights more fiercely than we--ecod, shouldst have seen him! bare-handed, he o'ercame two skygors. i slew two more. look at our trove!" she opened a parcel of great leaves, and showed dozens of the silver pens that were ammunition for both the skygor pistols and the human crossbows. planter also showed what he had brought from the battlefield--several belts, numerous harness fastenings, and two of the guns. these latter made the crossbow-girls nervous. "we stand by these," mara said, tapping her crossbow. planter fiddled with a pistol. its mechanism was strange but understandable, and he flattered himself that he could learn to use it. as for the pen-missiles, they seemed to contain a charge that burned violently on exposure to air. the trigger-mechanism, whether of pistol or crossbow, punctured it, set it afire, and the vehemence of combustion not only propelled it but destroyed the target completely. the older woman, whose name was mantha, nodded her head over a decision. "let the man have the dag," she granted, with an air of authority. "if he fights as mara says, he may be of aid. yet he is unlike those we know, in hue and aspect." true enough, planter was dark of complexion, with black curls and ruddy tan jaws. he spoke to mantha, respectfully, for the others called her "mother" and treated her as a commander. "i'm not of your people," he said. "i come from another planet. earth." "earth?" she repeated. "you come from there? why, so do we all." * * * * * down a trail went a patrol of skygors. among them, not much under them in size, tramped max. his broad shoulders bore a great burden of supplies from the ship. at the head of the procession, next to the chief, walked disbro. as someone else was saying to planter at almost the same moment, the chief skygor boomed to disbro: "you are not like men we know." "naturally not," agreed disbro. "your race is more like a bunch of freak reptiles." "not my race," demurred the chief skygor. "men. slaves." disbro understood only part, and took exception to that. "i'm no slave of yours," he warned. "no. equal. we have long needed equal men, to kill off the wild girls." "you see, mr. disbro?" chimed in max from behind. * * * * * david planter was embarrassed. inside the nest, he sat on a crude chair opposite mantha, the mother. the overhead light burned dim, and damp-banishing fires in the ovens mingled red glows. planter asked questions, but was distracted by the crossbow-girls, who watched him with round eyes, whispering and giggling. mara, near by, scowled at the noise-makers. "this venus world has much that's unknown," mantha said. "here in the north can we dwell. not many days off the steam is thick, the heat horrid, the jungle dreadful. none go there and return." "mother, if you are called that, enlighten me," begged planter. "you say you come from earth." "our fathers came. lifetimes agone." planter's good-looking face showed his amazement. interworld flight was new, he had thought. but some unknown expedition might have tried it, succeeded, and then never returned to report. "'twas for fear of black cromwell," mantha enlarged. "cromwell!" echoed planter. "the puritan leader who fought and wiped out the english cavaliers?" mantha seized on one word. "cavaliers. yes. our lives were forfeit. we flew hither." it explained everything--human beings in a world never meant for anything but amphibians, their fair complexions, their quaint but understandable speech, the crossbows that would be familiar weapons to shakespere, drake or captain john smith. yes, it explained everything, except how pre-machine age britishers could succeed on a voyage where eight space-ships before planter's had failed. "how did you fly?" demanded planter, amazed. mantha shook her graying locks. "nay, i know not. 'twas long ago, and all records are held in the skygor fastness." "they stole from you?" "after our fathers made landfall, there was war," mantha said, her voice bitter. "the skygors were many, and would have slain all, but thought to hold slaves. and as slaves our fathers dwelt and died, and their children after them." "but you aren't slaves," protested planter. "'tis skygor fashion to keep all men, and such women as are hale enow for toil. others who seem weak they cast forth to die, like us!" "who did not die," chimed in mara, plucking her bowstring. "we found fruits, meat, shelter, and joined. now we slay skygors for their metals and shot. lately they slay weaklings, lest they join us." planter whistled. this was a harsh proof of human tenacity. the skygors discarding unprofitable servants and finding them a menace. "none of you are weaklings," he said. "freedom brings health," replied mantha sententiously. "yet they are many more than we, well fortified, and have a strange spell to whelm those who attack." she grimaced in distaste. "we but lurk and linger, fighting when we must and fleeing when we may. as the last of us dies--" things began to happen. a tall, robust girl, very handsome, had been hitching her woven chair close to planter. with a pert boldness she touched his hand. "i've seen no man since i was driven forth, a child," she informed him. "i like you. i am sala." mara rose from her own seat, swore a rather elizabethan oath, and slapped sala's face resoundingly. sala, too, sprang up. larger than mara, she clutched her assailant's shoulders and tripped her over a neatly extended foot. mara spun sidewise in falling, broke sala's hold, came to her feet with a drawn dagger. this happened silently and swiftly, with none of the screaming and fumbling that marks the rare battles between terrestrial women. planter stared, half aghast and half admiring. another girl whispered behind him: "let them fight, send them ill days! look at me, i am not ugly." perhaps to flee this new admirer, planter threw himself between the two fighters. as mara attempted to stab sala, planter caught her weapon wrist and wrenched the knife from her. meanwhile, sala snatched up a crossbow. leaving mara, planter struck the thing out of aiming line just in time. the pen-missile tore through the baskety wall of the nest, and planter gained possession of the crossbow, not without trouble. "are you girls fighting over me?" he demanded. "egad, what else?" challenged mantha, who had also sprung forward. "art a man of height and presence. for any man these my manless girls would contend." "aye, would we," agreed one of the bevy, with frightening candor. "he's mine," snapped mara, holding her own crossbow at the ready. "step forth who will, and i speak true." "i'm nobody's," exploded planter. "anyway, i'm going--i've two friends near here that i've got to find, and soon!" "more men!" ejaculated sala, forgetting her anger. "fighters, with weapons," said planter, ignoring her. "they'll help you smoke out these skygors and set free your kinsmen." happy cries greeted his words. "i'll guide you home, david planter," offered mara, and mantha gestured approval. mara and planter left the nest by a new jungle trail. mara explained that these tunnels were made by great floundering beasts, and served as runways for smaller land life. the girl trod the green, fog-filled labyrinths with assurance. within minutes they reached the pool where disbro had landed the ship. at the edge floated the limp, dead thing that mara had killed to save planter. small flutterers, like gross-winged flies but as large as gulls, swarmed to dig out morsels. mara called the creature a krau, the flying scavengers ghrols. "skygor words, for ugly beasts," she commented. "neither is good for food." planter picked his way from root to root toward the ship. "disbro!" he called. "max!" there was no answer. he scrambled up and inside, then out again. "something's happened," he said gravely. mara studied the massed logs that made a rough raft. "skygor work. and eke the rope of wires about your ship." "they've been captured by skygors? for slaves?" planter had climbed down again. his hand sought the skygor pistol at his belt, his face was tense and pale. "i'll get them back. where's this swamp-city you mention?" she pointed. "not far. but the way is perilous. the trails throng with skygors, and there is the spell." "that sounds like some old superstition," snorted planter. "i'm not afraid of skygors. i killed two today." "aye," she smiled. "they are not great fighters in these parts. but there are more than two at the city ... come along." "you can go back to the nest." she smiled more broadly. "how else will you find the way, my david? for you _are_ my david." "don't start that again," he bade her, more roughly than he felt. "lead the way." * * * * * mara took a nearby jungle trail. after some time, she paused and studied the matted footing. "tracks," she pronounced. "certain skygors, and two pairs of feet shod like yours." planter looked at the muddled marks thus diagnosed by the skilled trail-eye of mara. "my friends and their captors?" "aye, that. they went this way. come." she slipped aside through the close-set stems. planter did likewise. mara slung her crossbow behind her, and climbed a trunk as a beetle scales a flower-stalk. "'tis safer from skygors up here," she told him over her shoulder "follow me carefully." planter did so, with difficulty. he was a vigorous climber, and the lesser gravity of venus made him more agile. but mara, some forty feet overhead, swung through the criss-cross of limbs and vines like a squirrel. "wait!" he called, striving to catch up. she paused, finger to lips. as he came near, she said softly: "not so loud! we come close. feel you the spell?" hanging quietly, planter did feel it. uneasiness came, chilling his back despite the steamy warmth. his hair stirred on his head, his teeth gritted, and he could not reason himself out of the mood. mara moved ahead, and he followed. growing accustomed to the climbing, he made progress. but the uncomfortable sense of peril grew rather than diminished. once in their strange journey mara paused, and from a belt-pouch produced food. it consisted of fire-dried fruits, strange to planter but tasty and substantial; also two meat-dumplings, made by wrapping a nut-flavored dough around morsels of flesh. for drink she plucked long spear-like leaves from a vine, and planter found them full of pungent juice. while they munched, he heard boomings in the distance, which mara identified as skygor speech. "we are almost there," she whispered. "look well." she rose, and again they took up the journey. after a time she paused again, and pointed. just beyond them the branches thinned out over a great open space in the jungle. under a far-flung canopy of white vapors lay the swamp-city of the skygors. * * * * * planter, gazing in wonder at the strange city, thought of old venice, or of a beaver colony in a diked pond. before and beneath him was a quiet greeny-clear body of water. around its rim grew shrubs, bushes and huge reeds, their roots clasping the great facing of white rock which apparently paved the banks and bottom of the pool. in the water itself, poking above the surface in little pointed clusters and plainly visible where they extended beneath, were the houses of the skygors. they were of some kind of soil or clay that had been processed to a concrete hardness, and were tinted in various colors. some of the smaller dwellings were roughly spherical, and crowned with cone-shaped roofs. others, larger, protruded well above the water in cylindrical form. here and there travel-ways connected the clustered groups. but it was beneath the surface that the town was complex and great. it seemed to lie tier above tier, closely built and grouped, with here and there protruding arms or wings of building, like coral budded from the main mass. in those depths swam myriads of skygors, plainly at home under water. more of them, at the window-holes of the upper towers or paddling on the surface, boomed and roared to each other in their deafening language. from on high, planter saw them as smaller and less to be dreaded. they might have been slight fantasy things, water-elves or super-intelligent frogs. "look you, david planter," prompted mara, at his elbow. from a tunnel-like hole in the jungle, a group of skygors emerged. among them were two human figures, clad like planter in loose overalls and helmets. "your friends?" mara questioned. "right," snapped planter grimly. he drew the pistol-weapon and glared. disbro and max, the latter stooping under a great bale of goods from the ship, had paused on the brink of the water. a skygor was thundering to them, in words of english which planter, across the water, found hard to catch. other skygors motioned at the pool, and one or two jumped in and struck out for nearby buildings. "they want your friends to dive," mara informed him. "see, the slim one shakes his head." planter rested the pistol on his forearm, and sighted on the skygor who harangued disbro. meanwhile, other skygors were bringing up what appeared to be a small, inflated boat, that operated with a paddle-wheel arrangement behind. mara saw what planter was doing. "no!" she gasped. "don't, david!" "i'm going to," he told her. "we'll be next!" "nonsense! those flapper-footed devils can't climb! they're too heavy, too clumsy!" she caught at his weapon wrist, but he had fired. the skygor weapon was a wondrous one. even an indifferent shot like planter could not miss with it. the skygor beside disbro seemed to burst into flame around his flat, bushel-mouthed face, and then he collapsed and lay still. his companions swarmed to his side, rending the air with their horrid yells. planter chuckled, and mara moaned. the man moved forward among the branches, to a place where he could be seen. "hai, disbro!" he trumpeted, as loudly as any skygor. "max! it's david planter! run while you have the chance, i'll pick those toads off!" but neither of his friends offered to escape. they only stood and gazed at him. "you idiots!" blazed planter, and then saw that two of the skygors on the inflated boat were aiming weapons at him. he sent a silver pen at their craft, and it melted abruptly as its air escaped from the puncture. a third shot took one of the skygors splashing in the water. "run, you two!" planter bade his companions once more. he felt a grip on his ankle, and glanced down. mara had crouched low, was trying to pull him back from view. as soon as she had his eye, she let him go, and thrust both fingers into her ears in some sort of a sign he did not comprehend. understanding dawned suddenly, and too late. the mist trembled and swirled at a sudden outburst of sound louder than even a skygor chorus. planter dropped his weapon, began to lift his hands to his ears in imitation of mara. but he could not! the noise possessed him, as a rush of electric current might course through a body, paralyzing and agonizing it. he swayed and floundered among the branches. his hair bristled, his ears rang, his blood coursed, every fiber of him vibrated. yet something about it was vaguely familiar, as though it was something he had experienced, or a magnification of such a something. yes, of course ... the uneasiness that mara called the "spell." some device made a noise-vibration, normally sub-audible but unpleasant enough to warn aliens away. in a time like this, when attack came, it could be intensified to the point of striking the enemy stupid. meanwhile, he was falling, through branches and leafage, to splash clumsily into the water of the pool. abruptly the noise ceased. the skygors were around him, their flipper-hands fastening upon him, and he was too wrung out, too grateful for silence, to resist. * * * * * he may have fainted. later on, he could not be sure. but his next clear memory was of lying in one of the inflated paddle-boats, in which sat skygors with weapons. there also sat disbro, watching him intently. "disbro!" muttered planter. "they got you, too?" "no, they didn't get me, too," mimicked disbro. "i'm in the racket with them, understand?" planter sat up, and two skygors half-drew their weapons to warn him. "i thought you were captured," he mumbled. "not me. i do things neatly. showed i could be an enemy, but would rather be a friend. you butted in, killing two of them. someone says you got two others earlier today. they're holding you a prisoner, and probably you'll be killed." planter studied disbro. "easy does it," he said softly. "better not act as if you know me. you might get mixed up in--" "no chance!" snarled disbro. "i told them that you were an enemy of mine. i'm not mixed up in anything." planter subsided. plainly disbro was able to take care of himself. plainly planter must do the same, with no help from anyone. he wondered about mara, with a sudden chilled pang. the brave girl had guided him here, despite her knowledge that skygor country was dangerous. she had done it to please him, because she liked him. he wondered what had happened to her. he lounged under the skygor guns, thinking of mara. in his mind he saw the light of her steady blue eyes, felt the touch of her slim, strong hand. his heart quickened. "hang it," he told himself, "you aren't in love with her. she's a savage, and you only met her a few hours ago! you're only worried because you feel responsibility." but he knew he lied. the boat brought them to an entrance-hole at water-level, in a large cylindrical structure. disbro swaggered inside, with his new friends. a guard prodded planter with his pistol-barrel to follow. as planter obeyed, he saw behind him another boat, in which rode max with all the baggage he had been carrying. skygors sat with max, plainly on good terms. max saw planter, too, and his face twitched and scowled as in an effort to rationalize. inside, he found himself in a large bare room with dry, rough-cast walls. disbro waited there, with a skygor whose elaborate chain-mail suggested that he was an officer. "disbro," boomed this individual cordially, "you say this is your enemy? what shall be done to him?" "i leave that to you, phra," answered disbro, with the grand manner of bestowing gifts. "you have your own ways of handling such problems. i am content." another skygor approached, and the officer discussed the case in deafening skygor language. then, facing planter, he resumed english: "your life is forfeit, but you look strong. perhaps you can prove yourself worth keeping. join the slaves." he struck his webbed hands together. a human man ran in. like mara and the other crossbow-girls, this man was blond, but the resemblance ended there. he wore loose, brief garments of elastic fabric, no weapons, and his face was mild and servile. phra pointed to planter. "below with him! put him to the spring mill!" the slave beckoned, and led planter away, studying him curiously. planter spoke at once: "you have many friends here, in slavery? perhaps i can get you out of this." "out of this!" the echo was horrified. "to starve in the jungle? marry, sir, art mad or sick to say such a thing! come, down these stairs." * * * * * planter obeyed his new companion. they went down a dim, stone stairway, lighted with green bulbs. from below came sounds of mechanical action. "what's your name?" planter asked the slave. "glanfil. and you?" "david planter. how many slaves are there here? human slaves?" "two hundred, belike. half as many as the skygors." that was a new thought to planter. on earth, races were numbered in the millions--here, by the scores. of course, this might not be the only skygor city. mara had mentioned the difficulty of exploring any distance from this habitable pole. for a moment he felt the thirst for knowledge. wasn't this world as large as his own planet? might it not have continents, oceans, mountain ranges, whole genera of strange species, perhaps other civilizations and climates? then he remembered. he was a slave. and a booming voice drove the memory home. "below, men," thundered a skygor guard. "you are not fed and lodged to be idle." "pardon," mumbled glanfil, and quickened his descent. planter followed, beating down a rage of battle at the rough shouting of the guard. the under-water levels were not flooded, though the walls were gloomily damp. planter found himself in a great rambling chamber, bordered and cumbered with machines, at which men toiled. glanfil was presenting him to a skygor, who made notes with a crayon-like instrument on a board. "new?" he questioned in his ear-dulling roar. "whence came he? never stop to answer--show him how to work your machine." glanfil led him to a cylindrical appliance against a wall. it had a multitude of levers and push-buttons, and lights shone in its glassed forefront. most of these were green, but one turned red as they approached. glanfil pushed a button and turned a lever. the light switched to green again. "the red means a faulty rhythm somewhere in the light system," explained glanfil. "fix it by manipulating the buttons and levers near the red lights--yes, so. it takes not skill, but wary watching." planter took over. he found time to observe the rest of the slave-teemed basement. some operated a treadmill, others wound at keys or turned cranks. the machines were strange but not mysterious. he judged that they pumped, elevated, and modelled. glanfil answered his questions: "'tis the skygor method. we supply power by our labors. springs, levers, such things, are worked." "springs and levers?" repeated planter. "is this a clockwork town? why not fuel? steam?" glanfil shook his head. "we men make small fires, but the skygors not. their nature is moist, they want such things not. as you say, clockwork is the use of this place." "if you refuse to do this slave work, what then?" glanfil shrugged, and shuddered. "if the sin is not too great, you go to a level below this. men drag upon a capstan, to wind the mightiest of springs for town works." "like rowing in a galley!" planter summed up wrathfully. "but if the sin is pretty sinful?" a skygor overseer came close, saw that planter had learned the simple machine, and called glanfil to some other task. planter worked until such time as a raucous voice bade another shift take over. marshalled with twenty or more slaves, he was led away to a musty vault, one side of which was lined with cell-like sleeping quarters. here was a brick oven--perhaps those in the nest were designed from it--over which two sturdy women toiled at cookery. as the slaves entered, these women quickly passed out stone plates and metal spoons. into these were poured generous portions of hot, appetizing stew. "they feed you well, these skygors," commented planter to glanfil as he finished his plateful. "'tis their fashion. they seek to make us happy." planter went to the kettles for another helping of stew, and ate more slowly. "i'd rather eat in freedom," he commented, half to himself. "freedom?" echoed glanfil, as if scornful. "we hear of what freedom can be. scant commons, rough beds, danger and damp. better to toil honestly and fare well." "aye," said a bigger slave, with a spade beard of reddish tinge. "did not the skygors help our first fathers, stranger, as now they help you?" "i've heard otherwise," planter rejoined. "it seems there was a fight--the men were licked--the survivors made captive and put to work. that's what happened to me." "best be silent," murmured glanfil, bending close. "that talk makes few friends." * * * * * planter changed the subject, asking various questions about venus. his companions eyed him strangely as he displayed his ignorance, but made cheerful answer. the noise that had overwhelmed him was a vibrating metal instrument, they said. their description made it sound like an organ of sorts. as he had surmised, it was always in some sort of operation, and could be turned on full force if need be. the skygors, with senses meant to endure great noises, were not hurt by such a din, but human ears would be tortured if not quickly closed. "our labors give the instrument power," informed glanfil, rather proudly. planter thought over his experiences of the day. "the skygors have many human devices," he ventured. "aye, that," agreed the big bearded one. "in the first days, our fathers brought many articles, which the skygors developed and used." "there's what i'm driving at!" planter broke in, forgetting glanfil's council to be cautious. "they not only enslaved you, they took your ideas and improved themselves. i'll wager they were savages to begin with! and you're actually grateful for the chance to crawl at their big, webbed feet!" "this world belongs to the skygors," spoke up one of the women as she washed dishes. "without them we would be shelterless and foodless, like the weaklings they drove forth." planter refrained to tell what he knew of the crossbow-girls. plainly he was up against an attitude of content from which it would be hard to free his new companions--harder than to free them from guards and prison walls. he slept that night in a hammock-like bed, and next day worked at the machine. his toil was long, but not sapping, and food was good. once a skygor came to take his clothing, shoes and possessions, giving him a sleeveless shirt and shorts instead. otherwise he was not bothered by the masters of the city. for days--perhaps ten--he followed this routine, masking his feeling of revolt. then came a skygor messenger to lead him away along under-water corridors to someone who had sent. at the end of the journey he entered an office. there sat the person he least expected to see. disbro. "you rat," planter began, but disbro waved the insult aside. "don't be a bigger ape than usual," he sniffed. "i've been able to do you a favor." "you didn't do me much of a one when i was captured," reminded planter. "how could i?" argued disbro, in the charming fashion he could sometimes achieve. "i was only on probation. if i'd tried to help you then, we'd both be dead, instead of both on top of this turkish bath world. sit down." they took stools on opposite sides of a heavy, wooden table. "planter, how would you like to help me run venus?" "you're going to get away from these skygors?" again disbro waved the words away. "why should i? i'll run them, too. look, we landed safely, didn't we? observations on earth will show that, won't they?" "right," agreed planter, mystified. "there'll be more ships coming, to look for us and maybe set up a colony." "that's it. we'll ambush those ships." "ambush?" repeated planter sharply. "losing your mind, disbro?" "no. i'm only thinking for all of us. ships will come, i say. loaded with supplies, valuables all sorts of things. we can overwhelm them as they land. some of their crews will join us--the others can be rubbed out. and the law can't touch us, planter! not for a minute!" "what are you driving at?" planter demanded. "i'm the law," said disbro, tapping his chest. "just now i string with the skygors. later i may knock 'em off. but anyway, i'm the commander of the first expedition to land on venus. i have a right to take possession, in my own name." he got up, his voice rising clear and proud. "possession, like columbus! not of a continent--of a whole world!" * * * * * planter, leaning forward on his stool, clutched the edge of the table so strongly that his knuckles whitened. "and what," he asked slowly and quietly, "do you want me to do?" "i'm coming to that," said disbro, smiling with superior craftiness. "you're going to help me solidify these loud-mouthed skygors." "they hold me for a slave," reminded planter harshly, for he did not like the life as well as glanfil and the others who toiled among the clockwork. but disbro brushed the complaint aside. "that's because they don't know what i know. your lady friends, i mean." planter glanced up sharply. disbro chuckled. "i talk a lot with these skygors. not bad fellows, if you muffle your ears. anyway, they tell me about a herd of wild girls that bushwacks them constantly, and which they hope i'll find and destroy. lately some of those girls have been scouting around, yelling for something. the skygors haven't the best of english, and don't know what the words mean. but i do. those girls are calling your name. david planter." mara had come back for him, then. she braved the terrors of the skygor fortress, trying to get him back. planter felt warmth around his heart. he faced disbro and shook his head. "i don't know what you're talking about," he said. "you must be getting drunk with your skygor friends." "they don't have any kind of liquor, only some sort of sniff-powder i wouldn't touch. and you're a cheerful liar, planter. you know all about those girls, and you're probably good friends with them. don't be a fool, i'm offering you a slice of my empire!" "empire!" echoed planter, honestly scornful. "you really think you'll go through with this idea of grabbing venus for yourself?" "i know all the angles. back on earth i was boss of quite an organization." "and ended up in jail, buying your way out by gambling your life on this voyage!" planter rushed those words into speech, but made them clear, biting and passionate. "you're a case for brain doctors, not jail wardens. i don't know why i listen to you." "i know why," hurled back disbro. "because i'm already quite a pet among these skygors. i can kill you or save you. meanwhile, we're changing the subject. i want you to lead me to these wild girls, and after we're solid with them, a bunch of skygors will come--" "nothing doing!" "in other words, you now admit that there is such a group! and you'll take orders, planter. i'm still chief of the expedition." planter shook his head. "i can give you arguments on that. you've betrayed the trust of the foundation back home. that lets you out. you don't have authority over me." he rose abruptly. "send me back to the basement, disbro." disbro, too, jumped up. he held something in his hand. it was a gun, not a skygor curiosity but a terrestrial-made automatic. "you don't get off that easy, planter. i need you badly. and you need your insides badly. knuckle down, before i blow them out!" planter smiled, broadly and rather sunnily. suddenly he lifted a toe. he kicked over the table against and upon disbro. down went the elegant, lean figure, and a bullet sang over planter's head as he dived in to grapple and fight. disbro, the lighter of the two, was wondrously agile. almost before he struck the concrete floor, he was wriggling clear of the table. planter's weight threw him flat again, but he struck savage, choppy blows with the pistol he still held. half-dazed, planter could not get a tight grip, and disbro got away and up. planter, shaking the mist from his battered head, staggered after him, caught his weapon wrist and wrung the gun away. it clanged down at their feet. "all right, planter, if you want it that way," muttered disbro savagely, and took a long stride backward. he got time to fall on guard like the accomplished boxer he was. planter sprang after him. disbro met him with a neat left jab, followed it with a hook that bobbed planter's head back, and easily slid away from a powerful but clumsy return. when planter faced him again, he stood out of danger, smiling and lifting a little on his toes. "how do you like it?" he laughed. "didn't know i was a fancy dan, eh?" planter charged again. disbro slipped right and left tries at his jaw, returned a smart peg to planter's belly, and then let the bigger man blunder past and fetch up against a wall. planter was forced to lean there a nauseous moment, and disbro hooked him hard under the ear. a moment later, planter was crouching and backing away, sheltering his bruised head with crossed arms. he heard disbro laugh again. "this is fun," pronounced disbro. "i've been taught by professionals, planter. good ones, not washouts like poor max." planter clinched at last, but disbro's wiry body spun loose. the two faced each other, and planter felt some of his strength and wit come back. he realized that he was being beaten. he must change tactics. he remembered what he could of fist-science, and abruptly crouched. again he advanced, but not in a rush. inch by inch he shuffled in, head sunk between his shoulders, hands lifted to strike or defend. "you look like a turtle," mocked disbro, and tried with a left. it glanced off of planter's forehead, and planter sidled to his left, away from disbro's more dangerous right. bobbing and weaving lower still, he baffled more efforts to sting him. a moment later, disbro was backing, and planter had him in a corner, close in. he struck, not for disbro's adroit head, but for his body. his left found the pit of the stomach, just within the apex of the shallow, inverted v where ribs slope down from breastbone. disbro grunted in pain, and planter put all his shoulders behind a short, heavy peg under the heart. again to the belly, twice--thrice--he felt disbro sag. a hook glanced from planter's jowl, but it was weak and shaky. disbro managed to slip out of the corner, but planter was now the stronger and surer. across the room he followed his enemy, playing ever for the body--kidneys, abdomen, heart. disbro was hanging on, his breath came in choking grunts. planter struggled loose, and sank one clean, hard right uppercut. disbro spun off of his feet, fell across the overturned table, and lay moaning and gasping. "had enough?" planter challenged. disbro was crawling on the floor, trying to grab the pistol. planter sprang in, stamped on disbro's knuckles. disbro had only the strength and breath for one scream, and collapsed. abruptly skygors entered, skygors with hard eyes and leveled weapons. "what," demanded one, "is this?" disbro, helped to his shaky feet, pointed to planter. "he--he--refused," he managed to wheeze out. disbro nodded, and planter felt a sudden rush of joy. they would drive him forth, as they used to drive forth unprofitable female slaves. and he would find the nest again, and mara. he was being herded along a passage, up stairs. the skygors who guarded him kept their weapons close against his ribs. "no escape," they promised him balefully. he wondered at that, but only a little. now they had brought him out upon an open, railed bridge between two buildings. below was water, above the thick venusian mist. "jump," a skygor bade him. "i need no second chance," planter replied, breezily, and dived in. he still wore the scanty costume of a slave, and it allowed him to strike out easily for the edge of the pool. behind him the skygors were discussing him, but in their own guttural tongue which he could not understand. as he swam, he studied the city beneath the water. he meant to come back and assail that city some time, and there must be worthwhile secrets to note. for instance, he was now aware that this pool was artificial--he made out the sluices and gates of a large dam. to one side was a spacious submarine chamber that must be the clockwork-jammed cellar where his erstwhile companions, the slaves, worked. but something else was under water, something that moved darkly, but had arms and legs, though it was as vast as an elephant. it was approaching him swiftly, knowingly. now he knew why he had been told, with such a voice of doom, to jump into the water. * * * * * planter's blood was still up because of that brisk battle with disbro. he was young, strong, in gilt-edge condition. his new impulse was to keep on fighting, against the thing which had the size, the intention, and apparently the appetite, to engulf him. the huge swimmer was a skygor, of tremendous size. logic in the back of planter's head bade him not to be amazed; on this damp, fecund world, monsters of such sort were not too unthinkable. as it broke surface, he heard a hubbub like many steam sirens. the smaller skygors, on housetops and bridges, were all chanting some sort of ear-bursting litany, waving their flippers in unison. plainly they worshiped this giant of their race. he, planter, was a gift--a sacrifice. he swam speedily, but his pursuer was speedier still. with ponderous overhand strokes it overhauled him. an arm as long as his body, with a flipper-hand like a tremendous scoop shovel, extended to clutch at him. a mouth like an open trunk gaped, large enough to gulp him bodily. only one thing to do. he did it--dived at once, turning under water and darting below and in an opposite direction from the great swimmer. by pure, happy chance, his kicking feet struck the soft cushion of its mighty belly, and he heard the thrumming gasp of the wind he knocked out of it. coming up beyond, he swam desperately toward a nearby building. if he could climb up, away, from this huge, hungry being. "no, not here!" that was a skygor, poking its ugly smirking face from a window-hole. he tried to seize the sill to draw himself out of the water, and it lifted a dagger to slash at his knuckles. but then it gasped, wriggled. the paw opened, the knife fell. planter managed to catch it as it struck the water. a moment later he saw what had happened--big human hands were fastened on the slimy throat from behind. the skygor, struggling, was pulled back out of sight. in its place showed the flat, simple features of max. "huhh!" gurgled max. "you in trouble, mr. planter?" he put out a hand to help. at the same moment a monstrous flipper struck at planter, driving him deep under water. he filled his lungs with air at the last moment, spun and tried to kick away. his enemy had its hooked claws in his clothing and was drawing him toward the dark cavern of its mouth. planter struck with the knife he had snatched, and buried the blade in the slimy-green lower lip of the creature. it let go, and a cloud of blood--red as the blood of earth's creatures--suddenly obscured the water, so that planter could attempt another escape. he reached the top once again. the giant held itself half out of the water, big and grotesque as some barbaric sculpture, one webbed hand held against its wounded mouth. as planter came into view, its big, bitter eyes caught sight of him. dropping its hand, it howled at him. all the skygors at their watch-points echoed that howl and began to repeat their uncouth litany once again. the monster pursued as before. but from his watch-window, max threw his burly pugilist's body. coarsely built max might have been. stupid he undoubtedly was. cowardly and clumsy he was not. as he flung himself into space, he shifted so that his feet were down. he drove them hard between the shoulders of the huge skygor demon, and the impact of his flying weight drove it under water. "get out of here!" yelled max at planter. "get out!" he had time for no more, for he, too, submerged. planter clasped his knife in his teeth, and turned in the water. he could not desert that plucky rescuer. * * * * * righting itself, the big skygor grimaced under the troubled, gory surface. it was having trouble--more trouble than ever before in its freakish, idle, overstuffed life as deity and champion of the community. two alien dwarfs, of a species it had looked on hitherto as only enticing meat, were viciously attacking and wounding it. hunger was overlaid by a stern lust for vengeance. it spied one of the enemy very close, swimming away. max was not as much at home in the water as planter, and he could not dodge its grasping talons. treading water, the thing hoisted him clear, as a child might lift a kitten. its other paw struck him, with openwebbed palm, hard as a mule's kick. max went limp. once again that awful mouth opened to its full extent. "no, you don't!" cried planter, battling his way close. for a second time he drove with the knife, sheathing it to the hilt in a slate-colored chest, close to one armpit. a fountain of blood sprang forth, drenching his face and weapon hand. he dragged strongly downward, felt his weapon point grating on bone, then coming free. that was a terrible wound, but not a disabling one. in a frenzy of pain and rage, the skygor giant threw max far away into the water, and whirled to look for its other tormentor. but planter had dived yet again. the fresh blood obscured his passage as before. he came up, panted for air, and seized the limp wrist of max. as he kicked away for shore, he heard the whine and _splat_ of a missile. the skygors were shooting at him. he bobbed under, bringing max with him. as he fought through the water, he felt his friend quiver and beat with his hands. he felt fierce joy. max was alive, he too, would escape. he had to come up. "duck down, planter," max told him at once. "they're going to give us another volley." his voice was suddenly intelligent, his words sensible and articulate. planter took the advice, swam forward again. "shore's that way," said max, when they came up. "can you make it? give me your hand." the ex-pugilist was climbing over a tangle of roots, to solid ground at last. planter made shift to follow him. "what--happened--" planter barely whispered. max laughed, very cheerfully. "what a wallop that sea-elephant has! i guess it knocked my senses back into me. another belt dizzied me back on earth. so it's logical that--" yes, logical.... max was no longer a dim, stupid child in a big man's body. planter felt himself weakening. he had fought himself out. even as he turned toward the jungle, he stumbled and fell, rolled over on his back. he could see the whole surface of the water-city. skygors were coming in throngs to recapture him, crowded aboard their inflated boats, or swimming. for ahead of them, something like an awful goblin was scrambling out--the mighty freak he and max had dodged up to now. it stood erect on powerful, awkward legs, its eyes probing here and there to pick up the trail of its prey. planter tried to tell max to run, but his strength and breath were spent. he could only lie and watch. max had torn up a kind of sapling, whirled it aloft like a club. the tottering colossus approached them, heavily and grimly. it grinned relentlessly, its bloody muzzle opened and slavered. out of the jungle moved another figure. a smaller skygor? no--_mara_! she sprang across the prostrate form of planter. he managed to rise to an elbow, just as she planted herself in the way of the oncoming destruction. it loomed high above her, paws lifted to seize and crush her. but she had lifted her crossbow. pale fire flashed. the string hummed. at a scant five feet of distance she slammed a pen-missile full into the thing's immense chest. it staggered back from her, its face gone into a terrible oversize mask of awful pain. those great legs, like dark, gnarled stumps, bowed and bent. it fell uncouthly, supported itself on spread hands. planter could see the hole mara had burned in it, a great red raw pit the size of a bushel basket. then it was down, motionless. dead. max had helped planter up. "can you run?" he was demanding. "no! no!" mara interposed, hurrying back to them. "not run! fight!" "fight?" planter echoed, rather idiotically. "fight the skygors! see, your friends have come!" through the jungle to the water's edge pressed other human figures, in terrestrial overalls and helmets. * * * * * a slim, square-faced man in the neatest of overall costumes had grabbed planter's elbow. it was beginning to rain again. thunder sounded, like skygors grumbling high in the mist. "quick!" said the square-faced man. "you're planter, aren't you? and that other man--but where's disbro." planter pointed toward the water-city. "who are you?" he demanded, as if they had all day. "dr. hommerson. commanding this new expedition. ten of us in the big new ship started when they reported you landing safely. we cracked up, not far from where your ship bogged down. this girl found us, said--" "whatever she said was true!" cut in planter. "quick, defend yourself against those skygors." "they'll defend themselves against us," rejoined dr. hommerson bleakly. "if they're smart, and if they're lucky." his companions had formed a sort of skirmish line among the thickest stems at the water's edge. with a variety of weapons--force-rifles, machine guns, one or two portable grenade throwers--they had opened on the skygors. the amphibian dwellers in the water-city had started to chase planter and max, but the destruction of their giant kinsman had daunted and immobilized them. now they had something else to shake their courage, which was never too great. well-aimed shots were picking them off, in the boats, in the water, on the housetops and bridges. "don't show yourselves more than is necessary!" dr. hommerson was barking. "if they know there's only a handful of us, they might--" he unlimbered a patent pistol, one with a long barrel, a magazine of fourteen rounds in the stock, and a wooden holster that could fit into a slot and form a makeshift butt like that of a rifle. lifting this to his shoulder, he began to shoot at such of the skygors as still showed themselves. mara had rushed to planter's side. "they're retreating!" she cried. "the spell--remember the _spell_!" true enough, he'd forgotten. that wild, unmanning storm of noise that defended skygor country, that had knocked him into their webbed fingers as a captive and slave, might begin at any moment. even now the skygors were retiring inside their buildings, but with a certain purposeful orderliness. as planter watched, max ran up to his other side. "she's telling the truth. i know all about that thing they sound off," he said breathlessly in his new, knowing voice. "when i was with disbro--working for him--i had a look at it." "stop your ears," mara was bidding. "quick! a rag from your garment will do!" she ripped away part of planter's shirt, tore the piece in two, and thrust wads into his ears with her forefinger. max was plugging his own ears. then the sound began. when it began, nobody could say. suddenly, it was there, filling space with itself as though it were a crushing solid thing. planter, even with his ears partially muffled, almost collapsed. his body vibrated as before in every fiber, only not unendurably. he saw max reel, but stay on his feet. dr. hommerson's men, a moment ago almost in the victor's position, were down, floundering in half-crazy agony. planter understood, in that rear compartment of his mind that was always diagnosing strange things, even in the moment of worst danger. the skygors were ill-cultured, poor of spirit, prospered chiefly by ideas stolen from the human beings they enslaved. but they understood sound waves, could use them roughly as an electrician might use electric vibrations. there were all the tales he had heard, of a chord on the organ that shattered window panes, of certain orators who could employ voice-frequencies to spellbind and impassion their audiences. this was something like that, only more so. then he saw that mara, who had thought of saving his ears, was down at his feet. "mara!" he cried, though nobody could have heard him. he knelt, ripping away more rags of his shirt. he crammed them furiously into her ears. she stirred, got to her knees. she, too, could endure it now, and she smiled at him, drawnly. "i knew you would come back," her lips formed words. "david planter--my david planter--" then she was up, crossbow at the ready. because back came the skygors, a wave of them in boats and as swimmers. sure of their victory through sound, they were going to mop up the attackers. max had a rifle. he lifted it, but on inspiration planter leaped at him and gestured for him to hold fire. from beside one of the fallen terrestrials he caught a grenade thrower. it was a simple amplification of an ordinary rifle. upon the muzzle fitted a metal device like a bottomless bottle, the neck clamping tight to the barrel. into the spread body of the bottle could be slid a cylindrical grenade, the size and shape of a condensed-milk tin. the grenade was pierced with a hole, and the gun, if fired, would send its bullet through that hole, while the gases of the exploding powder operated to hurl the grenade far and forcefully and accurately. * * * * * planter had never used one, but he had seen them used. a quick check showed him that the rifle's magazine was full. from the belt of the fallen man he twitched a grenade, slipped it into place. he knelt, placed the rifle butt on the soggy mass of rotting vegetation that made up the shoreside jungle floor. by guess, he slanted his weapon about forty-five degrees forward. the foremost press of skygors approached. _bang!_ at planter's trigger-touch, the grenade rose upward. for a moment the three conscious watchers could see it, outlined against the upper mists at the hesitating apex of its flight. then it fell, too far to demoralize the first ranks of skygors, but smashing two inflated boats in its explosion and tossing several slimy-green forms like chips through the air. planter slid in another grenade, worked the rifle-bolt, and raised the weapon to his shoulder. it spoke again, louder even than the din of the noisemaker mara called the "spell." this time it struck water among the leading skygors, and exploded on contact. three or four sank abruptly, several more thrashed the water into pinky-red foam in the pain of bad wounds, the rest wavered. now max opened fire with his rifle, and mara with her crossbow. both scored hits, and the skygors gave back. something was going wrong, they were realizing. the destroying sound was not paralyzing their enemy. meanwhile, it was best to take cover. some ducked under the water, others fell back toward the buildings. "dynamite 'em!" cried planter, forgetting that he could not be heard. stooping, he stripped away the whole beltful of grenades from its helpless owner. he whirled it around his head as though he were throwing a hammer on an athletic field, and sent it flying out over the water. the shock of its fall into the depths set it off--all grenades at once. skygors came bounding to the top, twitching feebly. the explosion had destroyed them, as fish are destroyed by the shock of detonating dynamite in nearby waters. then the paralyzing noise stopped. hommerson was the first man up. he was dazed and groggy, but fight was the first impulse that woke in him. mara, max and planter dragged others to their feet, shook and shouted their senses back into them. "they're retreating!" planter yelled. "let's counter-attack!" close in to shore drifted one of the abandoned boats. max had run into the water, dragging it closer. the terrestrials tumbled aboard, and one of them got the paddle-wheel running. planter, at the bow directing fire at any skygors who showed their heads, saw that mara had not come along. he worried a moment, then worried no more. she was shouting in the jungle, and other voices--feminine voices--answered her. more of the crossbow-girls were coming to help. the boat made a landing at the building where planter had first been dragged to slavery. it was not made for defense, and the invaders split into small parties, ranging the corridors and outer bridges. planter, hurrying downstairs, heard the _spat_ of the skygor pen-missiles, with the replying crackle of gunfire. after a while, mara and other girls began to shout and chatter. they had also found a boat and had come over. on the floor, above the basement where the slaves worked, he came face to face with a skygor, who lifted his arms appealingly, in the surrender gesture that must be universal among all creatures who have arms. "i want no fight," begged this one. "you are master." "then come downstairs," snapped planter. he clattered down, among the slaves. "stop work!" he bawled, almost as loudly as a skygor, and the men, bred to obey big voices, did so. "outside!" was planter's next command. one or two moved to obey, others hung back. "outside," the surrendered skygor echoed planter, and they came obediently. planter hurried them to their quarters, then slammed the door to the big workshop. "that closes down your power plants," he commented to the skygor. "now, quick! which way to the controls of the dam?" "dam?" the skygor repeated stupidly. planter caught the green shoulders and shook the creature roughly. it was larger than he, but cowered. "i will show," it yielded, and led him away. in a nearby corridor were huge handles, three of them, like pivoted clinker-bars. planter seized one, pulled it down. he heard waters roaring. he pulled another. "you will drain the pool," protested the skygor. "i want to drain the pool," planter said. "then--" the skygor caught the third lever and pulled it down. planter hurried upstairs again. his prisoner kept at his heels. "why did you help me?" he asked it. "because you conquer," was the booming reply. "the conquered must obey." "i think you believe that stuff, like the slaves," planter sniffed. "of course, i believe," responded the skygor. from the upper levels came hommerson's voice: "planter! these frog-folk are giving up! they haven't any fight left in them!" but planter paused, on a landing. he looked into a small office, where two human figures stood close together. one was max. the other was disbro. max had disbro by the throat, not shaking or wrestling him. only squeezing. "max!" called planter. "why--" "why not?" countered max plausibly. "planter, i think maybe you were the thick-headed one. you always tried to get along with disbro, as if he was honest. i was a crazy-house case, but from the first i knew he was wrong. it took the return of sense to understand that the only thing to do was this." he let go, and disbro fell on the floor like an empty suit of clothes. max brushed his hands together, as if to clear them of dust. "i wonder how long i've wanted to do that," he said. "let's go up and watch the final mop-up." * * * * * out of the mud pool where once a snake-armed krau had pursued planter, the combined strength of many arms was hoisting the bogged ship. cables had been woven through pulley-blocks at the tops of the biggest and strongest poolside stems. free men of venus, once slaves, hauled on these cables in brief, concerted rhythms. here and there in the rope-gangs toiled a skygor, accepting defeat and companionship with the same mild grace. women--free women--laughed and encouraged, and now and again threw themselves into the tugging labor that was a game, max oversaw everything. near by, machete had hewn a little clearing. here a waterproof tent over a beehive framework sheltered planter and dr. hommerson. they watched as the ship, its bow-rockets toiling to help the tugging cables, finally stirred out of its bed. hommerson smiled. "time to hold a sort of recapitulation, isn't it? as in old-fashioned mystery yarns, when the case is solved and the danger done away with? of course, it all happened suddenly, but we can say this much: "the skygor mistake was that of every softened master setup. they had a half-rigged defense against mild dangers, and never looked for real trouble. they beat that seventeenth century space-expedition simply because terrestrials of that day hadn't the proper weapons. otherwise, man might have been ruling here for four hundred years and more." "the skygors did have one tremendous device," observed planter. "that super-siren that deadens you by sound waves." hommerson laughed. "and which providentially did what all clockwork mechanisms are apt to do--ran down. it's dismantled now, anyway. we're a fuel-engine civilization, and the skygors will have to wonder and admire a while before they steal our new tricks." planter fingered another trophy of the battle, a great brass-bound log book, old and yellowed, but still readable. "this answers more riddles," he put in. "the record of those ancient fugitives from cromwell. who'd have thought that their times could produce a successful flight from planet to planet?" "it was a great century," reminded hommerson. "don't forget that they also invented the microscope, the balloon, the principle of maneuverable armies. their century began with francis bacon and ended with sir isaac newton. that rocket fuel, which the skygors only half understood and used for ammunition--" "doctor!" broke in planter. "do you remember the old puritan tales of witches, flying on what seemed like broomsticks?" "and cyrano de bergerac, in france about 1640, writing a tale of a rocket to the moon? we simply forgot that they had something then. the real complete knowledge flew here to venus, and waited for our age to develop it again from the beginning." it was so. planter pondered awhile, and while he pondered one of the expedition came in to make a report. "we can send back three in this ship when it's set," he said to hommerson. "who are you taking, sir?" "these two who survived the earlier flight, planter and his big, tough friend. the rest of you can wait and develop a landing field." planter spoke: "did you see the girl called mara out there?" "she was watching us," said the man. "finally she went into the jungle." "with no message for me?" "no message for anybody." "dr. hommerson," said planter, "pick someone else instead of me. here i stay." hommerson looked up sharply. "until the next ship comes?" "here i stay," repeated planter. "from now on." he sought a certain jungle trail, one he had traversed before. "mara!" he called down it. she was not hard to catch up with, for she was not walking fast. as he came alongside, she looked at him with eyes too bright to be dry. "you came to bid goodbye," she suggested. he shook his head. the mist seemed less than ever before on venus. "no. never goodbye." "isn't the ship leaving?" "leaving, all right. but not with me in it. this is home now." she looked down at her sandalled feet, and one hand played with the dagger in her belt. "methought you would be glad to regain earth." "earth? other people gained it long ago." he pulled her hand away from the dagger-hilt. "stop fiddling with that stabbing-iron, there's no fighting to be done just now. "you said i was yours," he told her furiously. "you said it just as if you'd won me in a game of some sort." "and you brushed it aside without answering me. you had none of it." "hang it, mara, a man decides those things! and i've been deciding them. you're the bravest creature i ever knew--the most graceful--the most honest. you did love me once. have you stopped?" "i have not stopped," she said. "but why have you waited to say these words?" "i haven't had time, and i'm going to have little time for a while, what with organization and building and food-hunting and colonizing. but--" her mouth, close at hand, was too delectable. he kissed her fiercely. she jumped away, startled, then uttered a little breathless laugh. "that likes me well," she told him. "let us do it again." proofreaders canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net war-gods of the void by henry kuttner jerry vanning trailed the fugitive callahan into the swampy wastes of venus, hell-kingdom of the fabled war-gods. he reached his goal--walking with the robot-strides of a north-fever slave. [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from planet stories fall 42. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] i earth consul, goodenow, tossed a packet of microfilms to vanning, and said, "you're crazy. the man you're after isn't here. only damn fools ever come to venus--and don't ask me why i'm here. you're crazy to think you'll find a fugitive hiding on this planet." jerry vanning, earth state investigator, moved his stocky body uneasily. he had a headache. he had had it ever since the precarious landing through the tremendous wind-maelstroms of the pea-soup venusian atmosphere. with an effort he focused his vision on the micro-projector goodenow handed him, and turned the tiny key. inside the box, a face sprang into view. he sighed and slid another of the passport-films into place. he had never seen the man before. "routine check-up," he said patiently. "i got a tip callahan was heading here, and we can't afford to take chances." the consul mopped his sweating, beefy face and cursed venusian air-conditioning units. "who is this guy callahan, anyway?" he asked. "i've heard a little--but we don't get much news on the frontier." "political refugee," vanning said, busy with the projector. "potentially, one of the most dangerous men in the system. callahan started his career as a diplomat, but there wasn't enough excitement for him." the consul fumbled with a cigar. "can you tell me any more?" "well--callahan got hold of a certain secret treaty that must be destroyed. if he shows it in the right places, he might start a revolution, particularly on callisto. my idea is that he's hiding out till the excitement dies down--and then he'll head for callisto." goodenow pursed his lips. "i see. but you won't find him here." vanning jerked his thumb toward a window. "the jungle--" "hell, no!" the consul said decidedly. "venus, mr. vanning, is _not_ earth. we've got about two hundred settlements scattered here and there; the rest is swamp and mountains. when a man gets lost, we wait a few days and then write out a death certificate. because once an earthman leaves a settlement, his number's up." "so?" "so callahan isn't here. nobody comes here," goodenow said bitterly. "settlers do," vanning remarked. "bloody fools. they raise herbs and _mola_. if they didn't come, venus would be uninhabited except by natives in a few years. the north-fever ... you'd better watch out for that, by the way. if you start feeling rocky, see a doctor. not that it'll help. but you can be put under restraint till the fever passes." vanning looked up. "i've heard of that. just what--" "nobody knows," goodenow said, shrugging hopelessly. "a virus. a filterable virus, presumably. scientists have been working on it ever since venus was colonized. it hits the natives, too. some get it, some don't. it works the same way with earthmen. you feel like you're cracking up--and then, suddenly--you go north. into the swamp. you never come back. that's the end of you." "funny!" "sure it is. but--ever heard of the lemmings? little animals that used to make mass pilgrimages, millions of them. they'd head west till they reached the ocean, and then keep going. nobody knew the cause of that, either." "what lies north?" "swamp, i suppose. how should i know? we've got no facilities for finding out. we can't fly, and expeditions say there's nothing there but the usual venusian hell. i wish--" * * * * * "oh-oh!" vanning sat up, peering into the projector. "wait a minute, goodenow. i think--" "callahan? no!" "he's disguised, but ... lucky this is a three-dimensional movie. let's hear his voice." vanning touched a button on the box. a low, musical voice said: "my name is jerome bentley, new york city, earth. i'm an importer, and am on venus to investigate the possibilities of buying a steady supply of herbs--" "yeah," vanning said tonelessly. "that's it. jerome bentley--nuts! that's don callahan! he's disguised so well his own mother wouldn't know him--best make-up artist in the system. but i've studied his records till i nearly went blind and deaf. i don't make mistakes about callahan any more." goodenow blinked. "i'll be blowed. i've seen the man a dozen times, and i'd have sworn ... well! if you're sure--" "i'm sure." vanning referred to the records. "staying at the star palace, eh? okay, i'll be pushing off." "i'll go with you," the consul offered, and lifted his bulky body from behind the gleaming desk. together the two men went out into the muggy venusian day, which was now fading to a slow, blue dusk. venus did not revolve; it librated. there was no such thing as sunrise and sunset. but there was a very regular thickening and fading of the eternal cloudbanks that writhed overhead, approximating day and night. despite the continual frantic disturbance of the atmosphere, the clouds were so thick that it was never possible to see the sun. only the ragged, eye-straining movement of the grayness overhead, and the warm, humid wind that gusted against your sweating skin. and the sulphurous smells that drifted in from the jungle--odors of stagnant water and rottenness and things that grew unhealthily white. frontier town, vanning thought, as he glanced around. chicago must have looked like this, in the old days, when streets were unpaved and business was the town's only reason for existence. but venus landing would never grow into another chicago. a few thousand souls, working under terrible handicaps, always fearing the north-fever that meant death.... muddy streets, wooden sidewalks already rotting, metal buildings, of two stories at most, long, low hydroponic sheds, a dull, hot apathy that hung over everything--that was venus landing. a few natives shuffled past on their snowshoe feet, looking fat and wet, as though made out of wax that had begun to run. the star palace was a down-at-the-heels plastic building, stained and discolored by the damp molds. goodenow jerked his head at the clerk. "where's leester?" "north-fever," the man said, worrying his lower lip. "this morning ... we couldn't stop him." "oh, hell," the consul said hopelessly, turning to vanning. "that's the way it is. once the fever hits you, you go crazy. do everything and anything to get away and head north. leester was a nice kid. he was going back to earth, next christmas." vanning looked at the clerk. "a man named jerome bentley's staying here." "he's somewhere around town. dunno where." "okay," the consul said. "if he comes in, phone my office. but don't tell him we were asking." "yup." the clerk resumed his vague scrutiny of the ceiling. vanning and goodenow went out. * * * * * "where now?" "we'll just amble around. hi!" the consul hailed a ricksha, drawn by a native--the usual type of vehicle in venus landing's muddy streets. "hop in, vanning." the detective obeyed. his headache was getting worse. they couldn't find callahan. a few men said that they had seen him earlier that day. someone had glimpsed him on the outskirts of the settlement. "heading for the jungle?" goodenow asked quickly. "he--yeah. he looked ... very bad." the consul sucked in his breath. "i wonder. let's go out that way, vanning." "all right. what do you figure--" "the fever, maybe," goodenow grunted. "it strikes fast. especially to non-natives. if your friend callahan's caught north-fever, he just started walking into the swamp and forgot to stop. you can mark the case closed." "not till i get that treaty back," vanning growled. goodenow shook his head doubtfully. the buildings grew sparser and ceased at the edge of the pale forest. broad-leafed jungle growths sprang from moist black soil. the ricksha stopped; the native chattered in his own tongue. "sure," goodenow said, tossing him a coin. "wait here. _zan-t'kshan._" his burly figure lumbered into the translucent twilight of the jungle. vanning was at his heels. there were footprints--many of them. the detective ignored them, moving in a straight line away from venus landing. here and there were blazed _mola_ trees, some with buckets hung to collect the dripping sap. the footprints grew fainter. at last only one set remained visible. "a man. pretty heavy-set, too. wearing earth shoes, not sandals like most of ours. callahan, probably." vanning nodded. "he didn't come back by this route." "he didn't come back," goodenow said shortly. "this is a one-way trail." "well, i'm going after him." "it's suicidal. but--i suppose i can't talk you out of it?" "you can't." "well, come back to town and i'll find you an outfit. supplies and a hack-knife. maybe i can find some men willing to go with you." "no," vanning said. "i don't want to waste time. i'll start now." he took a few steps, and was halted by goodenow's restraining grip. "hold on," the consul said, a new note in his voice. he looked closely into vanning's face, and pursed his lips in a soundless whistle. "you've got it," he said. "i should have noticed before." "got what?" "the north-fever, man! now listen to me--" vanning's headache suddenly exploded in a fiery burst of white pain, which washed away and was gone, leaving his brain cool and ... different. it was like a--like a _cold_ fever. he found his thoughts were moving with unusual clarity to a certain definite point.... north. of course he had to go north. that was what had been wrong with him all day. he had been fighting against the urge. now he realized that it should be obeyed, instead. he blinked at goodenow's heavy, worried face. "i'm all right. no fever. i want to find callahan, that's all." "like hell it is," the consul said grimly. "i know the symptoms. you're coming back with me till you're well." "no." goodenow made a movement as though to pinion vanning's hands behind his back. the detective writhed free and sent a short-arm jab to goodenow's jaw. there was power behind that blow. the consul went over backwards, his head thumping against a white tree-bole. he lay still. * * * * * vanning didn't look at the motionless body. he turned and began to follow callahan's trail. but he wasn't watching the footprints. some instinct seemed to guide him. north ... north! his head no longer hurt. it felt strangely cool, numb and stinging almost pleasantly. the magnetic pull drew him on. deeper and deeper into the jungle.... distantly he heard goodenow's shout, but ignored it. the consul couldn't stop him. but he might try. vanning ran for a while, lightly and easily, till the wilderness of venus had swallowed him without trace. then he slowed down to a walk. he would have been grateful for a brief rest, but he could not stop. not now.... the fog closed in. silver mist veiled the strange, ghostly forest. then it was torn away as a gust of wind drove down from the upper air. above, the clouds twisted in tortured writhings; but vanning did not look up. not once did he turn his head. he faced north ... he plodded north ... he slogged through mushy, stinking swamp that rose at times to his waist.... a sane man would have skirted the bog. vanning floundered across, and swam when he could no longer walk. somewhere to the left he heard the coughing mutter of a swamp-cat's engine, but he did not see the machine. his vision was restricted to a narrow circle directly ahead. dimly he felt pain. the clinging, soft nettles of venus ripped at his clothing and his skin. leeches clung to his legs till they fell off, satiated. vanning went on. he was a robot--an automaton. in silence the pale forest slipped by in a fantastic procession. lianas often made a tangled snare where vanning fought for minutes before breaking through. luckily, the vines had little tensile strength, but soon the man was exhausted and aching in every limb. far above, the clouds had thickened and darkened into what passed for night on fog-shrouded venus. but the trees gave a phosphorescent light of their own. weird beyond imagination was the scene, with the bloody, reeling figure of the man staggering on toward the north-north. ever north. until overtaxed muscles refused to bear the burden longer, and vanning collapsed into exhausted unconsciousness. he did not know when he awoke. presently he found himself walking again. nothing had changed. the jungle was denser, and the cool light from above filtered down once more. only the light was cool. the air itself was sticky and suffocating. he went on into hell. days and nights merged into a fantastic pattern of dull torture. some distantly sane portion of his brain held back and watched, but could not help. days and nights. there was no food. there was water, for as vanning splashed through shallow pools he would bend his head to drink of the foul liquid. once his feet crunched on the green-moulded bones of a human skeleton. others had taken this way before him.... * * * * * toward the end, a fleshless, gaunt thing that had once been a man dragged itself laboriously toward a range of mountains that lifted from the swamp toward the north. they extended to left and right as far as he could see, and seemed unscalable. but they were v-shaped, and vanning headed toward the point of the v--the inner point. the terrible drive within him drove him on relentlessly. that night a sulphurous crimson glow lit the sky beyond the mountains. vanning did not see it. he slept. by morning he was on his way again, staggering into the funnel of the peaks. they were bare rock, eroded by eons of trickling water from the clouds. he could not climb them, even had he possessed the strength. he went on, instead, into the narrowing valley.... it ended in a sheer cliff of weathered stone. vanning reeled toward the barrier. he could not return. the north-fever drove him on remorselessly. he had to climb that wall of rock, or die. and he could not climb. he fell, rose, and fell again. in the end he crawled. he crawled to the foot of the cliff and dragged himself upright. he fell forward, as though trying to press his body against the towering wall that lifted to the writhing grey clouds-fell--through the stone! he toppled through the rock curtain as though it were non-existent! instantly intense blackness closed around him. hard stone was under him. his mind was too dulled to wonder. he knew only that the way north was still open. he crept on through darkness, leaving a trail of blood behind him.... the ground dropped from under him. he crashed down on a mound of moulded vegetation. before the shock had passed, the living dead man was moving again. he crawled forward until his way was blocked by a perpendicular wall. gasping dry-throated sobs, he clawed at the barrier with broken, bleeding finger-tips. to left and right, an arm's length away, were other walls. he was in a pit. the sane part of his brain thought: "circle around! there may be some way out!" but vanning could not circle. he could only move in one direction. that was north. he fumbled blindly at the wall, until unconsciousness came at last.... twice again he awoke, each time weaker, and twice again he slept. the fever, having passed its peak, dwindled swiftly. at last vanning awoke, and he was sane. no longer did he feel the relentless urge to turn north. he lay for a little while staring into the blackness, realizing that he was once more in full command of his traitorous body. there was little life left in him. his tongue was blackened and swollen till it filled his mouth. he was a scarecrow, nearly naked, his bones sharply defined through his skin. it was an effort even to breathe. but death would not be long in coming--now.... ii dying is an uncomfortable business, unless a man is drugged or insensible. vanning found it so. moreover, he wasn't the sort of man who would give up without good cause. weak as he was, nevertheless he was still too strong to lie in the dark, waiting. laboriously, he got to his hands and knees and commenced a circuit of the pit. he expected nothing. but, at the southern end of his prison, he was astounded to find a hole in the wall easily large enough to admit his body. feeling into the blackness, he discovered the smooth floor of a passage. good lord! it had been there all the time, during his tortured imprisonment in the pit. if he had only searched before-but he could not have done so, of course. not with the north-fever flaming in his veins. the tunnel might lead anywhere. all the chances were against its leading to safety. sooner or later, there would probably be a dead end. nevertheless, there _was_ a chance. that chance grew brighter as vanning's fingers discovered that the walls bore the marks of tools. the tunnel had been made by--perhaps not humans, but at least by some intelligent race! it grew higher as he went on, but vanning was too weak to rise. he realized dimly that the passage made a sharp hairpin turn. through the dark the distant clangor of a bell roared. vanning hesitated, and then resumed his weak crawl. there was nothing else to do. the ground dropped from beneath him. he went rolling and slipping down an inclined slide, to stop with a jolt against a softly padded surface. the shock was too much for his exhausted mind and body. he felt consciousness leaving him. but he realized that it was no longer dark. through a pale, luminous twilight he caught a glimpse of a mask hovering over him--the mask of no human thing. noseless save for tiny slits, gap-mouthed, round-eyed, the face was like that of a fish incredibly humanized--fantastically evolved. a patina of green scales overlaid the skin. the gong thundered from nearby. the monstrous mask dissolved into the blackness that swept up and took vanning to its heart. nothing existed but pain, and that, too, was wiped out by the encompassing dark.... * * * * * he was very sick. complete exhaustion had almost killed him. he was lying on a soft pallet, and from time to time the stinging shock of a needle in his arm told him that he was being fed by injection. later, water trickled down his throat. his swollen tongue resumed its normal shape. sleep came, tormented by dreams. the mask of the fish-like thing swam at him from gray shimmering light. it gave place to a great bell that roared deafeningly. then the face of a girl, pale, lovely, with auburn ringlets clustering about her cheeks. sympathetic blue eyes looked into his. and that, too, was gone.... he awoke to find--something--standing above him. and it was no nightmare. it was the thing of his dreams--a being that stood upright on two stocky legs, and which wore clothing, a shining silver tunic and kirtle. the head was fish-like, but the high cranium told of intelligence. it said something in a language vanning did not know. weakly he shook his head. the fish-being launched into the venusian dialect. "you are recovered? you are strong again?" vanning sought for words. "i'm--all right. but where am i? who--" "lysla will tell you." the creature clapped its huge hands together as it turned. the door closed behind its malformed back, opening again to reveal the auburn-haired girl vanning recognized. he sat up, discovering that he was in a bare room walled with gray plastic, and that he was lying on a pallet of some elastic substance. under a metallic-looking but soft robe, he was naked. the girl, he saw, bore over her arm a bundle of garments, crimson as the kirtle she herself wore. her smile was wan. "hello," she said, in english. "feel better now?" vanning nodded. "sure. but am i crazy? that thing that just went out--" horror darkened the girl's blue eyes. "that is one of the swamja. they rule here." "here? where's here?" lysla knelt beside the bed. "the end of the world--for us, jerry vanning." "how do you know my name?" "there were papers in your clothes--what was left of them. and--it'll be hard to explain all this. i've only been here a month myself." vanning rubbed his stubbly beard. "we're on venus?" "yes, of course. this is a--a valley. the swamja have lived here for ages, since before earthmen colonized venus." "i never heard of them." "none ever return from this place," lysla said sombrely. "they become slaves of the swamja--and in the end they die. new slaves come, as you did." vanning's eyes narrowed. "hold on. i'm beginning to understand, a little. the swamja--those fish-headed people--have a secret city here, eh? they're intelligent?" she nodded. "they have great powers. they consider themselves the gods of venus. you see--jerry vanning--they evolved long before the anthropoid stock did. originally they were aquatic. i don't know much about that. legends ... anyway, a very long time ago, they built this city and have never left it since. but they need slaves. so they send out the north-fever--" * * * * * "_what?_" vanning's face grayed. "lysla--what did you say? the fever's artificial?" "yes. the virus is carried by microscopic spores. the swamja send it out to the upper atmosphere, and the great winds carry it all over venus. the virus strikes very quickly. once a man catches it, as you did, he goes north. these mountains are a trap. they're shaped like a funnel, so anyone with the fever inevitably heads into the pass, as you did. they are drawn through the mirage, which looks like a wall of rock. no one who wasn't--sick--would try to go through that cliff." vanning grunted, remembering. "keep talking. i'm beginning--" "there isn't much more. the victims fall into the pits, and stay there till the fever has run its course. the swamja run no risks of being infected themselves. after the sickness has passed, it's easy to find the way out of the pits--and all the tunnels lead to this place." "god!" vanning whispered. "and you say this has been going on for centuries?" "very many centuries. first the natives, and now the earthpeople as well. the swamja need slaves--none live long here. but there is always a supply trickling in from outside." thousands of helpless victims, through the ages, drawn into this horrible net, dragged northward to be the slaves of an inhuman race.... vanning licked dry lips. "many die," the girl said. "the swamja want only the strongest. and only the strongest survive the trip north." "you--" vanning looked at lysla questioningly. she smiled sadly. "i'm stronger than i look, jerry. but i almost died.... i still haven't completely recovered. i--was much prettier than i am now." vanning found that difficult to believe. he couldn't help grinning at the girl's very feminine admission. she flushed a little. "well," he said at last, "you're not venusian, i can see that. how did you come to get sucked into this?" "just bad luck," lysla told him. "a few months ago i was on top of the world, in new york. i've no parents. my father left me a trust fund, but it ran out unexpectedly. bad investments, i suppose. so i found myself broke and needed a job. there weren't any jobs for unskilled labor, except a secretarial position in venus landing. i was lucky to get that." "you've got nerve," vanning said. "it didn't help. the north-fever hit me, and the next thing i knew, i was ... here. a slave." "how many earthmen are there here?" "about a hundred. not many are strong enough to reach the pass. and about the same number of venusian natives." "how many swamja?" "a thousand, more or less," lysla explained. "only the highest classes have slaves. most of the swamja are trained for the military." "so? who the devil do they fight?" "nobody. it's a tradition with them--part of their religion. they believe they're gods, and the soldiers serve as the valkyries did in the norse valhalla." "two hundred slaves.... what weapons do the swamja have?" lysla shook her head. "not many. a paralysis hand-projector, a few others. but they're invulnerable, or nearly so. their muscles are much tougher than ours. a different cellular construction." vanning pondered. he could understand that. the human heart-muscle is much stronger and tougher than--say--the biceps. the girl broke into his thoughts. "rebellion is quite useless. you won't believe that now, but you'll understand soon." "maybe," vanning said tonelessly. "anyhow--what's next on the program?" "slavery." her voice was bitter. "here are your clothes. when you're dressed, you'll find a ramp leading down outside the door. i'll be waiting." she detached a metal plaque from the wall and went out. vanning, after a scowling pause, dressed and followed. * * * * * the corridor in which he found himself was of bare plastic, covered with a wavy bas-relief oddly reminiscent of water's ripples, and tinted azure and gray. here and there cold lamps, using a principle unfamiliar to the man, were set in the walls. radioactivity, he theorized, or the venusian equivalent. he saw a ramp, and descended it to enter a huge low-ceilinged room, with doors at intervals set in the curving walls. one of the doors was open, and lysla's low voice called him. he entered a cubicle, not large, with four crude bunks arranged here and there. the girl was fitting the metal plaque into a frame over one. she smiled at him. "your dog-license, jerry. you're 57-r-mel. it means something to the swamja, i suppose." "yeah?" vanning saw a similar plaque over each of the cots. "what's this place?" "one of the dormitories. four to an apartment is the rule. you'll be lodged with three men who arrived a little while before you did--two earthmen and a venusian." "i see. what am i supposed to do?" "just wait here till you're summoned. and jerry--" she came toward him, placing her palms flat on his broad chest, her blue eyes looking up into his appealingly. "jerry, please don't do anything foolish. i know it's hard at first. but--_they_--punish rebellious slaves rather awfully." vanning smiled down at her. "okay, lysla. i'll look around before i do anything. but, believe me, i intend to start a private little revolution around here." she shook her head hopelessly, auburn curls flying. "it isn't any use. i've seen that already. you'll see it, too. i must go now. and be careful, jerry." he squeezed her arm reassuringly. "sure. i'll see you again?" "yes. but now--" she was gone. vanning whistled softly, and turned to examine the room. sight of his face in a mirror startled him. under the stubbly growth of beard, his familiar features had altered, grown haggard and strained. a razor lay handy--or, rather, a sharp dagger with a razor-sharp edge. there was a bar of gray substance that gave a great deal of lather when vanning moistened it in the metal bowl that served as a wash-basin. he shaved, and felt much better. his weakness had almost entirely gone. the medical science of the swamja, at least, was above reproach. nevertheless, he tired easily.... that would pass. who were his bunk-mates in this cubicle? idly vanning scrutinized their effects, strewn helter-skelter on the shelves. nothing there to tell him. there was a metal comb, however, and vanning reached for it. it slipped from his fingers and clattered to the plastic floor. vanning grunted and got down on his knees to recover the object, which had skidded into a dark recess under the lowest shelf. his fumbling fingers encountered something cold and hard, and he drew it out wonderingly. it was a flat case, without ornament, and clicked open in his hands. it was a make-up kit. small as it was, it contained an incredible quantity of material for disguises. tiny pellets were there, each stamped with a number. dyestuffs that would mix with water. there was a package of _isoflex_, the transparent, extraordinary thin "rigid cellophane" of the day. there were other things.... * * * * * vanning's eyes widened. two and two made an unmistakable four. only one man on venus would have reason to possess such a kit. that man was don callahan, whom vanning had vainly pursued from mars to earth, and thence to venus. callahan here! but why not? he, too, had fallen victim to north-fever. he had simply preceded vanning in his drugged trip to this hidden kingdom. "who the hell are you?" the harsh question brought vanning to his feet, instinctively concealing the make-up kit in his garments. he stared at the man standing on the threshold--a husky, broad-shouldered specimen with flaming red hair and a scarred, ugly face. squinting, keen eyes watched vanning. "i'm--your new room-mate, i guess," the detective said tentatively. "jerry vanning's my name." "mine's sanderson. kenesaw sanderson." the other rubbed a broken nose thoughtfully. "so you're new. well, get this straight. don't try any tricks with the swamja or get any ideas." vanning tilted his head to one side. "i don't get it." "new guys," sanderson said scornfully. "they're always figuring it'll be easy to escape. they try it, and we all suffer. the swamja are tough babies. take it easy, do what you're told, and everything's okay. see?" "not quite." there was a roughness in vanning's tone. "how long have you been here?" "a few weeks, about. i don't recall exactly. what of it?" "you don't look yellow. it just seems funny that you'd give up so easily. you look pretty tough." sanderson snarled deep in his throat. "i am tough! i'm also smart. listen, mr. jerry vanning, two days after i got here i saw the swamja punish a guy who tried to escape. they skinned him alive! you hear that? and his bunk-mates--they weren't killed, but one of 'em went crazy. those swamja--it's crazy to try and buck them." "they've got you out-bluffed already, eh?" sanderson strode forward and gripped vanning's shoulder in a bruising clutch. "you talk too much. trouble-makers don't go here. get that through your head." vanning said gently, "let go of me, quick. or--" "let him go, kenesaw," a new voice broke in. sanderson grunted, but released the detective. he nodded toward the door. "got off early, eh, hobbs?" "a little." the man in the doorway was as big as sanderson, but his face was benevolent, gentle, and seamed with care. white hair bristled in a ruff above his broad forehead. "a little," he repeated. "zeeth and i must go back tonight for the festival." "_sta._ we must go back tonight," said zeeth, in the venusian dialect. he appeared from behind hobbs, a native of venus, with the familiar soft plumpness and huge feet of the race. his dog-like eyes examined vanning. "new?" the detective introduced himself. he was secretly puzzled. one of these three men, apparently, was callahan--but which one? none of them resembled the man vanning had seen on the micro-projector back at venus landing. but, still- iii on impulse, vanning took out the make-up kit and held it up. "i found this under the shelves. yours, hobbs? or sanderson?" both men shook their heads, frowning. vanning glanced at the venusian. "yours, zeeth?" "_esta_, it is not mine. what is it?" "just a case." vanning stowed it away, and sat down on one of the cots, wondering. as he saw it, he had two objectives to reach. first--escape. second--bring in callahan. not merely escape, though. he thought of lysla. a slave ... _damn_! and the other two hundred slaves of the swamja ... he couldn't leave them here. but what could he do? conquer the swamja? the thought was melodramatically crazy. perhaps alone he might contrive to escape, and bring a troop of space patrolmen to wipe out the swamja. an army, if necessary. the others, he saw, had seated themselves on the cots. hobbs kicked off his sandals and sighed. "wish i had a smoke. oh, well." vanning said sharply, "callahan!" his eyes flicked from one to another, and found nothing but surprise in the faces turned to him. sanderson rumbled, "what the devil are you jabbering about?" vanning sighed. "i'm wondering something. when did you boys get here?" it was the mild-faced hobbs who answered. "a couple of weeks ago, i believe. within a few days of each other. just before you arrived, in fact. but we recovered long before you did. it was only a miracle that saved your life, vanning." "and before you three got here--any others come from outside? lately, i mean." "not for months," hobbs answered. "so i heard. why?" "why? it proves that one of you is the man i'm after--don callahan. i'm a detective; i came to venus to find callahan, and--by accident--i followed him here. it stands to reason that one of you is the man i want." sanderson grinned. "don't you know what the guy looks like?" "no," vanning admitted. "i've recognized him before by certain tricks he's got--the way he walks, the way he jerks his head around suddenly. before he came to venus, i found out, he went to an anthro-surgeon and got remodeled. a complete new chassis, face and body complete. even got skin-grafts on his finger-tips. in time the old prints will grow back, but not for months. meantime, callahan's pretty well disguised." "good lord!" hobbs said. "one of us--" vanning nodded. "when he came to venus, he put a disguise over his new, remodeled face. that's gone now, of course. one of you three is callahan." zeeth, the venusian native, said softly, "i do not think the usual laws hold good here." sanderson roared with laughter. "damn right! you expect to arrest your man and ask the swamja to imprison him for you?" vanning shook his head, smiling crookedly. "scarcely. i'm getting out of this place sooner or later, and callahan's going with me. later, i'll bring back troops and clean out the swamja. but i'm not forgetting about callahan." hobbs shrugged. "it isn't me." "nor me," zeeth said. sanderson only grinned. vanning grunted. "it's one of you. i'm pretty sure of that. and i'm talking to you now, callahan. you'll be able to disguise your walk and your mannerisms, and i can't recognize your new face or fingerprints. but sooner or later you'll forget and betray yourself. then i'll have to take you back to earth." "you will forget," zeeth said. "in a year--five, if you live, you will forget. our people have legends of this land, where the gods live. our priests taught that the north-fever is sent by the gods. we did not know how true that teaching was...." his bulbous face was grotesque in its solemnity. * * * * * vanning didn't answer. his hope of tricking an admission from callahan had failed. well, there would be time enough. yet obviously one of these three was the fugitive. hobbs? sanderson? certainly not zeeth-wait a bit! suppose callahan had disguised himself as a venusian native? that would be a perfect masquerade. and the diabolical skill of the anthro-surgeon could have transformed callahan into a venusian. vanning looked at zeeth with new interest. the native met his glance with stolid calm. "one cannot argue with fate. those who died on the way here are luckier. we must live and serve." "i've got other ideas," the detective growled. zeeth gestured vividly. "your race does not accept destiny, as ours does. we have from birth a struggle for existence. venus is a hard mistress. but some of us live. yet even then there is the shadow of the north-fever. at any time, we know, the sickness may fall upon us. if it does, and we are not kept close prisoners, we go into the jungle and either die or--come here. my brother was very lucky. he had the fever three years ago, but i held him and called for help. my tribesmen came running and tied gharza tightly, so that he could not escape. for ten days and nights the fever made him mad. then it passed. the threat had left him forever. the north-fever only strikes once, so gharza was immune. i, too, am immune--but i consider myself dead, of course." "aw, shut up," sanderson snapped. "you give me the leapin' creeps. let's get some sleep. we've got to attend the festival tonight." "what's that?" vanning asked. the mild-faced hobbs answered him. "a religious ceremony. just do what you're told, and you'll be all right." "just that, eh?" "our people have learned to bow our heads to fate," zeeth murmured. "we are not fighters. pain is horrible to us. you call us cowards. from your standards, that is true. only by bowing to the great winds have we managed to survive." "shut up and let me sleep," sanderson ordered, and relaxed his heavy body on a bunk. the others followed his example, all but vanning, who sat silently thinking as hour after hour dragged past. the door opened at last, and a swamja stood on the threshold. he wore the familiar costume of the race, but there was an oddly-shaped gun in a holster at his side. "time!" he barked in the venusian dialect. "hasten! you--" he pointed to vanning. "follow me. the others know where to go." the detective silently rose and followed the swamja into the huge room. it was filled now, he saw, with natives and with earthmen, hurrying here and there like disturbed ants. there were no other swamja, however. one of the venusians stumbled and fell. he was a thin, haggard specimen of his species, and how he had ever survived the trip north vanning could not guess. perhaps he had been in this lost city for years, and had been drained of his vitality by weeks of arduous servitude. he fell.... the swamja barked a harsh command. the native gasped a response, tried to rise--and failed. instantly the swamja drew his gun and fired. the venusian collapsed and lay still. vanning took a step forward, hot with fury, to find himself drawn back by hobbs' restraining hand. "easy!" the other whispered. "he's dead. no use--" "dead? i didn't hear any explosion." "you wouldn't. that gun fires a charge of pure force that disrupts the nervous system. it was set to kill just now." the swamja turned. "i must attend to this carcass. my report must be made. you, zeeth--take the new slave to ombara." "i obey." the native bowed and touched vanning's arm. "come with me." * * * * * followed by sanderson's sardonic grin, vanning accompanied the venusian into a corridor, and up a winding spiral ramp. he found it difficult to contain himself. "good god!" he burst out finally. "do those devils do that all the time? plain cold-blooded murder?" zeeth nodded. "they have no emotions, you see. they are what you call hedonists. and they are gods. we are like animals to them. the moment we make a mistake, or are no longer useful, we are killed." "and you submit to it!" "there was a rebellion two years ago, i heard. twenty slaves died to every swamja. they are like reptiles--nearly invulnerable. and we have no weapons, of course." "can't you get any?" "no. nor would i try. venusians cannot endure pain, you understand. to us, pain is worse than death." vanning grunted, and was silent as they passed through a curtained arch. never would he forget his first sight of the swamja city. it was like-like an ocean world! he stood upon a balcony high over the city, and looked out at a vast valley three miles in diameter, scooped out of the heart of the mountains as though by a cosmic cup. overhead was no sky. a shell of transparent substance made a ceiling above the city, a tremendous dome that couched on the mountain peaks all around. gray-green light filtered through it. an emerald twilight hazed the fantastic city, where twisted buildings like grottos of coral rose in strange patterns. it was a labyrinth. and it was--lovely beyond all imagination. "those--things--built this?" vanning breathed. "they knew beauty," zeeth said. "they have certain senses we do not have. you will see...." from the exact center of the city a tower rose, smooth and shining as metal. it reached to the transparent dome and seemed to rise above it, into the clouds of venus. "what's that?" vanning asked, pointing. "their temple?" zeeth's voice held irony. "not a temple--a trap. it is the tube through which they blast the spores of the north-fever into the sky. day and night without pause the virus is blown upward through that tube, far into the air, where it is carried all over the planet." the air was darkening, thickening. here and there rainbow lights sprang into view. elfin fires in an enchanted world, vanning thought. through the grotesque city equally grotesque figures moved, to be lost in the shadows. the monsters who ruled here--ruled like soulless devils rather than gods. "come. we must hurry." zeeth tugged at vanning's arm. together they went down the ramp into one of the winding avenues. it grew darker, and more lights came on. once vanning paused at sight of a corroded metal structure in the center of a well-lighted park. "zeeth! that's a space-ship! a light life-boat--" the venusian nodded. "and it is well guarded, too. it crashed through the dome a century ago, i was told. all the men in it were killed. a space-wreck, i suppose." vanning was silent as they went on. he was visualizing what had happened in that distant past. a wreck in space, a few survivors taking to this life-boat and setting out, hopelessly, for the nearest world--believing, perhaps, that if they reached venus, they would be saved. and then the tremendous atmospheric tides and whirlpools of the clouded planet, in which no aircraft but the hugest could survive.... vanning whistled softly. suppose he managed to get into that space-boat? suppose there was still rocket-fuel in the tanks, and suppose it hadn't deteriorated? couldn't he blast up through the dome to freedom? sure--to freedom and death! no ship could survive in the venusian atmosphere, certainly not this light space-tub, of an antiquated and obsolete design. * * * * * at one of the twisted buildings, zeeth paused. the structure was larger than vanning had imagined from above, and his eyes widened as he followed the venusian up winding ramps, past curtained arches, till at last they stepped into a luxurious chamber at the top. seated on a low tussock was a swamja, fat and hideous, his bulging eyes glaring at the intruders. "you are late," he said. "why is that?" zeeth bowed. "we came as swiftly as possible." "that may be. and this slave is new. yet errors are not permitted. for your mistake, this--" a malformed hand rose, clutching a gun. "and this." instinctively vanning tensed to leap forward, but a blast of searing fire seemed to explode in his body. he dropped in a boneless huddle, gasping for breath. beside him he saw zeeth, similarly helpless, fat face twisted in agony. venusians, vanning remembered, were horribly sensitive to pain; and even through his own torture he felt anger at the swamja for meting out such ruthless justice. but it was over in a moment, though that moment seemed to last for eternities. zeeth stood up, bowed again, and slipped from the room, with a warning glance at vanning, who also rose. the swamja raised his gross body. "carry this tray. this flask and goblet--for my thirst. this atomizer--to spray on my face when i demand it. this fan for the heat." vanning silently picked up the heavy metal tray and followed the lumbering, monstrous figure out. he had an impulse to bring the tray down on the swamja's head. but that wouldn't solve anything. he'd have to wait--for a while, anyway. a show of temper might cost him his life. along the twisting avenue they went, and to a many-tiered amphitheatre, where the swamja found a seat in a cushioned throne. already the place was filled with the monsters. many of them were attended by human or venusian slaves, vanning saw. he stood behind the swamja, ready for anything, and looked down. in the center of the pit was a pool. it was perhaps ten feet square, and blackly opaque. that was all. "the spray." vanning used the atomizer on the scaly face of his master. then he looked around once more. not far away, standing behind another swamja, was sanderson. the red-haired man met his eye and grinned mockingly. neither hobbs nor zeeth was visible. but vanning could not repress a feeling of pleasure as he saw, several tiers down, the slim figure of lysla, her auburn curls bare in the cool night air, a tray similar to his own held strapped to her slender neck. vanning's pleasure was lost in resentment. damn these fish-headed swamja! "fool!" a croaking voice said. "twice i have had to demand the spray. put down your tray." vanning caught himself and obeyed. the swamja turned and leveled his gun. again the blazing, brief agony whirled sickeningly through the detective's body. it passed; silently he resumed his task. from time to time, he tended to the swamja's wants. but he also found time to glance at lysla occasionally. * * * * * when the ceremony began, vanning could not tell. he sensed that the assembly had grown tenser, and noticed that the eye of every swamja was focused on the black pool. but there was nothing else. silence, and the deformed figures staring at the jet square in the center. was this all? it seemed so, after half an hour had passed. not once had the swamja he tended demanded attention. what the devil were the creatures seeing in that pool? for they saw something, vanning was certain of that. once a shiver of pure ecstasy rippled through the swamja's gross body. and once vanning thought he heard a musical note, almost above the pitch of audibility. it was gone instantly. zeeth had said that the swamja possessed other senses than those of humans. perhaps those strange senses were being used now. he did not know then, nor was he ever to know, the non-human psychology of the swamja, or the purpose of the black pool. yet vanning unmistakably sensed that here was something above and beyond the limitations of his own humanity. he grew tired, shifting from foot to foot, but it seemed the ceremony would never end. he watched lysla. thus he saw her bend forward with a filled goblet--and, losing her balance, spill the liquid contents into the lap of the swamja she tended. instantly she shrank back, her tray clattering to the floor. stark panic fear was in her posture as she cowered there. there was reason. the swamja was rising, turning, and in his huge hand was a gun.... he was going to kill lysla. vanning knew that. already he was familiar with the swamja code that did not forgive errors. and as he saw the stubby finger tightening on the trigger-button, vanning acted with swift, unthinking accuracy. his hand closed over the flask on his tray, and he threw it unerringly. the fragile substance crashed into the face of the swamja menacing lysla, shattering into glittering shards. the being blinked and pawed at its eyes. in a moment-vanning jumped clear over his own swamja and hurtled down the steps. his shoulder drove into the blinking monster beneath lysla, and sent the creature head-over-heels into the lap of another of its race below. vanning caught up the gun the swamja had dropped. he turned to look into lysla's frightened eyes. "jerry--" her voice was choked. "oh, no!" abruptly a crash sounded from above. vanning looked up to see sanderson swinging his metal tray like a maniac. the man's red hair was like a beacon in the strange light. he drove his weapon into the snarling face of a swamja and yelled down at vanning: "amscray! there's an oorday on your eftlay!" pig-latin! a door on the left? vanning saw it. with one hand he caught lysla's arm, and with the other smashed the gun-butt viciously into the mask of a swamja that rose up before him. the creature did not go down. its arms closed about vanning. he reversed the gun and squeezed the trigger-button, but without result. apparently the things were immune to their own weapons. the amphitheatre was in an uproar. in a flashing glance vanning noticed that the black pool far below was curiously disturbed. that didn't matter. what mattered was the devil that was seeking to break his back-lysla tore the gun from vanning's hand, firing it twice. the gnarled arms relaxed. but the two humans were almost hemmed in by the aroused swamjas. a burly body dived into the mob, followed by another one. hobbs yelled, "come on, kid! fast!" hobbs and zeeth! they, too, had come to the rescue. and none too soon! the unexpected assault broke the ranks of the swamja for an instant, and then the earth-people were through, racing down a slanting corridor. they emerged outside the amphitheatre. lysla gave them no time to rest. footsteps were thudding behind them. "this way. they'll kill us now if they catch us." she sped into an alleyway that gaped nearby. vanning saw hobbs and sanderson racing in pursuit. so sanderson had got through, too. good! zeeth? the venusian reeled against vanning, his fat face contorted. "i'm--hit. go on--don't mind me--" "nuts," the detective growled, and hoisted the flabby body to his shoulder. zeeth had more courage than any of them, he thought. weak of physique, hating pain, yet he had not hesitated to join his companions in a hopeless battle.... iv vanning sped after the others, who had waited for him. after that it was a desperate hare-and-hounds chase, with lysla leading them through the labyrinth of the city, her slender legs flying. "you okay?" vanning gasped as he ran shoulder to shoulder with the girl for a moment. her white teeth were fixed in her lower lip. "i ... i shot at that swamja's eyes. blinded him. it's the only way ... _ugh_!" "where now?" hobbs panted, his white hair rippling with the wind of his racing. sanderson echoed the question. "lysla? can we--" "i don't know. we've been heading north. never been there before. can't go south--gates are always guarded." hobbs panted, "there are only two ways out. the way we came in--guarded, eh?--and another gate at the north." "we'll try it," vanning said. "unless we can get to that space-ship--" zeeth wriggled free. "put me down. i'm all right now. the space-ship--that's guarded too. but there aren't any soldiers at the north gate. i don't know why." through the city a rising tumult was growing. lights were blazing here and there, but the party kept to the shadows. twice they flattened themselves against walls as swamja hurried past. luck was with them; but how long it would last there was no way of knowing. suddenly a great voice boomed out, carrying to every corner of the city. it seemed to come from the dome high above. "attention! no slaves will be permitted on the streets unless accompanied by a swamja master! no quarter is to be given to the fugitives who blinded a guard! capture them alive if possible--they must serve as an example. but show them no quarter!" lysla's face had paled. vanning glanced at her, but said nothing. things were bad enough as they were. only sanderson chuckled sardonically. "nice going, vanning. how about callahan now?" the detective grunted. zeeth panted, "i would--have preferred a--peaceful death. i do not--like torture." vanning felt a pang of sympathy for the fat little native. but he couldn't help him. escape was the only chance. "here," lysla gasped, pausing in the shadow of a tall building. "these outer houses are all deserted. there's the gate." across a dim expanse of bare soil it loomed, a wall of metal rising high above their heads. vanning stared. "no guards. maybe it's locked. still ... i'm going out there. if there are any swamja, they'll jump me. then run like hell. don't try to help." without waiting for an answer he sprinted across the clearing. at the door he paused, staring around. nothing stirred. he heard nothing but the distant tumult from within the city. looking back, he could see the faint elfin-lights glowing here and there, and the shining tube rising to the dome--the tube that was pouring out the north-fever virus into the atmosphere of tortured, enslaved venus. and these were the gods of venus, vanning thought bitterly. devils, rather! he turned to the door. the locks were in plain sight, and yielded after a minute or two to his trained hands. the door swung open automatically. beyond was an empty, lighted tunnel, stretching bare and silent for perhaps fifty yards. at its end was another door. vanning held up his hand. "wait a bit!" he called softly. "i'll open the other one. then come running!" "right!" sanderson's voice called back. an eternity later the second door swung open. vanning gave the signal, and heard the thud of racing feet. he didn't turn. he was staring out across the threshold, a sick hopelessness tugging at his stomach. * * * * * the door to freedom had opened--mockingly. ahead of him was the floor of a canyon, widening as it ran on. but the solid ground existed for only a quarter of a mile beyond the threshold. beyond that was flame. red, crawling fire carpeted the valley from unscalable wall to granite scarp. lava, restless, seething, boiled hotly down the slope, reddening the low-hanging fog into scarlet, twisting veils. nothing alive could pass that terrible barrier. that was obvious. zeeth said softly, "it will be a quicker death than the swamja will give us." "no!" vanning's response was instinctive. "damned if i'll go out that way. or let--" he stopped, glancing at lysla. her blue eyes were curiously calm. "the cliffs?" she suggested. vanning scanned them. "no use. they can't be climbed. no wonder the swamja left this door unguarded!" "wonder why they had it in the first place?" hobbs asked. "maybe there was a way out here once. then the lava burst through ... i've seen lava pits like this on venus," sanderson grunted. "they're pure hell. this isn't an exit--except for a salamander." "then there's no way?" lysla asked. vanning's jaw set. "there's a way. a crazy way--but i can't see any other, unless we can get out by the south gate." "impossible," hobbs said flatly. "yeah. they'll have plenty of guards there now ... i mean the space-ship." there was a momentary silence. zeeth shook his head. "no ship can live in the air of venus." "i said it was a crazy way. but we might get through. we just might. and it's the only chance we have." sanderson scratched his red head. "i'm for it. i don't want to be skinned alive ... i'm with you, vanning. you a pilot?" "yeah." "you'll have to be the best damned pilot in the system to get us through alive." lysla said, "okay. what are we waiting for?" an indomitable grin flashed in her grimy, lovely face. "good girl," hobbs encouraged. "we'd better get out of here, anyway. back to the city." they returned through the valve, without troubling to close the doors. "the swamja might think we tried to get through the lava," vanning explained. "we need all the false trails we can lay. now--we'd better hide out for a bit till the riot dies down." "good idea," sanderson nodded. "these outer buildings are deserted--i told you that. we can find a hiding-place--" lysla led them into one of the structures, and into a room below the level of the street. "they'll search, but it'll take a while. now i suppose we just wait." since there were no windows, the light lysla turned on would not attract attention. nevertheless, vanning subconsciously felt the urge to remain in darkness. he grinned mirthlessly. "i'm beginning to know how you feel, callahan. being a fugitive must be pretty tough." nobody answered. the silence ran on and on interminably. finally sanderson broke it. "we forgot one thing. no slaves are allowed on the streets tonight without a swamja along." "i didn't forget," lysla said in a low voice. "there wasn't any other way." "but we haven't a chance in the world to get through." "i know that, too," the girl whispered. "but--" abruptly she collapsed in a heap, her auburn curls shrouding her face. under the red tunic her slim shoulders shook convulsively. sanderson took a deep breath. a wry smile twisted his mouth. "okay, vanning," he said. "let's have that make-up kit." * * * * * the detective stared. curiously, he felt no exultation. instead, there was a sick depression at the thought that sanderson--the man who had fought at his side--was callahan. "i don't--" sanderson--or callahan--shrugged impatiently. "let's have it. this is the only way left. i wouldn't have given myself away if it hadn't been necessary. you'd never have suspected me ... let's have it!" silently vanning handed over the make-up kit. lysla had lifted her head to watch callahan out of wondering eyes. hobbs was chewing his lip, scowling in amazement. zeeth was the only one who did not look surprised. but even he lost his impassivity when callahan began to use the make-up kit. it was a pandora's box, and it seemed incredible that a complete disguise could issue from that small container. and yet-callahan used the polished back of it as a mirror. he sent lysla for water and containers, easily procurable elsewhere in the building, and mixed a greenish paste which he applied to his skin. tiny wire gadgets expanded his mouth to a gaping slit. artificial tissue built up his face till his nose had vanished. _isoflex_ was cut and moulded into duplicates of the swamja's bulging, glassy eyes. callahan's fingers flew. he mixed, painted, worked unerringly. he even altered the color of his garments by dousing them in a dye-solution, till they had lost the betraying red tint that betokened a slave. in the end--a swamja stood facing vanning! "all right," callahan said tiredly. "i'll pass--if we keep out of bright lights. now go out and help lysla do guard duty. i'm going to disguise you all. that'll help." vanning didn't move as the others left. callahan took an oilskin packet from his belt and held it out. "here's the treaty. i suppose you came after that." the detective opened the bundle and checked its contents. he nodded. it was the vital treaty, which would have caused revolution on callisto. slowly vanning tore it into tiny shreds, his eyes on callahan. it was difficult, somehow, for him to find words. the other man shrugged. "that's that. and i suppose you'll be taking me back to earth--if we get out of this alive." "yeah," vanning said tonelessly. "okay." callahan's voice was tired. "let's go. we haven't time to disguise everybody--that was just an excuse to give you the treaty. a private matter--" he shuffled to the door, with the lumbering tread of the swamja, and vanning followed close at his heels. the others were waiting. vanning said, "okay. let's start. no time to disguise ourselves. stay behind--" * * * * * in a close group the five moved along the avenue, callahan in the lead. the outlaw's disguise was almost perfect, but nevertheless he did not trust to it entirely. when possible, he moved along dimly-lighted streets, the four others keeping close to his heels. once a patrol of swamja guards passed, but at a distance. "i'm worried," callahan whispered to vanning. "those creatures have--different senses from ours. i've a hunch they communicate partly by telepathy. if they try that on me--" "hurry," the detective urged, with a sidewise glance at lysla. "and for god's sake don't get lost." "i won't. i'm heading for the left of the tube-tower. that's right, isn't it?" zeeth nodded. "that's it. i'll tell you if i go wrong. careful!" a swamja was waddling toward them. callahan hastily turned into a side street, making a detour to avoid the monster. for a while they were safe.... lysla pressed close to vanning, and he squeezed her arm reassuringly, with a confidence he could not feel. not until now had he realized the vital importance of environment. on mars or barren callisto he had never felt this helplessness in the face of tremendous, inhuman powers--against which it was impossible to fight. hopeless odds! but luck incredibly favored them. they reached their destination without an alarm being raised. crouching in the shadows by the square where the space-ship lay, they peered at the three guards who paced about, armed and ready. "only three," lysla said. vanning chewed at his lip. "callahan, you know more about locks than i do. when we rush, get around to the other side of the ship and unlock the port. it may not be easy. the rest of us--we'll keep the swamja busy." callahan nodded. "i suppose that's best. we've only one gun." "well--that can't be helped. lysla, you go with callahan." the blue eyes blazed. "no! it'll take all of us to manage the guards. i'm fighting with you." vanning grunted. "well--here. take the gun. use it when you get a chance, but be careful. zeeth? hobbs? ready?" the two men nodded silently. with a hard grin on his tired face, vanning gave the signal and followed the disguised callahan as he walked toward the ship. maybe the guards wouldn't take alarm at sight of one of their own race, as they thought. but the masquerade couldn't keep up indefinitely. the sentries looked toward the newcomers, but made no hostile move. one of them barked a question. callahan didn't answer. he kept lumbering toward the ship, his masked face hideous and impassive. vanning, at his heels, was tense as wire. beside him, he heard zeeth breathing in little gasps. twenty paces separated the two parties--fifteen--ten. a guard croaked warning. his hand lifted, a gun gripped in the malformed fingers. simultaneously lysla whipped up her weapon and fired. once--twice--and the swamja cried out and dropped his gun, pawing at his eyes. then-"let 'em have it!" vanning snarled--and sprang forward. "callahan! get that port open!" * * * * * the masked figure hesitated, gave a whispered sound that might have been a curse, and then sprinted around the side of the space-ship. vanning didn't see him. his shoulder caromed into the middle of the second guard, and the two went down together, slugging, clawing, kicking. the swamja was incredibly strong. his mouth gaped at vanning's throat. with an agile twist, the detective wrenched himself away, but by that time there was a gun leveled at his head. a wave of blazing agony blasted through vanning's body--and was instantly gone. the weapon had not been turned up to the killing power. the swamja twisted the barrel with one finger, making the necessary adjustment. but vanning hadn't been idle. his hands crossed over the gun, wrenched savagely. there was a crack of breaking bone, and the swamja croaked in agony, his fingers broken. he wasn't conquered--no! ignoring what must have been sickening pain, he threw his arms around vanning and squeezed till the breath rushed from the human's lungs. the detective felt himself losing consciousness. it was impossible to break that steel grip-once more the fangs gaped at his throat. vanning summoned his waning strength. his left hand gripped the monster's lower jaw, his right hand the upper. sharp teeth ripped his fingers. he did not feel them, nor the foul, gusting breath that blew hot on his sweating face. he wrenched viciously, dragging the creature's mouth wide open--and wider yet! a hoarse roar bubbled from the swamja's throat. there was a sharp crack, and the malformed body twisted convulsively. the mighty arms tightened, nearly breaking vanning's back. then--they relaxed. the swamja lay still, his spine snapped. vanning staggered up, hearing a roaring in his ears. it wasn't imagination. across the square, monstrous figures came racing, shouting harshly--swamja, dozens of them! "vanning!" hobbs' voice croaked. on the ground, three figures were wrestling in a contorted mass--zeeth and hobbs and the remaining swamja. the monster was conquering. his bulging eyes glared with mad fury. great muscles stood out on his gnarled arms as he tore at his opponents. with a choking curse vanning snatched up the gun his late enemy had dropped and sprang forward. his aim was good. the swamja's eyes went dull as the destroying charge short-circuited his nerves. the racing swamja were dangerously close as vanning bent, tearing at the monster's mighty hands. useless! he pressed his gun-muzzle into the swamja's arm-pit and fired and fired again. presently one arm writhed free. vanning seized the two men, literally tore them from the creature's grip. "the port!" vanning gasped. "get into--the ship!" hobbs lifted zeeth and staggered around the bow. as vanning turned to follow, he saw the slim body of lysla lying motionless on the ground, in the path of the racing swamja. he sprinted forward, scooped up the girl in one motion, and swerved back, running as though all hell were at his heels. a croaking yell went up. sickening pain lanced through vanning, and he nearly fell. but the shock, though agonizing, wasn't permanent. legs afire, the detective rounded the ship's bow and saw a circular hole gaping in the corroded hull. [illustration: _vanning sprinted forward, scooped up the girl, swerved back, and fired the full blast of his gun into the screaming face of the first swamja._] he flung himself toward it. through a crimson mist the masked face of callahan swam into view. the man leaped out of the ship, caught up lysla from vanning's arms, and scrambled with her back through the port. as vanning tried to follow, he saw callahan crouching on the threshold of the valve, an odd hesitancy in his manner. one of callahan's hands was on the lever that would close and seal the ship. for a brief eternity the eyes of the two men met and clashed. * * * * * vanning read what was clear to read. if callahan closed the port now, leaving vanning outside--he would be safe from the law. no doubt the man knew how to pilot a space-ship-a shout roared out from behind vanning. callahan snarled an oath, seized the detective's hand, and yanked him into the ship. as a swamja tried to scramble through the valve, callahan's foot drove viciously into the monster's hideous face, sending him reeling back among his fellows. then the port clanged shut! the port clanged shut, and the sudden silence of the ship was nerve-shattering in its instant cessation of sound. vanning managed to get to his feet. he didn't look at callahan. lysla, he saw, was still motionless. hobbs was kneeling beside her. "lysla--she all right?" the detective rasped. "yes." hobbs managed a weak grin. "she got in the way of a paralyzing charge--but she'll be all right." "okay." vanning turned to the controls. they were archaic--in fact, the whole design of the ship was strange to him. it had been built a century ago, and rust and yellow corrosion was everywhere. "think it'll blast off?" callahan asked as vanning dropped into the pilot's seat. "we'll pray! let's see how much fuel--" he touched a button, his gaze riveted on a gauge. the needle quivered slightly--that was all. callahan didn't say anything. vanning's face went gray. "no fuel," he got out. there was a clanging tumult at the port, resounding from the outer hull. "they can't get in," callahan said slowly. "we can't raise the ship," vanning countered. "when we've used up all the air in here, we'll suffocate. unless we surrender to the swamja." hobbs gave a croaking laugh. "not likely. there aren't any weapons here. the ship's been stripped clean." callahan said, "if we could break through the dome--" "there might be enough fuel for that--if it hasn't deteriorated. but then what? we'd crash. certain death. you know that." vanning clicked another button into its socket. "let's see if the visi-plate works." it did. on a panel before him a dim light glowed. it gave place to a picture, clouded and cracked across the middle. they could see the square, with the swamja swarming into it in ever-increasing numbers, with the twisted buildings rising in the background, and the tower-tube shining far away. vanning caught his breath. "listen," he said. "there's still a chance. a damned slim one--" "what?" the detective hesitated. if he took time to weigh this mad scheme, he knew it would seem utterly impossible. instead, he snapped, "brace yourselves! we're taking off for a crash landing!" callahan looked at vanning's set, haggard face, and whirled. he picked up lysla's limp body and braced himself in a corner. zeeth and hobbs did the same. before any of them could speak, vanning had swung the power switch. he was praying silently that there was still a little fuel left in the chambers, just a little, and that it would still work. his prayer was answered instantly. with a roaring thunder of rocket-tubes the life-boat bulleted up from the ground! the bellow died. there was no more fuel. vanning stared at the visi-plate. beneath him the city of the swamja was spread, the elfin lights glimmering, the coral palaces twisted like strange fungus growths. automatically his hands worked at the corroded guide-levers that controlled the wind-vanes on the ship's hull. the space-boat circles--swept around-the shining tower-tube loomed directly ahead. jaws aching, teeth clenched, vanning held steady on his course. the ship thundered down with wind screaming madly in its wake. the tube loomed larger--larger still. it blotted out the city. one glimpse vanning had of the metal surface rising like a wall before him-and the ship struck! rending, ripping, tearing, the space-boat crashed through the tube, bringing it down in thundering ruin. briefly the visi-plate was a maelstrom of whirling shards. then the glare of an elf-light raced up to meet the ship. it exploded in flaming suns within vanning's brain. he never knew when the ship struck. v he looked up into zeeth's eyes. blood smeared the venusian's fat face, but he was smiling wanly. "hello," vanning said, sitting up. zeeth nodded. "the others are all right. still unconscious." "the crash--" "hobbs has a broken arm, and i cracked a rib, i think. but the ship's hull was tough." vanning stood up. his eyes was caught by the movement on the visi-plate, which had incredibly survived the shock of landing. he moved forward, bracing himself against the back of the pilot's chair. the city of the swamja lay spread beneath him. the ship had lodged itself high on one of the towers, smashing its way into a sort of cradle, and then rolling down till its bow faced north. in the distance the jagged metal of the tube stood up forty feet above ground level. the rest of it wasn't there, though gleaming, twisted plates of metal lay here and there in the streets. and through the avenues shapes were moving. they were the swamja, and they moved like automatons. they moved in one direction only--away from the ship. as far as vanning could see the swamja were pouring through their city. zeeth said softly, "you are very clever. i still do not understand--" vanning shrugged, and his voice was tired. "the only way, zeeth. i broke the tube that shot the north-fever virus into the upper air. the virus was released within the city, in tremendous quantity. you know how fast it works. and in this strength--" "yes. it strikes quickly." "once you've had the fever, you're immune to it ever afterward. so the slaves won't suffer. only the swamja. they're getting a dose of their own medicine." "they go north," zeeth said. "out of the city." it was true. far in the distance, the swamja were pouring toward the north gate, and vanishing through the open valves there. nothing could halt them. the deadly virus they had created was flaming in their veins, and--they went north. the did not walk; they ran, as though anxious to meet their doom. through the city they raced, grotesque, hideous figures, unconscious of anything but the terrible, resistless drive that drew them blindly north. through the north gate, into the pass-through the pass--to the lava pits! vanning's shoulders slumped. "it's nasty. but--i suppose--" "even the gods must die," zeeth said. "yeah.... well, we've work to do. we'll get food, water, and supplies, and head south for venus landing to get help. a small party will do. then we can commandeer troops and swamp-cats to rescue the slaves from this corner of hell. we can get through to venus landing all right--" "yes, that will be possible--though difficult. vanning--" zeeth's eyes hooded. "yeah?" "callahan is not here." "what?" the venusian made a quick gesture. "he awoke when i did. he told me to say that he had no wish to go to prison--so he was leaving." "where to?" vanning asked quietly. "venus landing. he left the ship an hour ago to get food and weapons, and by this time he is in the southern swamps, well on his way. at the landing, he said, he would embark on a space-ship heading--somewhere." "i see. he'll reach the landing before we do, then. before we leave, we'll have to get things in some sort of order." * * * * * both hobbs and the girl were moving slightly. presently they would awaken--and then the work would begin. with the city emptied of the swamja, it would be easy to organize the slaves, get up a party to march to venus landing-vanning's mouth twisted in a wry smile. so callahan was gone. he wasn't surprised. callahan would never know that the detective had awakened from the crash before any of the others--and had shammed unconsciousness till the fugitive had had time to make good his escape. vanning shrugged. maybe he was a damn fool. getting soft-hearted.... "okay," he said to zeeth. "let's get busy. we've got a job ahead of us!" the war-nymphs of venus by ray cummings the voluptuous golden civilization of arron was doomed. licentious laughter echoed through the water-kingdom, unmindful of the relentless, clanking invasion of the gorts. what fools, this handful of warrior-maidens led by a puny earthman, to pit their thin strength against tollgamo's iron army! [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from planet stories spring 1941. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] i was fishing for tarpon, lolling back in the stern of my small boat. the outboard motor, running at trolling speed, was a puttering purr in the drowsing watery silence. it was sunset of a summer evening of 1948. the gulf of mexico, out beyond the mouth of the little florida bayou inlet across which i was heading, was a glassy expanse, blood-red in the light of the huge setting sun. to the south lightning was playing along the orange sky. i recall that a vague uneasiness was upon me. because a storm might be coming? surely it was not that. i was within three miles of the small island where young jack allen and i were camping. it was my intention to head for there presently, especially as there had been no sign of tarpon. allen had been too lazy to come fishing; he had said he would loaf and have supper ready for us at dark. my name is kent fanning. jack allen and i were of an age--twenty-four, that summer. with our business in new york, we were here on vacation, having a permit to fish and to camp on the small, uninhabited island. the intermittent lightning at the southern horizon rose higher. faint muttering thunder was audible. a massive grey-white cloud was down there now, a thunderhead, coming northward with the storm behind it. i had decided to pull in my line and head for the island when suddenly i had a strike, the big reel humming as the line went out. a tarpon? i hooked it, shut off the motor, sat erect with my stout rod braced in the leather socket of my belt. i was prepared for a long struggle. and then, two hundred yards or so from me, the water broke with a floundering splash. i gasped, stared numbed. a floundering, oblong pink-white thing was there at the end of my line. a slim white arm flailed up as the thing turned, swimming on the surface frantically away from me. pink-white limbs gleaming in the moonlight. streaming tawny hair, like seaweed--hair in which my hook seemed to be caught. a girl! i had her at the boat in a moment, floundering in the moonlight, gasping, still trying to twist around and disentangle my hook from her long streaming hair. a small, slim figure, white-limbed yet flushed like moonlit coral. there was a brief dangling robe wetly clinging to her. it was of gleaming lustrous green as though perhaps it was a fabric of softly woven metal, painted green by the sea. an extraordinary yet very human girl. just a few seconds of my stricken amazement. i recall that i gasped inanely. "well--why good heavens--" her gasping laugh rippled like the splashing water in the moonlight. "sorry! i got some frightened to be confused." english! strangely intoned with little rippling liquid syllables. like nothing i had ever heard before and yet my own language. she had pulled my hook from the gleaming tawny tresses of her hair. then she flung up a coral-white arm. i bent, seized her wrist, drew her up and she came with a nimble, skilled little leap and landed on her feet in the boat beside me! ii i find myself now somewhat at a loss accurately and yet succinctly to depict that next hour or two. you who read this of course have heard much of the strange affair from newscasters and from the public prints. garbled reports, some of them. others pedantic with technical details of science. i am no scientist. it is my purpose here merely to give a factual account of the weird incidents which brought to me, kent fanning, a person certainly of no importance save perhaps to myself, a sudden prominence not in one world, but in two. queer that throughout my lifetime there had always been talk that some day, here on earth, scientists would discover the secret of spaceflight; that then intrepid adventurers would journey out into space. but as you all know now, the reverse, so seldom anticipated, was true. another world came to us, in the person of this strange venus girl; came indeed by utter chance, or destiny if you will; to me. venus; the earth. of all known planets, the two most close, and most alike. there are things brewing in the universe of which none of us can be aware, of course. a myriad things. and here was one of them. unknown to us, venus and the earth already were intermingled, fused into the beautiful little person of this strange girl--the blood of venus, the blood of earth flowing in her veins. you had not heard of george peters, doubtless. nor had i! a research chemist and physicist, in new york city, about 1930. he was a young man then; i think, twenty-eight. he sought no publicity. a wealthy man. with some twenty companions, all of them scientists, some of them older than himself, he was working, not on the secret of spaceflight, but with a ray--a vibration--which he hoped might reach some distant planet, as a means of communication if there should be inhabitants there. ironically he did not know he had succeeded! and it was men from venus--the villainous tollgamo of whom now you have heard so much--who was attracted by his signals and came to him; abducting him and his companions so that all that was known, here on earth was that one morning george peters' laboratory was found wrecked, and he and his companions were gone. "george peters, that is my father," the girl was telling me now as i headed the small open boat for the island where young allen and i were camping. and she had come to earth--the first time in her sixteen years that she had been off venus; stolen a small spaceflight cylinder from her father. her venus people needed help from the threat of tollgamo. all that was good and beautiful on venus and in her arone world of love and music and beauty, was to be destroyed by the monstrous threat of this dictator from his mechanized realm of the gorts. "wait," i said, as she poured it at me, at times only half coherent. "you came here to earth, for help? you came alone?" "yes. you have not, father thinks, yet discovered the secret of spaceflight. he was sending the cylinder, with drawings and scientific details of how spaceflight was accomplished by tollgamo and his evil men. and so i came. we want that you should build a spaceship and come to venus. your men, and some of your weapons of war, to help us fight tollgamo." and she had dropped here into the gulf of mexico, wrecked the little one-man space-vehicle so that she barely escaped with her life. and it sank, with its secret of spaceflight obliterated by the sea, even if by some chance the little metal mechanisms themselves could be recovered. i think that she had given no thought to that realization as she swam to save herself and suddenly found my trolling hooks entangled in her hair. nereid of the sea. far more like her venus mother than her earth father, water was almost her natural element, since her blood did not need the replenishment of oxygen so quickly as ours, so that for ten minutes or more she need not breathe. * * * * * i learned only fragmentary details of all this that midge peters had to tell, there in the boat as we headed for the island. surely i must admit that the weirdness of it startled me, and for just a moment perhaps, it vaguely occurred to me that here was some trickster, or a mentality unbalanced. but to look at her, was to know that certainly here was no earth girl! i had to believe her. but i must admit, i gave little thought, there in the boat, to any menace to her world, or to the ironic fact that she had brought to earth the treasured secret of spaceflight and already had lost it so that she was marooned here. here was the amazing, beautiful little creature herself in the boat beside me, and what she was saying of venus dwindled into insignificance with the stirring of my pulses as i stared at her. slim little body, hardly matured, but fashioned with almost a normal earthly beauty. yet there was a strangeness that made her different. the flush of pink coral to her flesh; her shimmering robe with moonbeams rippling on it like moonrays on green rippled water; her long tawny tresses, drying now in the wind. but most of all, i think, the strangeness was in her eyes. the sea was there in the green depths of her eyes. eyes that mirrored the soul of a strange girlhood; eyes that had seen things strange to me, reflecting now the thoughts, emotions of another world. "you look at me so queerly," she said suddenly. "why is that?" "well you--you--" suddenly it was hard to say anything of my conflicting thoughts. "you--well, why wouldn't i be startled? a little sea nymph. you should have been named nereid." again her laugh rippled. "nereid? why yes, my father calls me that, though my mother named me midge. that was when she learned english. so i am not like earth-girls? my father has said it many times. but you--" her gaze at me was earnest, direct. "you do not look queer to me," she added. "you look much in the fashion of my father, grown younger." surely i have given only a vague picture indeed of that half hour in the boat with nereid as the puttering little outboard motor drove us to the island where jack allen would be waiting for me. half an hour, so crowded with my first jumbled impressions of what nereid's weird venus-world must be like. "that is your island?" nereid said suddenly. "why--it looks very pretty." the storm still was rising in the south--occasional bursts of lightning and rolling, reverberating thunderclaps. but the starlight and moonlight was over us. it silvered the island palms; it lay like white metal on the sand of the island's shore. i headed us into the little cove. a small dilapidated dock was there. on a little rise behind the palmetto fringe, under the palm trees, a shaft of moonlight gleamed on the white of our tent. i thought that young allen would have heard the putt-putt of my motor and be down at the dock now to greet me. but there was no sign of him. i shut off the motor. silence leaped at us. "queer," i said. "jack promised he'd have supper ready." the glow of campfire beside the tent was visible. in the silence i could hear the murmur of music from our little portable radio. allen must have been here only a few minutes ago. i called, "oh jack--jack, where are you?" there was only the roll of my words, echoing into silence. very queer. nereid was in the bow of that boat. "fend us off," i said as we glided to the dock. this weird girl. water, almost her native element so that suddenly she dove over the bow. flash of coral limbs, green-sheathed little body and streaming tawny hair. there was hardly a splash as she slipped into the water and then was swimming backward against our gliding little boat. it slid to the dock, gently eased up, and nereid was gone. for a moment i held my breath, with my heart pounding. foolish apprehension. abruptly she appeared, out in the middle of the cove, head and shoulders bobbing up as she shook the water from her tresses and flung up an arm to greet me. "come back here," i called. the silent cove echoed with the ripple of her laugh. with weaving limbs, incredibly swiftly her body slid through the water; submerged again, and she came up laughing, like a dog shaking herself as she jumped to the dock. "some day we will swim together, kent." again she flung me that sidelong glance of coquetry. "and if you swim like my father, without much trouble i could drown you. you think so?" "no argument on that," i said. queerly i seemed to feel, just for that instant, almost a vague resentment. resentment of a man at the superior prowess of a woman. instinctive, of course. she seemed to understand it, and she laughed again. "our young men of venus are like that," she said, "for they, too, cannot swim very well." and instantly her face clouded. "that, too, is part of the trouble of my world--the men who would have their mates kept from the water so that the man may be in everything the master. our virgins do not like that." she clung to my hand as we went up the palmetto-lined path to the camp. and suddenly she seemed frightened. an aura of sudden menace was here. i, too, could feel it. allen had started supper. the things were out; food was in the frying pan, burning now in a charred mass over the campfire flames. "kent--something wrong--" * * * * * we stood tense. like animals abruptly scenting danger, yet having no least idea what it was, or from whence it could come.... and abruptly in the silence, the murmuring little radio here changed from music to a newscaster's flash. "nereid listen--news of you--" i murmured. something had been seen, late this afternoon, dropping swiftly from the sky--something, a meteorite?--the few eyewitnesses differed in trying to describe it. "_mysterious missile drops into the gulf ten miles off lonely palmetto key._" the newscaster drew on his imagination, conjecturing what the round shining thing could have been, which two fishing boats had reported seeing coming hurtling down from the afternoon sky, dropping into the glassy gulf. i smiled at nereid as for a moment we stood listening. her little falling space-cylinder already was causing comment. i could envisage the incredulous amazement of the authorities at tampa when i took her there, told them who she was. the world would ring with it. blaring newscasters: "_stranded venus girl! marooned on earth! venus inhabited! venus threatened with bloody revolution! appeals to earth for help! daughter of two worlds brings secret of spaceflight to earth, and loses it on her arrival!_" and some would try to be humorous: "_girl from venus brings gift of spaceflight secret, and loses it before she can give it to us! isn't that what you would expect of a woman?_" "_kent fanning and weird girl try to hoax scientists--_" somehow as i thought of it, resentment sprang within me at what this would do to the gentle little nereid. allen and i, tomorrow when the storm was over, would have to take her to tampa, of course. or perhaps we would take her to some scientific society, with less publicity. and an effort would be made to recover her cylinder, with its precious secret. it was my swift flow of thoughts as for that moment the newscaster droned on. and suddenly his voice changed. he had been describing the mysterious falling of what quite evidently had been nereid's little vehicle. and now another press bulletin had reached him. "_mysterious airship descends from the stratosphere, lands in the gulf near palmetto key, off west coast of florida. at sunset tonight--_" nereid gripped me with a little gasping cry as we listened. a gleaming metal thing, flatly oblong with a turret globe at bow and stern, had been distantly seen by a tramp freighter which was heading westward into the gulf, bound for mexico. a metal ship--blood-red with the sunset on it--slowly floating down; rotating slowly, weirdly on its horizontal axis.... it had been seen to land on the gulf surface. and then slowly submerge, heading shoreward like a plunging submarine as it vanished! nereid murmured, "tollgamo, he has a ship like that! but my father has none! oh kent--" a spaceship from venus! was it that? following nereid here to seize her; to prevent her from giving the secret of interplanetary transportation to earth! the newscaster was saying something about u.s. coast guard cutters being ordered from tampa to investigate. and from here on little palmetto key, young allen had disappeared! the implication of that struck at me. for a second i stared at nereid, the firelight gleaming soft and warm on her dripping little body; tinting her pink-coral face which now was stamped with terror. but we had no more warning than that. the storm was at hand now, and the wind was lashing the upper fronds of the palms; purple darkness here on the island with a flash of lightning and almost simultaneous thunderclap. for that second the palmetto shrubs were whitely illumined by the electric glare. fifty feet away a big, dark upright shape abruptly was visible. and another--and another! men stalking us! the glare died. there was only turgid windy darkness. i must have muttered something to nereid; my arm went around her as we turned to run back to our boat in the cove. too late! from the palm woods behind us a violet beam of light stabbed out. it caught us; bathed us. there was a guttural shout; the sound of a little pop and something whizzing with a whining hum through the air. i felt something strike my legs. a little blob which with its impact abruptly uncoiled, and then coiled again as it wrapped itself around my legs so that i crashed heavily to earth face down. and another had hit my neck. ghastly thing--quivering steel spring. it felt like that; thin quivering metal encircling my throat. almost like a thing alive, gripping me with its metal fingers ... strangling me. i was aware that nereid, too, had fallen. my groping fingers clutched at the strangling band; its sharp edges cut my fingers as futilely i tried to tear it loose. i recall that i lay threshing, lunging, with my legs pinned and my breath gone. dark figures were standing over me now. guttural chuckling voices mingled with the roaring torrent of niagara in my ears. then the dancing spots before my bulging eyes blurred the gathering dark shapes. iii the roaring in my ears came first as my consciousness struggled back. my fumbling fingers felt my throat. the band was gone; the skin was swollen there. then i knew that i was bathed in the cold sweat of weakness and was lying on the metal grid of a floor. the murmur of voices sounded around me; and i opened my eyes to find myself in a dimly starlit, circular turret room. the control room of a spaceship. it hummed with a throbbing rhythm of its current. but save for that it was queerly still, vibrationless. we were in space. through the round, transparent turret walls i could see the blazing stars in a black firmament to one side. the other was shrouded with metal blinds, through the chinks of which dazzling sunlight was showing, so that i knew we had already left the giant cone of the earth's shadow. heading partly toward the sun. heading for venus? it seemed so. men were here around me. huge, burly, strangely garbed men--one at the controls, where banks of levers and dials with quivering indicators were ranged in rows with a line of little fluorescent globes diagonally across them. two other men sat softly talking together; guttural, unintelligible words. weird figures indeed. at first glance they could have been towering robots; wide, square shoulders, rectangular bodies, round tubular, jointed legs. the starlight glinted on their burnished, grey-white metal casements. then as they moved, i saw that their garments were of flexible woven metal. the one at the controls was bareheaded, a round bullet head of close-cropped black hair. his face was heavy; skin queerly grey-white. weird features, with a protruding chin and long hawk nose so that the mouth was a greylipped slit, depressed between the projections of his nose and lower jaw. and he had deep-set, round dark eyes under shaven black brows. men of science. humans whose life was of such efficient, mechanical rigidity that they themselves had the aspect of machines. worshipers of precision; of mechanization. the aura of it was on them. i saw that one of them was sitting impassive, stiffly erect in his metal garments with his gaze roving me like a guard. strange, jewel-like little weapons were at his waist and in pouches of his metal jacket. on his head was a metal, peaked helmet--its peak fashioned in the form of a hawk-like bird, poised for screaming flight. across the starlit circular room, another of the men was sitting, gazing out at the firmament. a man? i stared with a new amazement. the same square, jointed metal garments. but the hips were wider, the shoulders more narrow. a woman, of this mechanized race of gorts. her breast swelled beneath her mailed tunic. her hair was black, long to the base of her neck, covering her ears. a shining black metal band was around her forehead, holding the hair from her eyes. strange, powerful amazon. she was a good six feet tall; her face was hawk-nosed like the men, but with lips that were fuller, of a reddish tinge. then as i stared, the man at the controls called to her: "garga--" she rose; moved to him. her dangling weapons, and a huge metal ornament on her bosom, clanked as she walked. at the control table the leader gave her orders; guttural crisp words unintelligible to me. she nodded; went to a small table across the room, where with charts and computations she seemed figuring the course of our flight. garga, woman of the gorts. mechanized womanhood, with all that womanhood stands for in my own world submerged within her so that she was a mere female machine. and suddenly my mind, still dazed now in these first moments of my returning consciousness, swept back to nereid. strange world, this venus, to hold two such contrasting types of female! what a gulf between them! where was nereid now? had she been killed in that attack upon us? anxiety swept me. i had struggled up on one elbow. the watching gort saw me; he muttered an exclamation and the man at the controls came clanking to his feet. a giant fellow, well over six feet. his slit of mouth widened with a grin like a gash between his nose and chin as he bent down over me. "you--still alive?" he greeted. "what your name?" i sat up, still rubbing my bruised throat. "kent fanning," i said. "so you talk english? there was a girl with me, back there on that island. where is she?" he gestured blandly. "she safe. daughter of peters. tollgamo wants her not injured. he will like you too, i think perhaps. you have scientific skill of earth science?" i would be kept alive for the knowledge i might have. "well, maybe," i said. "where is peters' daughter? i want to see her. where are you taking us? to venus?" "you ask too much quick questions," he retorted. his grey knuckles rapped his mailed chest. "i am rhool, second to tollgamo. i talk with you some else time. maybe you teach me more the english? eh?" "where is peters' daughter?" i insisted. i was on my feet, still dizzy; and as i staggered a little, i clutched rhool's metal clothed arm. it angered, or perhaps startled him. with a sweeping gesture, incredibly powerful, his arm flung me aside. his guttural barking command brought the woman garga with a pounce. i have not mentioned that i am a bit under six feet in height; slim and dark. not very powerful; but i have, my friends tell me, a temper somewhat flaring so that in a rough and tumble fight i usually can take care of myself. but the glare in rhool's eyes warned me that this was a time when discretion certainly was better than valor. the woman garga towered an inch or so over me; her fingers gripped my shoulders. "so?" she muttered. "you think to cause trouble?" i summoned a grim smile. "i do not. i want to be taken to peters' daughter. where is she?" rhool, back at his instrument table now, barked a command; and the metal-clad gort woman shoved me. "you come with me. i take you." to nereid? i hoped so. docilely i preceded garga along a glowing humming little metal corridor of the spaceship. she said nothing more, but flung open a small metal door after unbarring its fastenings, shoved me in and banged it upon me. i found myself in a small metal sleeping apartment. brilliant starlight filtered in through its single bullseye pane. a figure was in the corner on a fabric couch. "you kent? good lord." * * * * * it was jack allen. they had pounced on him, back there on palmetto key. i sat with him now, telling him of the weird things which had happened to me; telling him of nereid. he stared. "good lord, kent--well, i understand it better now." there were things that he had learned; and as he told them to me, nereid's only half-coherent story began to clarify. "that woman garga," allen was saying with his ready grin, "i get along fine with her. pumped a lot of facts out of her." physically, allen and i are of quite different types, which is perhaps why we are such friends. he says i have a romantic, sort of poetic look--from my mother, who was spanish. and that, he says, goes with a bad temper. however that may be, certainly he was always the opposite. a giant, blond fellow; six feet four; rugged, sun-bronzed, like a young viking. and he had an almost unfailing good nature. a slow, quiet smile. slow of movement; usually somewhat lazy. but there were times, rare intervals, when he was angered. his movements were panther-like then, and i wouldn't like to be the one to meet him in a fight. "that garga woman likes me," he grinned. he lowered his voice as he leaned toward me. "she looks like a machine, but still she's a woman. get the idea? if we ever get out of this, that might be the way." and then he told me what he knew of nereid's strange venus world. the realm of the arones was in a lush forest, the tropic region. compared to our earth population, there were not many of the arones. half a million perhaps, in little forest and water villages, with twenty thousand in the chief city, known as arron.... how shall i attempt even an outline of the ethnological history of venus? i can give only the barest suggestion of it. in former ages doubtless there had been millions of humans on this, earth's sister planet. a civilization rising to great heights of science, with all the planet's surface mastered by man. and then decadence had come. mankind resting; then drifting backward. dwindling in number; with science forgotten, put aside as a memory, a tradition. and slowly but inexorably the monstrous animals, insects, the weird vegetation again took primitive possession of most of the globe. "so that's your nereid's people," allen was saying. "decadent--soft now--trying to accomplish nothing." except human happiness. i recalled nereid's words of her world, living for love and music and beauty. strange how in all human affairs there are two sides of looking at everything! i said something like that to allen, and he nodded. "the trouble with science," he agreed, "is that it can be so easily perverted. things to benefit mankind, turned into engines of death. that's the recent history of our own world." and the arones had gone to the other extreme. science was banned. men and women should live for human happiness, with no thought of conquest, or of personal power. and out of this, a few generations ago, had risen the gorts. they had been for centuries a nomadic race of giants, mere savages roaming the barren parts of the planet. few in number, and like the savages of our own earth, apparently doomed to extinction. banished criminals from the world of the arones, generations back, had joined them, brought them science--stolen things of science. and out of this sprang the gort, tollgamo. his father had started it: tollgamo, the son, carried it on. he was a genius, of course. a genius with mad dreams. to mechanize his little world. there were only a few thousand of them now. men and women making themselves into machines; fed by tollgamo upon his own mad dreams of venus conquest. he had discovered the secret of spaceflight, which before him, on venus, had never been known. peters' earth-signals had attracted him, and quietly he had gone to earth, and seized peters and his men; bringing them to venus so that they might tell him all they knew of their science. it would be useful, that future day when he would attempt to conquer the arones. most, perhaps all, of peters' men were dead now; killed, possibly by tollgamo, when their usefulness to him was finished. but peters had escaped; gone to the arones. and telling them their danger, had made himself the leader of the revival of their science. all nereid's life, her father, with a group of men he had trained, had feverishly been working in the city of arron, to build weapons with which to combat the attack when it came. all that was known to tollgamo, of course. he had spies in arron. queer how human nature is the same, wherever in the universe the creator has planted it! the fatuous, decadent, pleasure-loving leader of the arones was unwilling to believe that the gorts could be any menace. the efforts of peters and his fellow scientists, even now were looked upon with disfavor. peters and his men were distrusted, even accused of having dreams of conquest of their own. thousands of the arones thought it, so that there was an undercurrent of strife in arron, fostered, of course, by tollgamo's spies. "and now tollgamo seems to be about ready for his attack," allen was telling me. "peters probably has no weapons of any importance with which to oppose him. and so peters made an effort to get help from earth. tollgamo found it out, and sent this ship to follow the girl so as to keep her from giving the secret of spaceflight to earth." the barred metal door of our little cubby suddenly opened. a gort man stood there. allen and i stared. like the other gorts, he was encased in shining mailed garments. but he was crippled, bent and twisted, with one shoulder higher than the other and a lump on his bent back. on him, the metal garments were grotesque. he came sidling in, grinning at us with his ugly, puffed and bloated grey-skinned face. "i am borgg," he said. "you will have food and drink soon. you hungry?" "i want to see the peters girl," i retorted. "take me to her." he shook his head. "garga will take care of her. she is safe." his glowing, dark-eyed gaze roved us. out in the corridor there was a man's voice--one of the other gorts passing. and the weird, shambling hunchback suddenly burst into guttural laughter. "so the earthmen are afraid of me? afraid of borgg, who wants only to amuse people?" he suddenly backed away from us, hurling what seemed a stream of invective at us in the guttural syllables of his own language. then he backed through our door, slammed it upon us and bolted it. we stared at each other blankly. "well i'll be damned," allen muttered. "what could that mean?" * * * * * i can only sketch the weird events of that voyage to venus. my first spaceflight. you who read this can anticipate taking one soon, of course. and you are naturally familiar with the glowing words of description the newscasters have used. with the mechanical details of interplanetary traveling, the more scientific-minded among you must be thoroughly familiar. i think all that need have little place in my narrative. human motives; human conflicts. the things of actuality which happened to me, to jack allen, to little nereid--with those things only am i concerned here. there were some ten men and five of the grim gort women, here on the space vehicle. by earth routine of living, it could have been five or six days. after the first time of sleep, allen and i were given a fair freedom of movement. much of it we spent in the control turret, with rhool, the leader here. tollgamo's lieutenant was well pleased with himself. he was bringing nereid back. he had learned from her that her little space-cylinder was lost at the bottom of the sea on earth. what tollgamo had ordered, rhool had accomplished, with efficiency which would bring him commendation. and he was bringing allen and me back, earthmen whom tollgamo doubtless would very much want to question. "you tell him much--he treat you well," rhool assured us with his heavy leer. he was, i could see, far more impressed with allen than with me; allen who now was winning his confidence, pretending that there was much he could tell tollgamo; hinting even that he and i would not be averse to joining the great master of the gorts in his schemes of conquest. nereid was unharmed. the woman garga was caring for her; and on the third day from earth, allen persuaded garga to bring nereid to the turret. after that, nereid was often with us, and her fragile, delicate beauty here among the grey, metal-clad gorts made her seem ethereal indeed. she came to my side, with her face lighting up. "i was afraid they had killed you," she whispered. "bad time for us all, my earth-friend. i--i did very badly on my adventure to earth." she told us then that her father had built the little cylinder, intending to send one of his men in it. but nereid, who had learned its operation, had stolen it. then suddenly she was whispering to us, that the gorts in the turret might not hear. "i have a brother--my twin--his name is leh. tollgamo does not know there is such a person." she shot a furtive glance around the turret. "for several years he has been living with the gorts. pretending he is one of them. from him, father has gotten much information of tollgamo's plans. it would be death to leh if who he is were known. and now i will tell you--leh is--" a guttural shout from rhool at the control table checked her. "he says, stop whispering," she murmured. "that other thing i will tell you later.... i speak the english," she said to rhool. "you speak it too? then we talk it here, so that these earthmen may understand?" rhool laughed. his heavy dark gaze roved her. "you very beautiful," he said. "see--i talk english. come sit by me. the starshine makes you beautiful, girl of arron." i tensed, with my heart pounding as i saw his darkly leering gaze rove over her again. "easy!" whispered allen. "don't start anything." then at last venus had grown to a full-round, glowing silver disk before our bow. after the next time of sleep it was a monstrous ball, filling half the firmament, mottled with clouds so that its surface configurations were only vaguely apparent. heavy, thick venus atmosphere. within another day of our living routine we dropped into it, sliding diagonally downward, with slackening velocity now and rocket streams of fluorescent gases to check and guide us. with rhool and nereid i was in the starlit turret. it was night here, the venus night of atmospheric fog. rhool had been drinking from a little gourd at his belt, and was flushed with his triumph and the liquor. "a few hours," he said to nereid. "then i give you to tollgamo." his arm went suddenly around her waist, drawing her against him. what he was muttering in his own language i had no idea; but as she cried out, struggling with him, i jumped. "that's enough from you--let her alone!" i rasped. * * * * * he cast her off, leaped to his feet. rage darkened his heavy face so that it seemed to blacken. my lunging jab struck his mailed chest, but my swing at his face missed him. he jumped backward, with a hand going to a weapon at his belt. i have no doubt that i would have been dead in another few seconds. but there were shouts behind me; the woman garga and allen coming from the corridor. garga's guttural remonstrance checked the angry rhool. and then borgg, the weird little hunchback, came shambling forward. "stop it!" allen shouted at me. "easy there, you idiot!" borgg grabbed me. as i fought, his mouth jabbed against my ear. his voice was a sibilant whisper. "fight me--not too hard! i am leh--her brother!" nereid's brother! spy among the gorts, for years masquerading in this grotesque guise of half-demented hunchback jester! i struggled with him now as he cuffed me, while nereid stared terrified and rhool laughed with coarse ribald amusement, appeased that i was being beaten. and then leh shoved me from the turret, dragged me down the corridor, slammed me into my sleeping cubby. again his mouth was to my ear. "later tonight, i will try and turn you loose. and your friend allen, and my sister." in a swift whisper he told me his plans. at the ship's lower exit porte he had hidden a small anti-gravity platform, and three pressure suits. we could escape from there. he shoved the door upon me, barred it and was gone. i sat tense in the darkness, those last hours. through the bullseye window the venus clouds were an opalescent haze of weird glowing luminosity, like phosphorescence in tropic water. it seemed inherent to the cloud-vapours; but more than that i could see that it was radiating up from below. venus-shine. pale and weirdly beautiful light inherent to the planet herself. and then our little ship sank below the clouds, and the surface of venus lay spread some ten thousand feet below me. it was an amazing world of lush shining forests and gleaming, rippling opalescent water. we were near the country of the arones; but for just a moment, beyond the shining sea, tiers of black metal mountains were visible which i knew to be the country of the gorts. the rasp of my door softly opening made me turn. the grotesque hunched form of nereid's brother stood there, with a hand in a silencing gesture to his mouth. "most of them are in the forward control turret. you go down into the hull to the exit porte. my sister and allen will join you." he shoved me. then he softly closed my door, barred it, and shambled forward toward the turret, grinning, mumbling an inane little tune. i ducked into a doorway; went down an incline ladder. the hull corridor was dark, with just a small hooded light of green glow. tense, alert, i came to the pressure porte doorway. and suddenly a figure stirred in the shadows. "kent!" it was nereid, crouching here, waiting for me. i gripped her. "where's jack?" "my brother said he would send him down. but he has not come." then we heard faint footsteps on the incline. and suddenly from up there in the dimness, came allen's voice: "why--why hello, garga. i didn't see you." and the gort woman's voice: "where you go, jack allen?" "why--why rhool said he didn't mind my moving around the ship. come into the turret, garga. i want you to show me your world. don't you think i am going to like it?" "maybe. and if tollgamo like you, jack allen--" their voices receded. allen would make no attempt now to join us, that was obvious. with garga eager always to be with him, his attempt would be futile. i whispered it to nereid. "we are close to my country now," she murmured. "too late for us to escape successfully, if we wait much longer." we did not need the pressure suits which leh had hidden here, thinking he might find an opportunity for us to disembark while still above the atmosphere. the anti-gravity platform was an oblong, raft-like metallic thing, with its mechanisms under a hood in its bow. nereid understood its workings. she lay flat upon it as i slid it through the porte and jumped beside her. we went like a sliding rocket, with a rush of wind that stopped our breath. but the hooded bow partially shielded us, so that presently we could breathe. behind us, and over us now, the gleaming shape of the spaceship was seemingly sliding upward and backward. beneath us the shining sea with a glowing shoreline off at the horizon seemed rocking with a crazy sway. and then at last we steadied. "did it!" i gloated. "we made it, nereid. evidently they didn't see us rocketing off." there was no sign of any alarm from the ship and presently it had dwindled high above us and was gone. amazingly swift, that downward glide. the wind whistled past us with a screaming whine. at five hundred feet nereid leveled us as we headed for the glowing shoreline. i could see artificial illumination there now, a myriad little dots of colored lights. and then little colored beams were waving. "my city--the city of arron," nereid said. it was a few miles back in the forest, where a great shining lagoon opened. a riot of glowing, prismatic color burst upon us; and as nereid saw it, she sucked in her breath with a little gasp. "the love festival," she murmured. "oh why--why would they have that in times like these? with tollgamo so ready to attack us?" i stared down with awed amazement at the scene of weird sensuous beauty spread now so close beneath us. * * * * * allen's first sight of the country of gorts, as he afterward told me, was a line of terraced hills that rose steeply up from the shore of the placid sea. he was in the controlroom of the spaceship with rhool, and with the grim woman garga beside him. it had been a tense time for allen, when the escape of nereid and myself was discovered. but he had been allowed a measure of freedom, whereas i was locked in my cubby. allen was not suspected, nor, fortunately, was leh. two of the gorts came in for rhool's wrath. "tollgamo will deal with you," he said. then allen spoke up, denouncing me as a traitor to him; claiming that i had agreed to join tollgamo. "that peters girl bewitched him," allen said. whether it fooled the big, leering rhool or not, allen couldn't tell. perhaps it did, for allen now was taken more as one of them, than a prisoner. the country of the gorts! to allen, as he stared down through the turret window of the spaceship, those terraces of grey metal rock were as grim and forbidding as the gort people themselves. in the glowing night-sheen, the barren wastes near the shore seemed utterly without life. and then allen saw weird vegetation in little patches; and occasionally roaming wild things with round eyes which stared up at the ship. some of them incuriously stared; others, frightened, scuttled away. the ship now was following a broad, gleaming inlet of the iridescent sea. ten earth-miles or so, to its head where lights gleamed on a terraced hillside. it was tollgamo's little city. allen had only a brief glimpse as the ship swooped down and settled into the rack of a metal landing stage. rows of blue and green lights were strung in half a dozen rows on the terraces, one above the other to mark the streets, with metal ladders vertically connecting them. metal and stone little houses, polished, grey-blue, lined the streets. at one end of the lower street, close by a promontory bluff where beyond a bridge-like metal ladder a smaller kiosk overlooked the inlet, there was a larger, square building, terraced into three stories. round spots of dull purple light marked its four corners. on its roof, metal-garbed figures paced back and forth. "tollgamo the master--that is his house," the woman garga murmured to allen. green-yellow, turgid smoke belched from a chimney-like opening in the cliff, where doubtless, partly underground, a factory was in operation. figures moved in the grim weird glow of the bleak streets; apparatus was being dragged along one of them. men and women working; and in the doors and windows of the cubical houses, the figures of children stood peering. as the ship settled lower, allen realized that both above and below ground it was a beehive of activity now. and presently he could hear sounds; the clank of metal machinery; the grind of gears; the voices of the workers. beside him allen was suddenly aware of the grotesque, hunched form of nereid's brother, leh. neither of them spoke; and then leh, with a surreptitious gesture, indicated the shining inlet. down on the opposite shore of it, a tunnel mouth showed, with a red-yellow glare back under the opposite cliff. a crowd of metal-clad workers, goggled against the glare so that they looked like huge beetle-eyed insects, were struggling with apparatus which they were pulling out. leh was tense. then a moment came where he was able to whisper furtively to allen. "i will try later to get us to that cliff. do you see that kiosk? if we can get there, we will dive to the water. from there i have a way of escaping." that was all. allen had only time to murmur assent. the ship landed. with rhool half guarding, half leading him, he was taken along the lower street. the workers stood grim, impassive, until they recognized rhool. then like machines they stood stiff, with a hand touching the metal insignia of their helmets until rhool had passed. even the children stood rigid, saluting. little bodies drilled to efficiency; impassive childish faces. but in their eyes still there was childhood--excited, wondering childhood. rhool and allen passed the guards at the entrance to tollgamo's home. in the dim blue-green glow of a metal room allen was told by rhool to stand, and tollgamo would come. then rhool was gone. unseen eyes were watching allen. he sensed it; and stood stiffly against one wall, awaiting the coming of the master. it was a strange, square apartment. blue-lit, so that its richly tiled floor and ceiling glistened like polished steel. the furniture was square, glistening in the light-sheen. at one end of the room a huge polished table with a single big chair at its end, held a variety of small apparatus, a bank of levers and little buttons as though for signalling commands. and there was a neat stack of what seemed to be charts and mathematical data. a murmur outside the room brought allen back from his contemplation of his surroundings. men's voices; a guttural command. then rhool came in, walking with stiff, pseudo mechanical tread. on his heavy face was a grinning leer. behind him there was a gort man and woman. allen recognized them; both had been on the spaceship and both were blamed by rhool for the escape of nereid and me. they came now marching stiffly erect. their faces were impassive, but terror was in their eyes and in the tense set of their lips. * * * * * and then at last came tollgamo. involuntarily allen gasped at sight of him. he was a giant figure of a man, six feet six, at least. unlike the square, robot appearance of his menials, his garments of grey metal-fabric were soft, and clinging. a flowing tunic fell from his powerfully broad shoulders to below his waist, with a wide, glistening metal belt; trousers which sheathed his powerful, shapely legs; shoes with padded soles so that he moved soundlessly. he was bareheaded, and his black hair, closely clipped, came to a peak at his forehead. his skin was the familiar venus grey, but there was a saffron cast to it. his high-bridged nose was hawk-like, his chin protruding, but square--the firm jaw completely characteristic of determination and power. his thin-lipped mouth, as he came quietly in and surveyed allen with dark-eyed gaze, was faintly smiling. allen, standing rigid, silently met the stare. it was then that he felt, far more than in tollgamo's commanding aspect, the power of the man's personality. a dominant force seemed to radiate from him, so that no one could be in his presence an instant without feeling it. an aura of command that made allen suddenly feel like a child. helpless; and with a vague, indefinable shudder within him. and then tollgamo spoke. suave, gentle voice of careful, cultivated english, meticulously correct, yet with a strange foreign intonation. "so you are one of the earthmen, jack allen?" "yes," allen said; and then remembered rhool's instructions, so that after a moment he added, "yes, master. i give you service." tollgamo's faint ironic smile broadened; his glittering dark eyes seemed to hold a twinkle of sardonic amusement, "you learn fast." his gaze darted away; went to rhool, and then to the gort man and woman from the spaceship who stood with terror in their eyes. "i hear that you need punishment," he said gently. "this earthman will learn from it." his tone, almost drab, was casual, with a slow finality. with pounding heart, allen stood watching the metal-clad man and woman as tollgamo quietly confronted them. the terror leaped from their eyes to stamp their faces. and tollgamo said quietly, "that is bad to show fear. that forces the punishment to be worse." at his gesture, a flick of his jeweled fingers, they bared their grey chests. tollgamo's hands were at his ornamented belt, each of them leveling a little jeweled weapon. the weapons suddenly hissed, and from each of them a tiny violet pencilray of heat-light sprang. allen gulped as the beams struck the chests of the two victims, and the grey flesh, turned red, then black as tollgamo wrote a brand of punishment, an insignia of dishonor. the man stood firm, with a hand still at salute, his slit of mouth twisted as he pressed his lips together in an attempt to restrain his cry of pain. but the woman involuntarily moaned. it was too much for allen. he gasped, "stop that, you damned torturer! they're not the ones who are guilty anyway! they--" tollgamo had finished. he snapped off the tiny rays and slowly turned to where allen had taken a step toward him. and the smile now was gone from his serene face. "you are not yet trained," he said quietly. "i forgive you for that--so short a time." another flick of his hand; and rhool led the stumbling man and woman away. the smell of the burning flesh drifted off; and tollgamo, alone here now, fronted the shuddering allen. again he was gently smiling. "you show weakness?" he said. "i am disappointed. so you know who released that kent fanning, and peters' daughter?" "no i don't. i'm sorry. that was just my desire to stop you doing that to that woman." amusement was in tollgamo's eyes and twitching at his thin grey lips. "so? you would join me, and still try to lie to me?" his gesture dismissed it. "we will talk of that some other time." for a moment he stood pondering. "that girl--that peters' daughter," he added. "rhool tells me she is very beautiful. is that so?" there seemed a twinkle in his inscrutable eyes. "yes," allen agreed. "that is interesting. i must see for myself. i think perhaps i must protect her from the things that will happen tonight." allen tensed inside. did he mean that his attack upon the arones would take place tonight? "the woman garga will give you supper," tollgamo added abruptly. from a ring on his finger a silent light-signal sprang across the room and through a small arcade doorway; and at once garga appeared there. "take him to my rest-room," tollgamo said. "he is hungry. give him food. i will send for him later." "yes, master." then as tollgamo moved away, lithe and silent as a great panther, with his padded soles soundless on the metal floor, he said quietly. "your thoughts are very transparent, earthman. but i think you can be of use to me." * * * * * in the small adjoining room, garga brought allen food. they ate it together. "what did he mean by things that will happen tonight?" allen suddenly murmured. garga had been sitting, staring at him with her slumbrous dark gaze. "the attack," she said. "and peters doesn't know that?" "no." her hand touched him. "i am trusting you." "of course," allen agreed. he recalled how nereid's brother, leh, as the spaceship landed, had gazed down at the inlet, across which workers were bringing things from a tunnel to the edge of the water. leh had sucked in his breath as though with startled surprise. "the attack," allen murmured. "will it be upon the city of arron?" "yes--naturally. and the imbecile slaves there--they think they are going to help." her grim grey face lighted with a smile. "that will be amusing; those imbecile workers causing bloodshed, making it so easy for us, when we get there." "get there--how, garga? by air?" allen felt that leh now was trying to get just such information as this; and he and allen would escape--get to arron and warn peters. but evidently haste was necessary. by what tollgamo said, he would be attacking perhaps within a few hours. "by air?" garga echoed. "oh no. by water." she leaned closer to allen. a woman warrior. but the womanhood in her now was making her bosom rise and fall with her emotion at allen's nearness. "under the water," she murmured. "you see how clever we are? that is the last method of attack that the arones think we will try. there are grottos beneath the city of arron. grottos with the sea in them. so that we shall come up that way, appearing all over the city at once." she chuckled. "they will not know there is to be any attack at all. just trouble with the imbeciles. and suddenly we will be there among them!" allen had it now! all the information needed. more than ever now he wanted to connect with leh, and escape out of here. "garga, listen," he murmured, "were you ordered to stay here with me, until tollgamo sends for me?" "yes," she agreed. her gaze clung to his. "that will not be--too hard for you?" "no--no, of course not, garga, but listen--" abruptly allen tensed. in a dark doorway nearby, beyond which allen knew tollgamo's guards were stationed, a dim blob of figure had appeared. garga's back was to the door; she did not see the lurking shape. it was a hunched, misshapen silhouette. leh, in his masquerade as jester, standing there listening. "listen," allen quickly resumed. "there's no reason why you should not show me around a bit, is there? on that cliff quite near here there's a little kiosk that looks over the inlet. you and i--alone there, garga?" his hand touched her square, metal-clad shoulder; and at once her hand went up, gripping his. "perhaps." "i would like to have you show me what's going on," he urged. "and to sit there with you, just for a little time." leh heard it. his hunched figure in the doorway moved and his head nodded assent; and then he drew back, was gone. "i will get you a cloak," garga murmured abruptly. she came with the cloak in a moment; a long, dark-grey garment of flexible metal. with this on, and with the helmet which rhool had given him, allen could pass for a gort. garga was eager, trembling, as she took him through a small side doorway. the nearby glowing city street bustled with activity. garga and allen were not challenged as they skirted the edge of the metal street; and presently came to a dark and narrow little bridge, a fifty foot catwalk-span over a chasm to the promontory head where the lookout kiosk stood dark and silent above the lagoon. a new idea had come to allen. as together they crossed the catwalk he murmured to garga: "the master spoke of the peters girl, and asked me if she is beautiful." garga smiled. "so? the master is ironical always. he plays with you." "meaning what?" "he has seen that girl many times. ten years ago, when there was no threat of tollgamo, he was in arron. she was just a child then. he played with her. and he has loved her ever since." they came to the kiosk, entered its dark interior. it was merely a roof over a circular metal bench, with a waist high railing. thirty feet down, the sea inlet was a black ribbon of water. the yellow tunnel at the bottom of the opposite cliff was dark now, but further up the inlet there were lights and activity. allen sat with a hand gripping garga's mailed arm. across the background of his mind he was trying to plan ... he could seize this amourous woman's weapons. but then what? would leh be able to come here now? leh, who had mentioned diving from here, with a way of escape from the inlet. "tollgamo loves peters' daughter?" allen was murmuring. "yes. it is sure, although he would not have it known. and he is planning tonight, before we attack arron, to--" a dark figure near them suddenly materialized. for a second allen thought that it was leh. but it was rhool! rhool who doubtless had seen garga coming here, and followed her. in that tense second allen was aware that rhool was drawing a weapon. and allen leaped, catapulted with lowered head. he caught rhool in the stomach, knocked him backward. but the gort's weapon had stabbed, a hiss of violet light. it missed allen; struck garga. she went down. on the metal floor of the kiosk, allen rolled with the giant rhool. the gort had no chance to use his weapon again. allen in a second or two was on top of him, pounding his head against the metal floor. it cracked, and his big body quivered and lay limp. allen jumped up. he was aware of a commotion on the catwalk bridge. a running figure. and men back in the glare at the end of the street; men shouting, and then running forward. the figure on the catwalk was leh. he came plunging into the kiosk. allen was bending over the fallen garga. she was dying, with bloody foam gushing at her mouth. but she was trying to smile, her eyes staring at allen. contrition swept him. this amazonian woman-warrior.... trained to be a cruel machine. but she had remained only a woman; and she was dying now; just a woman staring with her last wistful gaze at the earthman she loved so that she might take the image of him with her into the great beyond. allen murmured: "oh, garga, i'm sorry." she may have heard him, but then her breath stopped, the light went out of her eyes and she was gone. allen jumped up as leh gripped him. leh, with his face and figure changed now so that allen saw him as a handsome stripling, with something of the look of nereid. "come on," leh gasped. "get that helmet off, and that heavy cloak. hurry!" a shot came from the catwalk, a spitting electronic stab that sent a shower of sparks on the kiosk ceiling. from the rail allen and leh dove. then they were swimming; leh guiding him as shots stabbed down at them. allen was aware that leh was dragging him underwater through a small subterranean passage to emerge in a watery cave. a water-cylinder was here, a twenty foot little submarine, as one might describe it on earth. two small seats were amidships in it, with its operating mechanisms around them. a moment later, they were off. * * * * * it was a weird underwater journey; some two hours, allen guessed, while they sat in the dimness of the humming little cylindrical interior. through the visor pane of the turret into which their heads projected, allen had a dim vista of the turgid green-black depths, illumined by the small search-ray which preceded them. the vessel was propelled by a rocket-stream of disintegrating water as the electrolysis of backward gas-thrust shoved them forward. sub-sea world of venus. allen saw little of it then, but still enough to suggest its ramified weirdness. they sped out through the watery tunnel, down the inlet at a depth of perhaps fifty feet, and then into the open sea. empty, black-green depths. running at fifty feet submersion, allen could see beneath them the vague vista of a slimy undulating bottom. then it dropped away, with only occasional jagged spires of peaks. tumbled, submarine world. fishes flipped away, frightened by the light. occasionally, there was a glimpse of monstrous things that quivered; shapes that hung suspended, watching with dull-green round eyes. a submarine forest for a time was to one side, an intricate tracery of vegetation, with air-pods holding it upright as it slowly weaved and undulated like a thing quivering with life. a gigantic thing like a great squid with weaving tentacles came wobbling from a forest glade. it lunged to attack, but the little cylinder avoided it and sped past. leh hardly spoke. he was tense, guiding their frail craft; and tense too with this emergency of haste to get to peters. leh had learned as much or more of tollgamo's plans than had allen. then at last they were nearing their destination. allen had learned now that peters and his men of science were not located in the city of arron. they had laboratories, workshops and arsenal on a rocky island fortress. it was some twenty miles by water from arron; within a mile or so of a partly submerged section of the forest, where a village known as the water city was built. allen saw the watery foundations of the water city as the cylinder sped past. then leh was slackening, to land at a sub-sea dock beneath the arsenal. the dock's weird dark outlines presently were beside them. with air-renewer mechanisms like a pack on their shoulders, and a round transparent glassite helmet, which had an elastic gasket tightly fitting their throats, they emerged through the cylinder's little pressure lock into the water. heavy shoes made them able to walk, with a pushing swaying shove. leh, with a metal-tipped finger, touched a tiny metal plate on allen's helmet. and leh's voice, dim, muffled, sounded in allen's ears. "you follow me. there will be a guard where we emerge." allen swayed along a rocky path which was slowly ascending. the turgid, black-green depths here were dimly lighted by a glow from some unseen source. it was a tumbled, honeycombed submarine slope. clumps of vegetation stood like black thickets to the sides. ahead, the glow seemed brighter. then suddenly leh stopped his advance; stood rigid. within the round, wholly transparent ball of his helmet his youthful face was tense. and his voice murmured. "allen, look there!" they had no more warning than that. from a clump of tawny submarine vegetation nearby, two human figures suddenly emerged! figures that stood as though startled for a second, and then came plunging to attack! v festival of love! on the swaying little anti-gravity platform i lay with nereid, staring down at the strange, colorful scene that stretched beneath us. it was at the end of our escape-flight from the spaceship, in time doubtless before allen on that trip arrived in tollgamo's mountain city. what allen saw of the grim little metal and rock city of the gorts was in weird contrast to what i saw now of the riotous, colorful forest and water scene where the gay festival of love and music was in full progress. there was only a brief glimpse at first, as we swooped down. we had already passed over the main city of arron. it lay between the open sea and an area a mile or so inland, where there was a lagoon, little chains of lakes, threads of tiny streams and a myriad little dots of tropic islands. i had seen, down in the forest, lines of gay, pastel-tinted lights to mark the city streets. then we came to the lagoon, where the festival was being held. a watery failyland of gayety. the lagoon, a circular spread of water of perhaps five miles, was rippled with a soft night-breeze. the ripples were stained with the opalescent night-sheen from the overhead clouds, and stained like a painter's pallette with a riot of glorious tints from the strings of colored lights which connected the little islands. one big island, a thousand feet in length, stood in the center. a pavilion was on it, from which soft exotic music flooded out into the night--music that blended on the tropic breeze with a vast murmur of excited voices. i could guess that there might be four or five thousand people disporting themselves here. the main island was thronged with people moving about, or crowding toward the pavilion where with the music there seemed dancing and perhaps some form of theatrical entertainment. boats were on the thread-like little canals between the islands. a barge crowded with young men and girls, all in gay-colored robes, was slowly approaching from the open lagoon. little boats, mere six foot rafts, each held a girl and man; the man paddling, the girl fending off flowers with which she was pelted by young men on other rafts, or on the shore. the laughing screams of girls floated up as they swam in the open lagoon, their voices calling jocular defiance to the men on shore to come out and catch them. nereid slid our little flying platform skilfully down. we landed on a small level island which was connected with the big island by an arcade bridge. no one had seemed to notice us. boats were tied up here along the shore. others were arriving, disembarking the gay merrymakers. all were in holiday attire; a variety of motley costumes, indescribable as a fancy-dress costume ball on earth. some of them, men and girls, wore cloaks and hoods, with little gaily colored masks covering their eyes. i stood for a moment with nereid. "you're going to find your father?" i suggested. "yes. if he is here." she told me then of the arsenal rock beyond the water city, where peters and his men most of their time were working. "he is there probably," she added. "i think he would not come here tonight." "then what would we do, go to him there?" "yes, of course. i will see our ruler first. jenten-shah--he will be here. over there on the big island, in the pavilion probably." bitterness was in her tone. nereid was thinking of the menace of the gorts, with their engines of destruction. she and i did not know then, what allen was just about now learning--that there was an urgency of haste since tollgamo's attack would be made tonight. but as we threaded our way under the gay colored lights across the arcade to the main island, i somehow seemed to feel the undercurrent of menace here. occasionally we passed little figures who were evidently onlookers. the imbecile workers, lower class who were almost in the position of slaves. they were weird little creatures, most of them no more than four feet tall, grey-skinned and powerfully built. we passed one who was standing on the shore gazing at a raft where a lone girl shrouded in blue-white filmy drapery was being pelted with flowers. the gnome-like imbecile stood impassive, gazing with vacant face. then he was muttering to himself. a fragment of it reached us. "tollgamo is coming to help us workers. we won't have to work tomorrow. then we can do things like this." i gripped nereid. "you hear what that worker said? no work for him tomorrow. do you suppose--" she tried to smile. "what an imbecile says never means much, kent. but i must tell father." * * * * * occasionally now people were staring at us, at me. some rushed at us, but nereid with an imperious gesture scattered them; and in a moment, with their other diversions, they had forgotten us. then we came to where there was a pile of cloaks. nereid gave me a dark robe and hood; and found a long white cloak and white cowl for herself. then from her green undergarment she produced a little golden star, fastened it on the breast of her cloak. queer insignia, that star with a crescent moon above and below it. the white cloak and cowl to signify that she was an untouchable. nereid's beautiful little face bore a faint twisted smile. "that is what some of them call us, kent. that is a term of derision, because now, at a festival like this, there are things we do not like." love, music, laughter--all so admirable. but here in arron, under the leadership of the wanton ruler, jenten-shah, it was becoming license. there were some five hundred young virgins here in arron, who were trying at least for moderation. and trying to help peters prepare for the menace of the gorts ... untouchables. nereid was leader of them. in our robes and cowls now, nereid and i were attracting no attention save that occasionally there was a jibe at nereid. laughing young men, befuddled perhaps by some intoxicating drink with wanton girls clinging to them, would sometimes lunge at us with mocking laughter. but we pushed past them, shoving our way toward the big open pavilion. i could see now the jam of people under its low spreading roof. we were still following the shorefront. from the pavilion a bevy of girls with flowing drapes came running and plunged into the water of the lagoon. i gripped nereid's white-cloaked arm. "that big figure in red--who is that?" i had seen the giant figure here at an edge of the crowd, when we crossed the arcade bridge. a man in robe and cowl of red and black. then he had vanished. he was visible again now, a huge fellow, six and a half feet, at least. he was standing a hundred feet or so ahead of us, on the pink-white coral sand of the shore. and then abruptly he moved away and was gone again. nereid stared, and then shook her head. "i do not know. i--" she checked herself; her face had a queer startled look. "what--" i demanded. but we were in the pavilion now, with the jam of watching people pressing us. "you will wait here, kent?" nereid murmured. "i will ask jenten-shah of my father." i drew back behind a palm on which great orchid-like flowers were growing. i could see the dais where the gay fatuous ruler was seated with food and drink before him, with his young women favorites around him as they watched the platform where a barbarically voluptuous woman in flame-colored drapes was dancing with colored light-beams upon her. i had a glimpse of nereid importuning jenten-shah. it was brief; and then nereid came back to me. "father is not here, kent. he told the king not to hold this festival tonight." "did you mention that imbecile worker?" she nodded. her face was grim, frightened now. "he said, if any imbecile causes trouble there will be a hundred imbeciles killed as punishment. he is drunk with _marite_. he laughed at the idea that tollgamo would dare attack." merrymaking on the brink of disaster and death. * * * * * as though both nereid and i were fascinated now, for a time we stood in the pavilion corner, watching the colorful scene. half the people here were robed and masked, waiting a later time when a bell would give the signal for the unmasking. i saw several of the white-robed girls--the untouchables. then one of them, with a golden star on her breast, like nereid's but without the crescent moons, came and joined us. nereid had met her a while ago near the ruler's dais. her name was venta. under nereid, she was commanding the little group of protesting virgins. she was very like nereid, save that beneath her white cowl i could see that her hair was dark. she stared at me. "so? the earthman?" she shook my hand with a quaint awkwardness. "you look in the same fashion as her father, the meester peters," she commented. then suddenly all three of us were stricken tense. there was a commotion across the crowded pavilion, where a scantily clothed young girl was struggling, terrified, in the grip of a thick-set, crooked little imbecile man. he was forcing his caresses on her and the girl was screaming. the music suddenly ceased. in the hushed, stricken silence, the imbecile's crazy childish laughter mingled with the girl's screams. then there was a rush as a group of young men nearby plucked the girl away, knocked the gnome-like worker down, beating him, slamming him until he lay inert. it was like a spark in gunpowder. people were shouting. somebody found another imbecile and attacked him. a wave of shouting spread beyond the pavilion. but it lasted only a moment. the music started up again. the dancing continued. nereid gripped me. "out in the workers' village they will hear of that. and what they might try to do--" her words evoked a grim picture of powerful little men, with minds like children suddenly enraged to frenzy; and the half-drunken youths at the festival, ready enough to kill any worker, with the ruler encouraging them. and this was what tollgamo wanted, of course; confusion here to make his attack easier. the girls now were swiftly talking in their own language. we had shoved our way out of the pavilion, were standing near the shorefront; and the girls had drawn a little apart from me. i could see venta nodding as nereid gave her instructions. then nereid came to me. "she will get our virgins, kent. she has ten other girls who will help her collect them all." the virgins--five hundred of them if venta could locate them all--would come in surface boats, past the water city to the arsenal. nereid and i would precede them, starting now. all to offer ourselves to peters and his fighting men if tollgamo should strike tonight. but how would he strike? that we did not know. "and in the water city," nereid was hastily telling me, "many of the people living there have come here to the festival tonight. but some of our girls live there." again her lips twisted with that wry little smile. "they will be there now. some have brothers and fathers who work with my father in the science arsenal. but some do not, and i will send them here. if there is trouble with the imbeciles, they will help quell it." venta, ready to start on her mission, called goodbye. then for just a moment nereid ran after her to add something. two other girls in the white untouchable robes joined them, and stood talking about fifty feet away from where i waited. the shore there had risen to a little grassy bluff about twenty feet above the glittering, light-bathed lagoon. and suddenly i gasped. from a clump of vivid blue and orange palms which grew thickly beside the four girls, a figure suddenly emerged. a giant man-shape, in red and black robe. then his robe and cowl dropped from him, revealing a towering powerful giant with dark close-clipped hair, dressed in a grey garment of woven metal with jeweled weapons at his broad belt. and in that second of my numbed gaze, i was aware that he had scattered the girls and had seized nereid, holding her slim form against his huge bulk. and one of the other girls screamed: "tollgamo!" * * * * * tollgamo! my first sight of him. and like allen, for just a second i stood numbed, awed by the power, the dominance that radiated from him. he was quietly smiling. his hand went up to wave the girls away. "tollgamo! tollgamo!" the name went like a wave, back from the shore, so that the merrymakers gasped, stood stricken. for that second it was a tableau, with only the smiling tollgamo in movement. slowly he was backing, drawing the fighting, struggling nereid with him. backing toward the thick clump of palms. then i was aware that i was dashing forward, shouting. it was only fifty feet. from one of tollgamo's hands, a spit of tiny blue light hissed at me. missed. then venta and two of the other girls had cast off their white robes. slim little creatures, like nereid, greenly clad. soon tollgamo was struggling with all four of them. he flung them off, still trying to hold nereid. it was only a second or two as i plunged at them. then in a group they went over the little promontory and hit the water with a splash. almost simultaneously i dove. the green opalescent water closed over me. somewhere near at hand i could see the blurr of the struggling figures. but i could not reach them. with all my strength i swam, but then i had to come up for air. i dove again. accursedly helpless. then on another try i met a girl coming up, then another and another--all four of them bobbing to the surface with me. all panting; unhurt, but angry that they had not captured tollgamo! then venta and the other two girls swam away on their errand. nereid drew me forward as we swam, to avoid the commotion of gathered people on the bank. tollgamo was gone. his plan had been, quite evidently, to dive into the water with nereid here. some twenty feet down, as the girls attacked him, he had tried to shove nereid through a rock-rift, which obviously opened again to some cave where air was trapped. "i got away from him," nereid was saying. "a man, even tollgamo, is so clumsy in the water, so quick to smother. i could have followed him but he blocked the little passage with a rock." "and maybe he's trapped down there?" she shook her head. "there are so many passages, and all lead out to the sea. of course he had a cylinder-boat under there." together we swam out into the open lagoon, diagonally across it to where, beyond the lights of the festival, nereid had a little surface boat in which we could get now to the water city. "my boat is about a mile from here. can you swim so far?" "yes. i guess so." i had always counted myself a strong swimmer; a mile was not too much for me. but i was like a puffing tugboat now, laboriously splashing along. nereid was laughing at my efforts; trying to tow me; then giving it up, swimming around me, under me. occasionally, while we were still in the light-glare, other girls came dashing up, with questions of tollgamo; and of me. once a group of them dashed at me, with shouts of laughter trying to seize me, but nereid drove them off. then we were swimming alone in the luminous opalescent night; and at last we reached the little boat. nereid was already in it; waiting impatiently to haul me aboard as i came panting. it was a narrow, canoe-like surface craft; some twenty feet long, of dull white metal. its hooded mechanisms were in bow and stern--water electrolysis. soon we had attained a considerable speed, silent, vibrationless. and then we were on the open sea, with the lights of arron fading behind us. * * * * * venus night at sea. it was weirdly beautiful. the low-hanging curtain of heavy clouds was luminous with pale blue and silver sheen. the water, silver-rippled by a gentle night-breeze, was opalescent as our little craft hurled up a bow wave, with a gleaming phosphorescent wake behind us. off to the right, for a time, the faint blurred outlines of metal mountains were visible on a promontory near the land of the gorts. then we passed it; and the forest to the left had faded away to be just a blur. beside me, nereid sat grim and silent, staring ahead as she steered our boat. the breeze tossed her tawny tresses against me. my mind went back to that other night, back on earth when she had sat in my little fishing boat, with its outboard motor puttering. how long ago that seemed. and like that other night, my hand went now to a lock of her hair, beside us on the seat. "nereid, when this is over, this war--" her face turned toward me. she was faintly, whimsically smiling. "i think my father will like you," she murmured. "and you, nereid?" there was no impishness, this time. her gaze met mine, shyly, and she nodded. but a moment later we were again both thinking of tollgamo. and we were wondering about allen, and nereid's brother, leh. had tollgamo put them to death, in vengeance for our escape from rhool's spaceship? then at last, to our left, the outlines of the lush forest shore were close at hand. "the water city," nereid murmured. it was built in what seemed a partly submerged area of the jungle. tangled tree-tops projecting from the water, with little houses of thatch and wood built like birds' nests between them. or queer little dwellings of woven blue rush, built on platforms that floated on the water and were lashed between the protecting tree-trunks. narrow arcade bridges connected the houses; and the little balcony platforms where boats were moored. there were a few dots of lights. then we passed the first group of houses. very queer. nereid stared at me. queer indeed. it was far into the time of sleep, but still there should have been someone attracted to the house doorways as we passed. we had slackened now, with the houses, most of them dark, clustering all about us. "there is venta's home," nereid murmured. "her father and brother will be there." we drifted under an arching bridge. the figure of a man was lying on it. asleep? nereid called softly to him, but he did not move. then i was aware of a queer, acrid smell here. choking smell. nereid coughed suddenly. the boat landed at a low platform dock of venta's home. we jumped to the platform. two men were here. venta's father and brother. they lay in a heap, one half upon the other. dead! the opalescent sheen of the glorious night was ghastly on their dead faces; mouths goggling with blackened, protruding tongue; eyes staring with the agony and death. and from here we could see other house balconies. inert forms on them. all dead. in that stricken second, as we stood shuddering on the little platform with the sea lapping under it, a new horror suddenly assailed us. there was a tangle of vegetation here, tree branches overhead; air-vines with redolent flowers and pods on them, dangled, swaying in the breeze. and abruptly i realized that the dangling, rope-like vines were visibly growing! at an edge of the platform one of them was slithering like a serpent! and nereid gasped: "that smell! the gas of nitro-carbon in some terrible concentration!" i stood numbed. nitrogenous gas-fumes, sprayed here on the night-breeze by what deadly means i could not guess, had asphixiated the people of the little water city. most of them asleep, they were quickly overcome by the insidious fumes. an intensification of the gas which was normally used by the arones to stimulate vegetation growth, as we on earth use fertilizer. nitro-carbon--deadly to humans; stimulating to plant-life! and the air-vines here were growing with a deadly acceleration! in that same second, as we stood momentarily confused, one of the dangling, swaying vines, grown monstrous now to be as thick as my arm, struck against nereid. sentient vegetation! with the contact, the damnable dangling vine suddenly wrapped itself around her, its powerful sinuous blue feelers gripping her slender white throat, strangling her! and in the night-silence an imbecile was gibbering, with triumphant, maniacal laughter! vi for an instant i was stunned, with so great a rush of horror that the weird scene blurred before me. then i leaped, tearing at the quivering vine-rope that held nereid in its grip. ghastly thing. i tore it loose, broke it--gruesome, squashing, flimsy stuff. but as i cast broken segments of it away, more seemed to come. weird, horrible combat. a slithering tentacle gripped my ankles. another was winding itself around my throat. there was a terrible moment when i thought that nereid and i would go down; and on the platform now at our feet, another leafy vine had come crawling, with lashing feelers and red pods that opened like little bloody jaws. then i tore nereid loose. the whole platform now seemed cluttered with writhing vegetation. from overhead dangling things were swinging, reaching down at us. "nereid, our boat--which way?" in the dim luminous light i was confused. nereid led me; and we staggered to our boat, tumbled into it. a vine-end like a rope threshed at us as we frantically shoved off. and in the silence now, with only the leafy rustling of the growing vines, the gibbering, maniacal laughter of the imbecile still sounded. "kent, look--" nereid touched my arm as she guided our little boat out into the open water. on a rock nearby, a hunched, gnome-like figure was crouched. then i saw his face, goggled with great round eyepanes and nose-breather, with a pipe that led to a pack on his back. nereid steered us toward him; we stopped and i reached and seized him. "you did this?" i demanded. "you turned loose the gas that killed these people? who told you to do it? who gave you the gas, and the mechanisms to spread it?" his laughter turned to a terrified whimpering. nereid murmured, "that mask he's wearing--the workers use that, in our agriculture when they spray with the nitro-carbon. but we have no sprayers that could do a thing like this, nor gas deadly enough." "you did it?" i shook him. and then he was laughing again. and suddenly i realized that of course he could not understand english. i cast him loose. and nereid flung questions at him in her own language. "figures came up from the water," she said. "he happened to have his mask and saved himself." we left him there on the rock, still laughing. tollgamo's first attack! would he try to loose this gas on arron? our little boat sped past the water city. i could see now that the quivering, slithering vegetation everywhere was engulfing the flimsy houses. its stimulated growth would persist, an hour or a day, and then subside. shuddering, we drove our boat onward. the great arsenal rock loomed ahead of us now, a huge almost square lump of metallic rock rising sheer from the water to a height of two or three hundred feet. on all sides it was like that; its only access was from beneath where subterranean passages ran into its honeycombed, grotto interior. impregnable fortress, save from beneath the sea. nereid tied our little craft to a metal fastener against the black, sleek rock-cliff. then for me she produced the air-mechanisms and round transparent helmet with elastic gasket to fit around my throat. and heavy, metal-weighted shoes for us both. but no helmet was needed for her. "we will be there in ten or fifteen minutes," she said. "i can see better without the head-covering." we dropped into the luminous, opalescent water. nereid held my hand as i floundered a little, trying to remain balanced upright while our weighted shoes carried us slowly down. it was a descent of some fifty feet, with the opalescent surface light fading into the black-green of the depths. then slowly an undulating dark surface seemed coming up to us; and we landed, swaying on our feet. weird, submarine world. the jagged slope to one side went on down into the depths. beside us, swaying leafy vegetation stood upright in the water--a little thicket here, with what seemed a rocky path, ascending along the edge of the black abyss. through my transparent helmet i stared at nereid. she was smiling, unbreathing, as much at home down here as on the land. she gestured that we were to take the ascending path; and held my hand to steady me as we started our swaying, shoving climb. i could see now that ahead of us there was a little tunnel into the cliff where we would emerge into air. and suddenly i felt nereid's hand tighten convulsively on mine. i saw the blurred figures in another second, two upright swaying blobs close ahead of us as we emerged past the seaweed clump. two men down here. tollgamo's men? i shook loose from nereid and plunged forward. then in another second i could see the faces in the transparent helmets. and one of them i recognized. it was leh and allen here, as startled as ourselves at the sudden encounter. * * * * * i think now i need only briefly sketch that following hour or two while within the arsenal fortress allen and i met peters and his men, and all of us hastily prepared for tollgamo's attack. i found nereid's father quite what i had expected--a quiet, grave-faced man of somewhat my own type, garbed like his fellow scientists in tight trousers and blouse of sleek black fabric. there was no time then to exchange more than the briefest of questions, as nereid hastily told him what had happened to her since her little note had informed him of her furtive departure for earth. "you worried me very much, my daughter," he said quietly. and the same sense of humor which she herself had twinkled now in his grey eyes. "but i think this is no time for reproof." peters of course had known that tollgamo's attack was imminent; and he was almost ready. allen and i could help little here with everything so indescribably strange. nereid's virgins were arriving now in little dripping groups that scattered through the workshop grottos with chattering voices that added immeasurably to the confusion. they were all like nereid, most of them clad in the brief, shining sea-green garment, all of them with flowing hair and eager, excited little faces. but i could see now the evidence of nereid's earth heritage--these other girls, even more slim and frail-looking, with oval faces and pert little pointed chins. and their skin was distinctly less pink-white than hers. finally the departure for battle. assembling of this weird little sub-sea army. i watched it with silent, awed amazement. there was but one type of sub-sea vessel here, the small underwater cylinders such as leh and allen had come in from the country of the gorts. most of them were that same twenty foot size, to carry two men; and a few of them were some thirty feet, with space for three. an underwater electronic ray armed them in bow and stern. leh explained the weapon to me. it had an effective range of fifty feet, with a current duration of some ten seconds. it would kill any living substance at that range almost instantly; and with duration would eat into the metal armour of tollgamo's ships. "my father has had no opportunity to build an underwater weapon of more range and power than this. it is all we have," leh was telling us. and my heart sank, and allen and i exchanged glances of dismay, as leh added: "tollgamo has built them up to a range of three hundred feet." there were about fifty of the small cylinder-boats; most of them to take two men. for battle tonight it was all peters could assemble. but the cylinders were fleet as darting fishes. we had mobility, and courage, but with sinking heart i wondered if it would serve us. and i also wondered what tollgamo would have. leh's information gave us little hint; and presently he, allen and i took one of the larger cylinders. we ran without lights. for a time all i could see was a turgid vista of dark-green depths. an abyss of water at times was beneath us. then there were the tops of jagged mountain peaks, naked black needle spires rising in clusters out of the depths. leh knew very well the oceanography here in this undulating terrain of seascape. we headed for the mouth of the inlet at the head of which tollgamo's city was perched. but before we reached there, little lights down in the watery green haze suddenly appeared. an orange, blurred haze, separating in a moment into dotted points of light. "tollgamo's forces!" leh murmured. at perhaps a hundred feet of depth, we shut off our tiny rocket-streams of oxo-hydro fluorescence and hung poised. the three of us sat breathless, peering. had our tail-stream been discovered? it seemed not. there was no undue movement of the tollgamo lights. just a slow-moving little string of them, ahead and below us. * * * * * i could see the bottom now, a great undulating spread here of dark surface. rock, doubtless, with slime and ooze on it. the moving dots of light presently disclosed the blobs of enemy vessels. ten of them, crawling on the bottom in a slow moving line. cubes and oblongs of metal. dwarfed by distance they were like struggling little bugs, with lighted eyes and tiny searchbeams waving like feelers before them. metallic vehicles, perhaps with caterpiller tread, crawling on the bottom. we drifted closer; almost over them for a moment so that i could guess that each of them was a hundred feet or more in length. turreted oblong vessels, armoured; and armed with the three hundred foot rays. how many men were in them? of this leh had little knowledge, save that he thought perhaps a total of two thousand. men and women, crawling along in the ooze of this sea bottom, tense, with minds only upon the kill. "they're heading for arron," leh murmured. "in those big ships they surely must have a vast apparatus for land attack." to come up abruptly within the lagoons and interior waterways of arron. perhaps then, on the windward side of the city, to loose their deadly lethal gas. two hours, at least, for them to reach arron. the lights crawled under us; and a vagrant ocean current drifted us away, so that presently we dared fling on our rocket-stream power and speed back to peters. he was ready now, and his hundred men embarked in the fifty little cylinders. and the five hundred girls were ready, too. i saw them on the ocean surface, from the turret of our cylinder as we bobbed to the top. an amazing army of green-clad nymphs. each of them had a ray-cylinder of our fifty foot projector. they lay, each of them on a six-foot little sub-sea sled, powered, like our cylinders, with the oxo-hydro gas-streams. in effect, a narrow, six foot long raft, with a hooded bow that housed the control mechanisms and protected the girls' faces from the rush of water. the girls' bodies had a weight of about the same as water. specific gravity of 1. and the sled with its mechanisms was adjusted to be the same. girl and sled--neither to float nor sink, but approximately to hang poised. and thus, with little tilting fins on the sled's sides, and lateral and vertical bow and stern rudders, the power would thrust them down into the depths and up again at will. we started. running at first on the surface, the largest of our little cylinders with peters and two of his skilled men led us in a line. and behind us came the girls, in squads of twenty, each with a leader. they had often practiced it, for sport and for the possibility of such a time as this. as we passed the water city, we submerged to fifty feet. i turned to look back through our turret. like darting fishes the girls came down, still holding their formation as we swept on through the green-black depths to battle. vii for a time we ran with short-range headlight beams preceding us, then, as we neared the area where we knew tollgamo's ships should now be, we ran dark. but still there were the glowing, bubbling rocket-stream tails of our fifty little cylinder boats; and the rocket-streams of the girls' diving sleds. and our swift passage through the water left a phosphorescent wake so that the area all around us glowed, opalescent with a pallid, eerie light. leh and his father had arranged the tactics of battle which we hoped we could employ. he explained them to us now. peters' larger cylinder was banded with white alumite stripes so as to be easily distinguishable. its light signals would give us orders. "there is a ridge," leh was saying. "it crosses from the promontory head of the metal mountains across to the arron forests. we think tollgamo will follow it as his best method of approach." it was a transverse ridge, lying at an average of not much more than fifty feet beneath the surface. a submarine plateau, in main extent some ten miles long and a quarter of a mile wide, with deeps on both sides of it where the bottom dropped sharply away, in places to unfathomable depths. if we could catch the tollgamo vehicles in that area it was our best chance for a shallow attack. and that, we needed. the girls especially, could not dive into the lower, higher pressures. then presently ahead of us, peters signalled and we all slackened, wheeling, gathering in a group. "there they are!" leh murmured tensely. "just climbing to the ridge." the shallower water here was bright with the upper light filtering down. astonishingly bright; and suddenly i realized that the venus night was over. dawn had come to the world of air above us, penetrating the cloud-masses of the venus atmosphere. it came down here with a faint ruddy glow, so that now we could see miles of the area before us. at first it was blurred and unreal. but in a moment i was used to it, my mind translating its distortion into the terms of its reality. a dark abyss was under us here as we poised. ahead, a thousand feet away now, the ridge was visible. a cliff was at one side of it, a honeycombed, submarine wall, a peak of which rose above the surface as a volcanic little island, with a tiny crater mouth, yawning faintly yellow from the fires of the earth which here must be close. the slow-moving, struggling little line of submarine vehicles was just mounting to the ridge. only a few miles from here and they would be under the city of arron. we must turn them back here. slowly we approached, still out of tollgamo's range. we had long since been seen, of course. the waving headlights of the ten huge black vessels turned our way. monsters with searching, glaring eyes. and then a tentative shot came. in the blurred watery twilight it was a stab of thin violet light. not instantaneous, but slow-moving as though for a second it was pushing its way at us. but it blurred to nothingness far short of us; and in a few seconds it died. at peters' signal we divided now, spreading fanshape between the leading tollgamo ship and arron; skimming close under the surface, still keeping three hundred feet or more away from the leading vessel. but we had to get within fifty feet for our rays to be effective! i could feel my heart pounding, and my blood seemed cold. and then a puff of orange light from the bow of peters' cylinder gave the signal for our first attack. beside me i could hear allen suck in his breath. my hands were on the small gun-firing mechanisms--my two small ray projectors on one side of the cylinder, allen's on the other, with leh's ranging in a quadrant of the bow and stern. in a slanting dive, we plunged forward and down. * * * * * it was a chaos of blurred confusion to me, that first slanting plunge that took us close past the looming black side of one of the tollgamo vessels, half circling it until in a few seconds we had fired our six little stabbing bolts and were past, rising again. i was aware that all the area of water suddenly seemed churned into silver phosphorescence through which shapes were diving. a bolt stabbed at us and missed. then as we were mounting, one caught us. for a second it clung, with a bubbling red viscosity of fusing metal, glaring against my small bullseye pane. would it eat through? undoubtedly, if it clung too long, or if another were to strike in the same place. but we twisted away from it: and in another second its built-up electronic power had discharged and it died. i realized then the advantage of our mobility with our five hundred and fifty agile little units against the ten huge caterpiller vehicles of tollgamo, at least we might have an equal chance. their three hundred foot rays were thin as pencil-streaks. not easy for them to hit a tiny, swift-moving target. and i saw too, that once we were close, there were many angles at which the rays could not reach us. leh, allen and i each fired two charges in that first dive. i saw some of them strike against the looming black armoured hull of the tollgamo vessel as we flipped past it, each hit marked by bubbling red pits of metal. through the bullseye windows i caught a vague glimpse of crowded men and women gorts inside. then we were back, almost at the surface, out of range again, wheeling, poising, with the enemy behind and beneath us. i stared down, and saw that the girls, like a school of plunging dolphins, were making their dive. and then i had my first sight of one as she was struck. she was a tiny descending silver streak; and the bolt darted up, caught her. for a horrible second or two it clung. i saw her waver; come loose from her sled. and then she was a twisted, blackened, almost shapeless blob, slowly drifting down, with crimson air-bubbles for a moment rising. then on the black ridge bottom her inert form lay, with a little movement as the water made it weave, as though horribly she were still alive. for five minutes we stared down at the swarm of attacking girls. they swarmed within the wide angles of the opposing rays. some of them were at the hulls of the enemy ships, holding their rays close, trying to melt through. then at last they were rising; swooping back to the surface. some of them! but others were wavering away. with broken mechanisms discarded, some were swimming free. and others were sinking. broken, twisted little shapes, with the water tinted crimson as they sank. leh, allen and i stared at each other, white-faced, as the girls came fluttering up, flipping on the surface to get air, organize into squads again; and to recharge their tiny projectors. the squads reformed. my heart sank at the pitiful gaps in the formations. we had lost more than a hundred and fifty girls in that first attacking dive. and two of our ten cylinder-boats were crippled. air bubbles were oozing from them; then the exit escape porte of one of them opened as the little cylinder sank. the two men came out, with buoyant belts which all of us were wearing so that they floated away on the surface. but we had done some damage. two or three of the big tollgamo vessels seemed to be in distress. the one leading the line had checked its advance. those behind seemed trying to hasten forward, so that now the ships were bunching. one of them, seemingly out of control, had slued sidewise, close to the edge of the abyss where the green-black depths went down perhaps a thousand fathoms. perilously close, so that now as we stared it sagged drunkenly on the brink and seemed out of commission. and at the window portes of another of them, a dull-red glare was apparent. an interior fire. "not too bad," leh was muttering. "we'll do better, next time." where was nereid? my heart seemed to stick in my throat with apprehension as i watched the girls coming up. and then i saw her; still unharmed. she came close past our turret on her power-sled, her white arm waved at us as she flipped past and broke the surface for air. and then allen suddenly gasped, "what the devil is that? what now?" tollgamo wasn't waiting for our second dive! his leading ship suddenly was starting ahead of the others. and then suddenly, from three or four of the enemy vessels tiny black dots were rising. water bullets.... needle-like, foot-long projectiles. they came hurtling at us. and then they burst with muffled, blurred sounds of little explosions. some were near the surface, tossing up spouts of iridescent water. it startled us into sudden confusion. several of our girls were caught in the exploding puffs; and one of our cylinders. i saw it break apart in sluggish tearing fragments of metal and what had been its living occupants. a girl, caught at the surface, was hurled into the air. * * * * * a chaos. and in the midst of it, peters gave the signal for a general attack; sustained attack, this time. again leh plunged us into what now was a watery inferno. how long it lasted i cannot say. ten minutes. half an hour. an eternity of horror, with everyone for himself. there were times when i could see little of it. the shallow, fifty foot depth of ocean here was a glare of red and orange and opalescent light through which our cylinders dove and the girls plunged up and down like voracious little fishes. there was an inferno of lights and muffled ghastly rumbles down below. and the surface now was strewn. our broken cylinders sagging there; then sinking as the men tried to get out. men and girls swimming, wounded, and then sinking. chaos of human wreckage. the rippled daylight surface now was tossed by crazy waves; water stained with blood; or orange and blue with oil and gas-fumes. then i saw that peters' cylinder was gone. only ours and two others left. leh, allen and i, now in command. empty authority. the girls, down in the weird lurid depths, were fighting with utter desperation, heedless of the possibility of command. an eternity of horror. but now, two of the tollgamo vessels had slid over the brink, sinking slowly into the abyss. i saw another of them burst with interior fire. muffled explosions, that spewed out gorts and broken equipment. then there was a time when one of the distressed vessels emitted an inky fluid as though it were some giant squid--a pall of black water, to hide the disembarking men. we fought through it, until presently it drifted away. "getting them," i heard allen mutter once. "by heaven, only two of those boats in action now--tollgamo's and this other one." we were plunging at tollgamo's ship. its portes were red with glare. the enemy rays now were lessening. it seemed that only one or two were left. and the battle now had changed its aspect. from the broken tollgamo ships, many of the gorts had safely emerged, with helmets and weighted shoes so that now they were walking, swaying on the rocky bottom. five hundred or more of them. and the girls swooped down at them. myriad hand to hand combats between the unweildy gorts and the arron virgins that plunged at them like darting hungry sharks. the bottom now was strewn with the dead as the girls plunged and fought and we darted our cylinder among them, struggling to find opportunity to strike with our rays. where was nereid? again cold apprehension struck at me; it was so long since i had seen her. and now a new ghastly horror was entering the turgid scene. attracted by the lights, the muffled roars and the blood, monsters of the deep were coming. eaters of carrion. sea vultures. some came in little swarms, a thousand tiny silvery shapes, darting at the bodies, picking at them until only white skeletons lay here on the slimy sea bottom. other shapes, huge with glaring round eyes like torches, came slithering from the deeps, searching for the dead, seizing the wounded. "that tollgamo ship is all that's left," leh was saying. he sped us toward it. quite obviously now it was trying to escape. forty or fifty girls were clinging to its hull; too close for its single remaining ray weapon to hit them; girls with close-held projectors eating with bubbling red electro-glare into the hull-plates. we had a glimpse into one of the bullseye portes--gas fumes and red glare in there; and the gorts, trapped there, in a panic making ready to disembark. we lay close, firing our bolts. suddenly a wounded girl was drifting past our turret; she seemed struggling to get to our little pressure porte. nereid? then i saw that it was venta. she got into the porte; and i pumped out the water; threw myself in and bent over her. she was gasping, but still trying to smile at me. "we--we have won, earthman." "yes. yes, venta. you just lie quiet. have you seen nereid?" "yes. here, just a little while ago. i don't know, now." i stared out the porte bullseye. the tollgamo ship was breaking; i could see its air coming out in bubbling puffs that caught our cylinder and shoved it away. that ship would be water-filled in a moment. and then i stiffened; tense with horror as i stared. a little side exit-porte of the wrecked vessel suddenly opened. a single huge figure lunged out. a dark-clad giant figure, with round air-helmet and weighted shoes. tollgamo! he was no more than fifty feet from me; a red sheen of light struck his helmet so that i could see his face with its quiet, grim smile. and then suddenly, in a leaping dive, he flung himself forward, and seized a girl who was clinging to the vessel's side, blasting with her ray-torch. nereid! in the glare, abruptly i saw her, as tollgamo seized her, catching her by surprise so that she had no chance to escape him. and then her torch and her knife were gone, as he held her body against him and with swaying, shoving tread started away along the bottom. * * * * * there were weighted shoes here in our pressure porte. i was only a moment getting venta out of the porte into the main part of the hull. i slid its door; adjusted my helmet; admitted the water. and then i was swaying out on the rocks, with a knife in my hand. vaguely i could see tollgamo, with nereid struggling in his grip as he advanced with swaying tread toward where, near at hand, the honeycombed cliff of that little crater-island loomed here. i struggled after him. then i saw that he had plunged into what seemed a water-filled little passage leading back under the island. i was there in a moment; tense, alert, cautious now that he might be crouching somewhere here in ambush. the ten foot high narrow passage wound up an ascent until unexpectedly my head broke the surface. i twitched off the helmet. i had thought that tollgamo knew that he was being followed, but evidently he did not. neck deep in water, i was near the rocky shore of a subterranean lagoon ... a huge jagged grotto here in the depths of the honeycombed little island. and then i saw tollgamo. his helmet was off now. carrying nereid in his arms, he had mounted a broken rocky wall of the grotto, so that he was some fifty feet back and ten feet above me. i had kicked off my weighted shoes. i tried to dive, but i was discovered. nereid gave a little cry; and as tollgamo saw me, he suddenly checked his climb, set nereid on her feet and held her against him. i had floundered forward, on the shore now; and dropped my knife, plucking a little ray-projector from my belt. its fifty foot stab was ample here. was tollgamo armed? brief thoughts; brief tableau. for that second he and nereid stared down at me. a red glare painted them, a glare that came from what i saw now was a glowing pit almost beside them on this little volcanic island. in the heavy subterranean silence i could hear the low muttering, hissing rumble of the fires deep in the bowels of the earth, and the grotto was heavy with their sulphuric smell. a slow ironic smile was on tollgamo's gray face, painted now by the red and yellow glare. "so, the earthman!" he said. "and he finds tollgamo unarmed." my little projector was leveled; but as he held nereid against him i could not dare fire. he saw it, and his ironic smile broadened. was he really unarmed? it seemed so. i could see the empty weapon-clips at his belt, from which evidently he had torn his exhausted weapons and flung them away. and his hands were both in plain view, gripping nereid's shoulders. there was just a second when i saw his gaze flick from my leveled gun as he desperately measured his chances for escape. and then he seemed to reach his decision. the quiet smile still plucked at his thin gray lips. i must have made a move with my leveled muzzle; and suddenly it seemed to startle him. "don't fire, earthman!" he said sharply. "you would kill her." and then, with a twitch of his big powerful arms he swept nereid, not further to shield himself, but behind him. and he added softly, to her: "so you see tollgamo has lost? that is too bad." his breath went out in a long hiss. "i had thought to conquer arron, to share it with you." his soft voice was ironical; as though now at the last he was jibing at the futility of all human effort. i stood numbed, withholding my shot as now he cast her away; and he stood alone on the red-yellow brink. his gaze turned to me. "you see, earthman, you need not kill me," he said gently. "i should not like anyone to do that--much less an earthman." still his jibing irony. but there was tragedy in his smoldering dark eyes; the tragedy of failure, as now his dream at last was broken. he was still quietly smiling, as he poised on the brink, staring down at the fiery abyss. then slowly he leaned forward, toppled and fell. for a second his plummeting body was visible, and then the red-yellow glare swallowed it. * * * * * i think that there is little i need add. i have no wish to picture the return of our pitiful little army to arron. victorious army.... how trite, but how true it is--in warfare, even the victor is vanquished! but surely, there is a better time ahead for venus now. jenten-shah, degenerate ruler of the arones, was killed that night by an imbecile worker. peters was killed; and leh is ruling. surely he will bring order out of chaos, and minimize license in the lives of the pleasure-loving arones, so that now there need be no rebelling young virgins with the opprobrium of untouchables. certainly that is what we all hope. nereid and i are married now and are very happy. my strange little wife, daughter of two worlds. i know that i shall have to take her back to venus presently. loyally she insists she likes our earth quite as well as venus. but as i recall the lush tropic beauty of the glowing arron nights, and the soft iridescence of the water--well, i doubt it very much. i want nereid to like earth. our little home is in the tropics, by the palm-lined edge of a lagoon. we are secluded here, which is what nereid wants. when people see her she is dressed always in earth fashion. but when we are, alone, at night-i wanted to finish this narrative tonight. i thought i could finish by dawn. it is bright moonlight. i thought nereid was asleep, but just a little while ago she came from our bedroom to the veranda where i am writing. nereid, with her tawny hair flowing, her beautiful body again in the shining sea-green garment. then she went past me, flinging me her impish, whimsical little smile as she ran for the lagoon. she is swimming down there now. occasionally she calls up to me, daring me to come down. * * * * * [transcriber's note: no heading for section iv in original.] the vanishing venusians by leigh brackett for years they had wandered the eternal seas of venus, seeking the home that was their birthright, death walking in their wake. and now they were making their final bid--three of them fighting toward the promised land, battling for a hopeless cause. [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from planet stories spring 1945. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] the breeze was steady enough, but it was not in a hurry. it filled the lug sail just hard enough to push the dirty weed-grown hull through the water, and no harder. matt harker lay alongside the tiller and counted the trickles of sweat crawling over his nakedness, and stared with sullen, opaque eyes into the indigo night. anger, leashed and impotent, rose in his throat like bitter vomit. the sea--rory mclaren's venusian wife called it the sea of morning opals--lay unstirring, black, streaked with phosphorescence. the sky hung low over it, the thick cloud blanket of venus that had made the sun a half-remembered legend to the exiles from earth. riding lights burned in the blue gloom, strung out in line. twelve ships, thirty-eight hundred people, going no place, trapped in the interval between birth and death and not knowing what to do about it. matt harker glanced upward at the sail and then at the stern lantern of the ship ahead. his face, in the dim glow that lights venus even at night, was a gaunt oblong of shadows and hard bone, seamed and scarred with living, with wanting and not having, with dying and not being dead. he was a lean man, wiry and not tall, with a snake-like surety of motion. somebody came scrambling quietly aft along the deck, avoiding the sleeping bodies crowded everywhere. harker said, without emotion, "hi, rory." rory mclaren said, "hi, matt." he sat down. he was young, perhaps half harker's age. there was still hope in his face, but it was growing tired. he sat for a while without speaking, looking at nothing, and then said, "honest to god, matt, how much longer can we last?" "what's the matter, kid? starting to crack?" "i don't know. maybe. when are we going to stop somewhere?" "when we find a place to stop." "is there a place to stop? seems like ever since i was born we've been hunting. there's always something wrong. hostile natives, or fever, or bad soil, always something, and we go on again. it's not right. it's not any way to try to live." harker said, "i told you not to go having kids." "what's that got to do with it?" "you start worrying. the kid isn't even here yet, and already you're worrying." "sure i am." mclaren put his head in his hands suddenly and swore. harker knew he did that to keep from crying. "i'm worried," mclaren said, "that maybe the same thing'll happen to my wife and kid that happened to yours. we got fever aboard." harker's eyes were like blown coals for an instant. then he glanced up at the sail and said, "they'd be better off if it didn't live." "that's no kind of a thing to say." "it's the truth. like you asked me, when are we going to stop somewhere? maybe never. you bellyache about it ever since you were born. well, i've been at it longer than that. before you were born i saw our first settlement burned by the cloud people, and my mother and father crucified in their own vineyard. i was there when this trek to the promised land began, back on earth, and i'm still waiting for the promise." the sinews in harker's face were drawn like knots of wire. his voice had a terrible quietness. "your wife and kid would be better off to die now, while viki's still young and has hope, and before the child ever opens its eyes." * * * * * sim, the big black man, relieved harker before dawn. he started singing, softly--something mournful and slow as the breeze, and beautiful. harker cursed him and went up into the bow to sleep, but the song stayed with him. _oh, i looked over jordan, and what did i see, comin' for to carry me home...._ harker slept. presently he began to moan and twitch, and then cry out. people around him woke up. they watched with interest. harker was a lone wolf awake, ill-tempered and violent. when, at long intervals, he would have one of his spells, no one was anxious to help him out of it. they liked peeping inside of harker when he wasn't looking. harker didn't care. he was playing in the snow again. he was seven years old, and the drifts were high and white, and above them the sky was so blue and clean that he wondered if god mopped it every few days like mom did the kitchen floor. the sun was shining. it was like a great gold coin, and it made the snow burn like crushed diamonds. he put his arms up to the sun, and the cold air slapped him with clean hands, and he laughed. and then it was all gone.... "by gawd," somebody said. "ain't them tears on his face?" "bawling. bawling like a little kid. listen at him." "hey," said the first one sheepishly. "reckon we oughta wake him up?" "hell with him, the old sour-puss. hey, listen to that...!" "dad," harker whispered. "dad, i want to go home." * * * * * the dawn came like a sifting of fire-opals through the layers of pearl-grey cloud. harker heard the yelling dimly in his sleep. he felt dull and tired, and his eyelids stuck together. the yelling gradually took shape and became the word "land!" repeated over and over. harker kicked himself awake and got up. the tideless sea glimmered with opaline colors under the mist. flocks of little jewel-scaled sea-dragons rose up from the ever-present floating islands of weed, and the weed itself, part of it, writhed and stretched with sentient life. ahead there was a long low hummock of muddy ground fading into tangled swamp. beyond it, rising sheer into the clouds, was a granite cliff, a sweeping escarpment that stood like a wall against the hopeful gaze of the exiles. harker found rory mclaren standing beside him, his arm around viki, his wife. viki was one of several venusians who had married into the earth colony. her skin was clear white, her hair a glowing silver, her lips vividly red. her eyes were like the sea, changeable, full of hidden life. just now they had that special look that the eyes of women get when they're thinking about creation. harker looked away. mclaren said, "it's land." harker said, "it's mud. it's swamp. it's fever. it's like the rest." viki said, "can we stop here, just a little while?" harker shrugged. "that's up to gibbons." he wanted to ask what the hell difference it made where the kid was born, but for once he held his tongue. he turned away. somewhere in the waste a woman was screaming in delirium. there were three shapes wrapped in ragged blankets and laid on planks by the port scuppers. harker's mouth twitched in a crooked smile. "we'll probably stop long enough to bury them," he said. "maybe that'll be time enough." he caught a glimpse of mclaren's face. the hope in it was not tired any more. it was dead. dead, like the rest of venus. gibbons called the chief men together aboard his ship--the leaders, the fighters and hunters and seamen, the tough leathery men who were the armor around the soft body of the colony. harker was there, and mclaren. mclaren was young, but up until lately he had had a quality of optimism that cheered his shipmates, a natural leadership. gibbons was an old man. he was the original guiding spirit of the five thousand colonists who had come out from earth to a new start on a new world. time and tragedy, disappointment and betrayal had marked him cruelly, but his head was still high. harker admired his guts while cursing him for an idealistic fool. the inevitable discussion started as to whether they should try a permanent settlement on this mud flat or go on wandering over the endless, chartless seas. harker said impatiently: "for cripesake, look at the place. remember the last time. remember the time before that, and stop bleating." sim, the big black, said quietly, "the people are getting awful tired. a man was meant to have roots some place. there's going to be trouble pretty soon if we don't find land." harker said, "you think you can find some, pal, go to it." gibbons said heavily, "but he's right. there's hysteria, fever, dysentery and boredom, and the boredom's worst of all." mclaren said, "i vote to settle." harker laughed. he was leaning by the cabin port, looking out at the cliffs. the grey granite looked clean above the swamp. harker tried to pierce the clouds that hid the top, but couldn't. his dark eyes narrowed. the heated voices behind him faded into distance. suddenly he turned and said, "sir, i'd like permission to see what's at the top of those cliffs." there was complete silence. then gibbons said slowly, "we've lost too many men on journeys like that before, only to find the plateau uninhabitable." "there's always the chance. our first settlement was in the high plateaus, remember. clean air, good soil, no fever." "i remember," gibbons said. "i remember." he was silent for a while, then he gave harker a shrewd glance. "i know you, matt. i might as well give permission." * * * * * harker grinned. "you won't miss me much anyhow. i'm not a good influence any more." he started for the door. "give me three weeks. you'll take that long to careen and scrape the bottoms anyhow. maybe i'll come back with something." mclaren said, "i'm going with you, matt." harker gave him a level-eyed stare. "you better stay with viki." "if there's good land up there, and anything happens to you so you can't come back and tell us...." "like not bothering to come back, maybe?" "i didn't say that. like we both won't come back. but two is better than one." harker smiled. the smile was enigmatic and not very nice. gibbons said, "he's right, matt." harker shrugged. then sim stood up. "two is good," he said, "but three is better." he turned to gibbons. "there's nearly five hundred of us, sir. if there's new land up there, we ought to share the burden of finding it." gibbons nodded. harker said, "you're crazy, sim. why you want to do all that climbing, maybe to no place?" sim smiled. his teeth were unbelievably white in the sweat-polished blackness of his face. "but that's what my people always done, matt. a lot of climbing, to no place." they made their preparations and had a last night's sleep. mclaren said good-bye to viki. she didn't cry. she knew why he was going. she kissed him, and all she said was, "be careful." all he said was, "i'll be back before he's born." they started at dawn, carrying dried fish and sea-berries made into pemmican, and their long knives and ropes for climbing. they had long ago run out of ammunition for their few blasters, and they had no equipment for making more. all were adept at throwing spears, and carried three short ones barbed with bone across their backs. it was raining when they crossed the mud flat, wading thigh-deep in heavy mist. harker led the way through the belt of swamp. he was an old hand at it, with an uncanny quickness in spotting vegetation that was as independently alive and hungry as he was. venus is one vast hothouse, and the plants have developed into species as varied and marvelous as the reptiles or the mammals, crawling out of the pre-cambrian seas as primitive flagellates and growing wills of their own, with appetites and motive power to match. the children of the colony learned at an early age not to pick flowers. the blossoms too often bit back. the swamp was narrow, and they came out of it safely. a great swamp-dragon, a _leshen_, screamed not far off, but they hunt by night, and it was too sleepy to chase them. harker stood finally on firm ground and studied the cliff. the rock was roughened by weather, hacked at by ages of erosion, savaged by earthquake. there were stretches of loose shale and great slabs that looked as though they would peel off at a touch, but harker nodded. "we can climb it," he said. "question is, how high is up?" sim laughed. "high enough for the golden city, maybe. have we all got a clear conscience? can't carry no load of sin that far!" rory mclaren looked at harker. harker said, "all right, i confess. i don't care if there's land up there or not. all i wanted was to get the hell out of that damn boat before i went clean nuts. so now you know." mclaren nodded. he didn't seem surprised. "let's climb." * * * * * by morning of the second day they were in the clouds. they crawled upward through opal-tinted steam, half liquid, hot and unbearable. they crawled for two more days. the first night or two sim sang during his watch, while they rested on some ledge. after that he was too tired. mclaren began to give out, though he wouldn't say so. matt harker grew more taciturn and ill-tempered, if possible, but otherwise there was no change. the clouds continued to hide the top of the cliff. during one rest break mclaren said hoarsely, "don't these cliffs ever end?" his skin was yellowish, his eyes glazed with fever. "maybe," said harker, "they go right up beyond the sky." the fever was on him again, too. it lived in the marrow of the exiles, coming out at intervals to shake and sear them, and then retreating. sometimes it did not retreat, and after nine days there was no need. mclaren said, "you wouldn't care if they did, would you?" "i didn't ask you to come." "but you wouldn't care." "ah, shut up." mclaren went for harker's throat. harker hit him, with great care and accuracy. mclaren sagged down and took his head in his hands and wept. sim stayed out of it. he shook his head, and after a while he began to sing to himself, or someone beyond himself. "oh, nobody knows the trouble i see...." harker pulled himself up. his ears rang and he shivered uncontrollably, but he could still take some of mclaren's weight on himself. they were climbing a steep ledge, fairly wide and not difficult. "let's get on," said harker. about two hundred feet beyond that point the ledge dipped and began to go down again in a series of broken steps. overhead the cliff face bulged outward. only a fly could have climbed it. they stopped. harker cursed with vicious slowness. sim closed his eyes and smiled. he was a little crazy with fever himself. "golden city's at the top. that's where i'm going." he started off along the ledge, following its decline toward a jutting shoulder, around which it vanished. harker laughed sardonically. mclaren pulled free of him and went doggedly after sim. harker shrugged and followed. around the shoulder the ledge washed out completely. they stood still. the steaming clouds shut them in before, and behind was a granite wall hung within thick fleshy creepers. dead end. "well?" said harker. mclaren sat down. he didn't cry, or say anything. he just sat. sim stood with his arms hanging and his chin on his huge black chest. harker said, "see what i meant, about the promised land? venus is a fixed wheel, and you can't win." it was then that he noticed the cool air. he had thought it was just a fever chill, but it lifted his hair, and it had a definite pattern on his body. it even had a cool, clean smell to it. it was blowing out through the creepers. harker began ripping with his knife. he broke through into a cave mouth, a jagged rip worn smooth at the bottom by what must once have been a river. "that draft is coming from the top of the plateau," harker said. "wind must be blowing up there and pushing it down. there may be a way through." mclaren and sim both showed a slow, terrible growth of hope. the three of them went without speaking into the tunnel. ii they made good time. the clean air acted as a tonic, and hope spurred them on. the tunnel sloped upward rather sharply, and presently harker heard water, a low thunderous murmur as of an underground river up ahead. it was utterly dark, but the smooth channel of stone was easy to follow. sim said, "isn't that light up ahead?" "yeah," said harker. "some kind of phosphorescence. i don't like that river. it may stop us." they went on in silence. the glow grew stronger, the air more damp. patches of phosphorescent lichen appeared on the walls, glimmering with dim jewel tones like an unhealthy rainbow. the roar of the water was very loud. they came upon it suddenly. it flowed across the course of their tunnel in a broad channel worn deep into the rock, so that its level had fallen below its old place and left the tunnel dry. it was a wide river, slow and majestic. lichen spangled the roof and walls, reflecting in dull glints of color from the water. overhead there was a black chimney going up through the rock, and the cool draft came from there with almost hurricane force, much of which was dissipated in the main river tunnel. harker judged there was a cliff formation on the surface that siphoned the wind downward. the chimney was completely inaccessible. harker said, "i'll guess we'll have to go upstream, along the side." the rock was eroded enough to make that possible, showing wide ledges at different levels. mclaren said, "what if this river doesn't come from the surface? what if it starts from an underground source?" "you stuck your neck out," harker said. "come on." they started. after a while, tumbling like porpoises in the black water, the golden creatures swam by, and saw the men, and stopped, and swam back again. they were not very large, the largest about the size of a twelve-year-old child. their bodies were anthropoid, but adapted to swimming with shimmering webs. they glowed with a golden light, phosphorescent like the lichen, and their eyes were lidless and black, like one huge spreading pupil. their faces were incredible. harker could remember, faintly, the golden dandelions that grew on the lawn in summer. the heads and faces of the swimmers were like that, covered with streaming petals that seemed to have independent movements, as though they were sensory organs as well as decoration. harker said, "for cripesake, what are they?" "they look like flowers," mclaren said. "they look more like fish," the black man said. harker laughed. "i'll bet they're both. i'll bet they're plannies that grew where they had to be amphibious." the colonists had shortened plant-animal to planimal, and then just planny. "i've seen gimmicks in the swamps that weren't so far away from these. but jeez, get the eyes on 'em! they look human." "the shape's human, too, almost." mclaren shivered. "i wish they wouldn't look at us that way." sim said, "as long as they just look. i'm not gonna worry...." they didn't. they started to close in below the men, swimming effortlessly against the current. some of them began to clamber out on the low ledge behind them. they were agile and graceful. there was something unpleasantly child-like about them. there were fifteen or twenty of them, and they reminded harker of a gang of mischievous kids--only the mischief had a queer soulless quality of malevolence. harker led the way faster along the ledge. his knife was drawn and he carried a short spear in his right hand. the tone of the river changed. the channel broadened, and up ahead harker saw that the cavern ended in a vast shadowy place, the water spreading into a dark lake, spilling slowly out over a low wide lip of rock. more of the shining child-things were playing there. they joined their fellows, closing the ring tighter around the three men. "i don't like this," mclaren said. "if they'd only make a noise!" they did, suddenly--a shrill tittering like a blasphemy of childish laughter. their eyes shone. they rushed in, running wetly along the ledge, reaching up out of the water to claw at ankles, laughing. inside his tough flat belly harker's guts turned over. * * * * * mclaren yelled and kicked. claws raked his ankle, spiny needle-sharp things like thorns. sim ran his spear clean through a golden breast. there were no bones in it. the body was light and membranous, and the blood that ran out was sticky and greenish, like sap. harker kicked two of the things back in the river, swung his spear like a ball bat and knocked two more off the ledge--they were unbelievably light--and shouted, "up there, that high ledge. i don't think they can climb that." he thrust mclaren bodily past him and helped sim fight a rearguard action while they all climbed a rotten and difficult transit. mclaren crouched at the top and hurled chunks of stone at the attackers. there was a great crack running up and clear across the cavern roof, scar of some ancient earthquake. presently a small slide started. "okay," harker panted. "quit before you bring the roof down. they can't follow us." the plannies were equipped for swimming, not climbing. they clawed angrily and slipped back, and then retreated sullenly to the water. abruptly they seized the body with sim's spear through it and devoured it, quarreling fiercely over it. mclaren leaned over the edge and was sick. harker didn't feel so good himself. he got up and went on. sim helped mclaren, whose ankle was bleeding badly. this higher ledge angled up and around the wall of the great lake-cavern. it was cooler and drier here, and the lichens thinned out, and vanished, leaving total darkness. harker yelled once. from the echo of his voice the place was enormous. down below in the black water golden bodies streaked like comets in an ebon universe, going somewhere, going fast. harker felt his way carefully along. his skin twitched with a nervous impulse of danger, a sense of something unseen, unnatural, and wicked. sim said, "i hear something." they stopped. the blind air lay heavy with a subtle fragrance, spicy and pleasant, yet somehow unclean. the water sighed lazily far below. somewhere ahead was a smooth rushing noise which harker guessed was the river inlet. but none of that was what sim meant. he meant the rippling, rustling sound that came from everywhere in the cavern. the black surface of the lake was dotted now with spots of burning phosphorescent color, trailing fiery wakes. the spots grew swiftly, coming nearer, and became carpets of flowers, scarlet and blue and gold and purple. floating fields of them, and towed by shining swimmers. "my god," said harker softly. "how big are they?" "enough to make three of me." sim was a big man. "those little ones were children, all right. they went and got their papas. oh, lord!" the swimmers were very like the smaller ones that attacked them by the river, except for their giant size. they were not cumbersome. they were magnificent, supple-limbed and light. their membranes had spread into great shining wings, each rib tipped with fire. only the golden-dandelion heads had changed. they had shed their petals. their adult heads were crowned with flat, coiled growths having the poisonous and filthy beauty of fungus. and their faces were the faces of men. for the first time since childhood harker was cold. the fields of burning flowers were swirled together at the base of the cliff. the golden giants cried out suddenly, a sonorous belling note, and the water was churned to blazing foam as thousands of flower-like bodies broke away and started up the cliff on suckered, spidery legs. it didn't look as though it were worth trying, but harker said, "let's get the hell on!" there was a faint light now, from the army below. he began to run along the ledge, the others close on his heels. the flower-hounds coursed swiftly upward, and their masters swam easily below, watching. the ledge dropped. harker shot along it like a deer. beyond the lowest dip it plunged into the tunnel whence the river came. a short tunnel, and at the far end.... "daylight!" harker shouted. "daylight!" mclaren's bleeding leg gave out and he fell. * * * * * harker caught him. they were at the lowest part of the dip. the flower-beasts were just below, rushing higher. mclaren's foot was swollen, the calf of his leg discolored. some swift infection from the planny's claws. he fought harker. "go on," he said. "go on!" harker slapped him hard across the temple. he started on, half carrying mclaren, but he saw it wasn't going to work. mclaren weighed more than he did. he thrust mclaren into sim's powerful arms. the big black nodded and ran, carrying the half-conscious man like a child. harker saw the first of the flower-things flow up onto the ledge in front of them. sim hurdled them. they were not large, and there were only three of them. they rushed to follow and harker speared them, slashing and striking with the sharp bone tip. behind him the full tide rushed up. he ran, but they were faster. he drove them back with spear and knife, and ran again, and turned and fought again, and by the time they had reached the tunnel harker was staggering with weariness. sim stopped. he said, "there's no way out." harker glanced over his shoulder. the river fell sheer down a high face of rock--too high and with too much force in the water even for the giant water-plannies to think of attempting. daylight poured through overhead, warm and welcoming, and it might as well have been on mars. dead end. then harker saw the little eroded channel twisting up at the side. little more than a drain-pipe, and long dry, leading to a passage beside the top of the falls--a crack barely large enough for a small man to crawl through. it was a hell of a ragged hope, but.... harker pointed, between jabs at the swarming flowers. sim yelled, "you first." because harker was the best climber, he obeyed, helping the gasping mclaren up behind him. sim wielded his spear like a lightning brand, guarding the rear, creeping up inch by inch. he reached a fairly secure perch, and stopped. his huge chest pumped like a bellows, his arm rose and fell like a polished bar of ebony. harker shouted to him to come on. he and mclaren were almost at the top. sim laughed. "how you going to get me through that little bitty hole?" "come on, you fool!" "you better hurry. i'm about finished." "sim! sim, damn you!" "crawl out through that hole, runt, and pull that stringbean with you! i'm a man-sized man, and i got to stay." then, furiously, "hurry up or they'll drag you back before you're through." he was right. harker knew he was right. he went to work pushing and jamming mclaren through the narrow opening. mclaren was groggy and not much help, but he was thin and small-boned, and he made it. he rolled out on a slope covered with green grass, the first harker had seen since he was a child. he began to struggle after mclaren. he did not look back at sim. the black man was singing, about the glory of the coming of the lord. harker put his head back into the darkness of the creek. "sim!" "yeah?" faintly, hoarse, echoing. "there's land here, sim. good land." "yeah." "sim, we'll find a way...." sim was singing again. the sound grew fainter, diminishing downward into distance. the words were lost, but not what lay behind them. matt harker buried his face in the green grass, and sim's voice went with him into the dark. * * * * * the clouds were turning color with the sinking of the hidden sun. they hung like a canopy of hot gold washed in blood. it was utterly silent, except for the birds. birds. you never heard birds like that down in the low places. matt harker rolled over and sat up slowly. he felt as though he had been beaten. there was a sickness in him, and a shame, and the old dark anger lying coiled and deadly above his heart. before him lay the long slope of grass to the river, which bent away to the left out of sight behind a spur of granite. beyond the slope was a broad plain and then a forest of gigantic trees. they seemed to float in the coppery haze, their dark branches outspread like wings and starred with flowers. the air was cool, with no taint of mud or rot. the grass was rich, the soil beneath it clean and sweet. rory mclaren moaned softly and harker turned. his leg looked bad. he was in a sort of stupor, his skin flushed and dry. harker swore softly, wondering what he was going to do. he looked back toward the plain, and he saw the girl. he didn't know how she got there. perhaps out of the bushes that grew in thick clumps on the slope. she could have been there a long time, watching. she was watching now, standing quite still about forty feet away. a great scarlet butterfly clung to her shoulder, moving its wings with lazy delight. she seemed more like a child than a woman. she was naked, small and slender and exquisite. her skin had a faint translucent hint of green under its whiteness. her hair, curled short to her head, was deep blue, and her eyes were blue also, and very strange. harker stared at her, and she at him, neither of them moving. a bright bird swooped down and hovered by her lips for a moment, caressing her with its beak. she touched it and smiled, but she did not take her eyes from harker. harker got to his feet, slowly, easily. he said, "hello." she did not move, nor make a sound, but quite suddenly a pair of enormous birds, beaked and clawed like eagles and black as sin, made a whistling rush down past harker's head and returned, circling. harker sat down again. the girl's strange eyes moved from him, upward to the crack in the hillside whence he had come. her lips didn't move, but her voice--or something--spoke clearly inside harker's head. "you came from--there." _there_ had tremendous feeling in it, and none of it nice. harker said, "yes. a telepath, huh?" "but you're not...." a picture of the golden swimmers formed in harker's mind. it was recognizable, but hatred and fear had washed out all the beauty, leaving only horror. harker said, "no." he explained about himself and mclaren. he told about sim. he knew she was listening carefully to his mind, testing it for truth. he was not worried about what she would find. "my friend is hurt," he said. "we need food and shelter." for some time there was no answer. the girl was looking at harker again. his face, the shape and texture of his body, his hair, and then his eyes. he had never been looked at quite that way before. he began to grin. a provocative, be-damned-to-you grin that injected a surprising amount of light and charm into his sardonic personality. "honey," he said, "you are terrific. animal, mineral, or vegetable?" she tipped her small round head in surprise, and asked his own question right back. harker laughed. she smiled, her mouth making a small inviting v, and her eyes had sparkles in them. harker started toward her. instantly the birds warned him back. the girl laughed, a mischievous ripple of merriment. "come," she said, and turned away. harker frowned. he leaned over and spoke to mclaren, with peculiar gentleness. he managed to get the boy erect, and then swung him across his shoulders, staggering slightly under the weight. mclaren said distinctly, "i'll be back before he's born." harker waited until the girl had started, keeping his distance. the two black birds followed watchfully. they walked out across the thick grass of the plain, toward the trees. the sky was now the color of blood. a light breeze caught the girl's hair and played with it. matt harker saw that the short curled strands were broad and flat, like blue petals. iii it was a long walk to the forest. the top of the plateau seemed to be bowl-shaped, protected by encircling cliffs. harker, thinking back to that first settlement long ago, decided that this place was infinitely better. it was like the visions he had seen in fever-dreams--the promised land. the coolness and cleanness of it were like having weights removed from your lungs and heart and body. the rejuvenating air didn't make up for mclaren's weight, however. presently harker said, "hold it," and sat down, tumbling mclaren gently onto the grass. the girl stopped. she came back a little way and watched harker, who was blowing like a spent horse. he grinned up at her. "i'm shot," he said. "i've been too busy for a man of my age. can't you get hold of somebody to help me carry him?" again she studied him with puzzled fascination. night was closing in, a clear indigo, less dark than at sea level. her eyes had a curious luminosity in the gloom. "why do you do that?" she asked. "do what?" "carry it." by "it" harker guessed she meant mclaren. he was suddenly, coldly conscious of a chasm between them that no amount of explanation could bridge. "he's my friend. he's ... i have to." she studied his thought and then shook her head. "i don't understand. it's spoiled--" her thought-image was a combination of "broken," "finished," and "useless"--"why carry it around?" "mclaren's not an 'it.' he's a man like me, my friend. he's hurt, and i have to help him." "i don't understand." her shrug said it was his funeral, also that he was crazy. she started on again, paying no attention to harker's call for her to wait. perforce, harker picked up mclaren and staggered on again. he wished sim were here, and immediately wished he hadn't thought of sim. he hoped sim had died quickly before--before what? "_oh god, it's dark and i'm scared and my belly's all gone to cold water, and that thing trotting ahead of me through the blue haze...._" the thing was beautiful, though. beautifully formed, fascinating, a curved slender gleam of moonlight, a chaliced flower holding the mystic, scented nectar of the unreal, the unknown, the undiscovered. harker's blood began, in spite of himself, to throb with a deep excitement. they came under the fragrant shadows of the trees. the forest was open, with broad mossy rides and clearings. there were flowers underfoot, but no brush, and clumps of ferns. the girl stopped and stretched up her hand. a feathery branch, high out of her reach, bent and brushed her face, and she plucked a great pale blossom and set it in her hair. she turned and smiled at harker. he began to tremble, partly with weariness, partly with something else. "how do you do that?" he asked. she was puzzled. "the branch, you mean? oh, that!" she laughed. it was the first sound he had heard her make, and it shot through him like warm silver. "i just think i would like a flower, and it comes." teleportation, telekinetic energy--what did the books call it? back on earth they knew something about that, but the colony hadn't had much time to study even its own meager library. there had been some religious sect that could make roses bend into their hands. old wisdom, the force behind the biblical miracles, just the infinite power of thought. very simple. yeah. harker wondered uneasily whether she could work it on him, too. but then, he had a brain of his own. or did he? "what's your name?" he asked. she gave a clear, trilled sound. harker tried to whistle it and gave up. some sort of tone-language, he guessed, without words as he knew them. it sounded as though they--her people, whatever they were--had copied the birds. "i'll call you button," he said. "bachelor button--but you wouldn't know." she picked the image out of his mind and sent it back to him. blue fringe-topped flowers nodding in his mother's china bowl. she laughed again and sent her black birds away and led on into the forest, calling out like an oriole. other voices answered her, and presently, racing the light wind between the trees, her people came. * * * * * they were like her. there were males, slender little creatures like young boys, and girls like button. there were several hundred of them, all naked, all laughing and curious, their lithe pliant bodies flitting moth-fashion through the indigo shadows. they were topped with petals--harker called them that, though he still wasn't sure--of all colors from blood-scarlet to pure white. they trilled back and forth. apparently button was telling them all about how she found harker and mclaren. the whole mob pushed on slowly through the forest and ended finally in a huge clearing where there were only scattered trees. a spring rose and made a little lake, and then a stream that wandered off among the ferns. more of the little people came, and now he saw the young ones. all sizes, from tiny thin creatures on up, replicas of their elders. there were no old ones. there were none with imperfect or injured bodies. harker, exhausted and on the thin edge of a fever-bout, was not encouraged. he set mclaren down by the spring. he drank, gasping like an animal, and bathed his head and shoulders. the forest people stood in a circle, watching. they were silent now. harker felt coarse and bestial, somehow, as though he had belched loudly in church. he turned to mclaren. he bathed him, helped him drink, and set about fixing the leg. he needed light, and he needed flame. there were dry leaves, and mats of dead moss in the rocks around the spring. he gathered a pile of these. the forest people watched. their silent luminous stare got on harker's nerves. his hands were shaking so that he made four tries with his flint and steel before he got a spark. the tiny flicker made the silent ranks stir sharply. he blew on it. the flames licked up, small and pale at first, then taking hold, growing, crackling. he saw their faces in the springing light, their eyes stretched with terror. a shrill crying broke from them and then they were gone, like rustling leaves before a wind. harker drew his knife. the forest was quiet now. quiet but not at rest. the skin crawled on harker's back, over his scalp, drew tight on his cheekbones. he passed the blade through the flame. mclaren looked up at him. harker said, "it's okay, rory," and hit him carefully on the point of the jaw. mclaren lay still. harker stretched out the swollen leg and went to work. * * * * * it was dawn again. he lay by the spring in the cool grass, the ashes of his fire grey and dead beside the dark stains. he felt rested, relaxed, and the fever seemed to have gone out of him. the air was like wine. he rolled over on his back. there was a wind blowing. it was a live, strong wind, with a certain smell to it. the trees were rollicking, almost shouting with pleasure. harker breathed deeply. the smell, the pure clean edge.... suddenly he realized that the clouds were high, higher than he had ever known them to be. the wind swept them up, and the daylight was bright, so bright that.... harker sprang up. the blood rushed in him. there was a stinging blur in his eyes. he began to run, toward a tall tree, and he flung himself upward into the branches and climbed, recklessly, into the swaying top. the bowl of the valley lay below him, green, rich, and lovely. the grey granite cliffs rose around it, grew higher in the direction from which the wind blew. higher and higher, and beyond them, far beyond, were mountains, flung towering against the sky. on the mountains, showing through the whipping veils of cloud, there was snow, white and cold and blindingly pure, and as harker watched there was a gleam, so quick and fleeting that he saw it more with his heart than with his eyes.... sunlight. snowfields, and above them, the sun. after a long time he clambered down again into the silence of the glade. he stood there, not moving, seeing what he had not had time to see before. rory mclaren was gone. both packs, with food and climbing ropes and bandages and flint-and-steel were gone. the short spears were gone. feeling on his hip, harker found nothing but bare flesh. his knife and even his breech-clout had been taken. a slender, exquisite body moved forward from the shadows of the trees. huge white blossoms gleamed against the curly blue that crowned the head. luminous eyes glanced up at harker, full of mockery and a subtle animation. button smiled. matt harker walked toward button, not hurrying, his hard sinewy face blank of expression. he tried to keep his mind that way, too. "where is the other one; my friend?" "in the finish-place." she nodded vaguely toward the cliffs near where harker and mclaren had escaped from the caves. her thought-image was somewhere between rubbish-heap and cemetery, as nearly as harker could translate it. it was also completely casual, a little annoyed that time should be wasted on such trifles. "did you ... is he still alive?" "it was when we put it there. it will be all right, it will just wait until it--stops. like all of them." "why was he moved? why did you...." "it was ugly." button shrugged. "it was broken, anyway." she stretched her arms upward and lifted her head to the wind. a shiver of delight ran through her. she smiled again at harker, side-long. he tried to keep his anger hidden. he started walking again, not as though he had any purpose in mind, bearing toward the cliffs. his way lay past a bush with yellow flowers and thorny, pliant branches. suddenly it writhed and whipped him across the belly. he stopped short and doubled over, hearing button's laughter. when he straightened up she was in front of him. "it's red," she said, surprised, and laid little pointed fingers on the scratches left by the thorns. she seemed thrilled and fascinated by the color and feel of his blood. her fingers moved, probing the shape of his muscles, the texture of his skin and the dark hair on his chest. they drew small lines of fire along his neck, along the ridge of his jaw, touching his features one by one, his eyelids, his black brows. "what are you?" whispered her mind to his. "this." harker put his arms around her, slowly. her flesh slid cool and strange under his hands, sending an indescribable shudder through him, partly pleasure, partly revulsion. he bent his head. her eyes deepened, lakes of blue fire, and then he found her lips. they were cool and strange like the rest of her, pliant, scented with spice, the same perfume that came with sudden overpowering sweetness from her curling petals. harker saw movement in the forest aisles, a clustering of bright flower-heads. button drew back. she took his hand and led him away, off toward the river and the quiet ferny places along its banks. glancing up, harker saw that the two black birds were following overhead. * * * * * "you are really plants, then? flowers, like those?" he touched the white blossoms on her head. "you are really a beast, then? like the furry, snarling things that climb up through the pass sometimes?" they both laughed. the sky above them was the color of clean fleece. the warm earth and crushed ferns were sweet beneath them. "what pass?" asked harker. "over there." she pointed off toward the rim of the valley. "it goes down to the sea, i think. long ago we used to go down there but there's no need, and the beasts make it dangerous." "do they," said harker, and kissed her in the hollow below her chin. "what happens when the beasts come?" button laughed. before he could stir harker was trapped fast in a web of creepers and tough fern, and the black birds were screeching and clashing their sharp beaks in his face. "that happens," button said. she stroked the ferns. "our cousins understand us, even better than the birds." harker lay sweating, even after he was free again. finally he said, "those creatures in the underground lake. are they your cousins?" button's fear-thought thrust against his mind like hands pushing away. "no, don't.... long, long ago the legend is that this valley was a huge lake, and the swimmers lived in it. they were a different species from us, entirely. we came from the high gorges, where there are only barren cliffs now. this was long ago. as the lake receded, we grew more numerous and began to come down, and finally there was a battle and we drove the swimmers over the falls into the black lake. they have tried and tried to get out, to get back to the light, but they can't. they send their thoughts through to us sometimes. they...." she broke off. "i don't want to talk about them any more." "how would you fight them if they did get out?" asked harker easily. "just with the birds and the growing things?" button was slow in answering. then she said, "i will show you one way." she laid her hand across his eyes. for a moment there was only darkness. then a picture began to form--people, his own people, seen as reflections in a dim and distorted mirror but recognizable. they poured into the valley through a notch in the cliffs, and instantly every bush and tree and blade of grass was bent against them. they fought, slashing with their knives, making headway, but slowly. and then, across the plain, came a sort of fog, a thin drifting curtain of soft white. it came closer, moving with force of its own, not heeding the wind. harker saw that it was thistledown. seeds, borne on silky wings. it settled over the people trapped in the brush. it was endless and unhurrying, covering them all with a fine fleece. they began to writhe and cry out with pain, with a terrible fear. they struggled, but they couldn't get away. the white down dropped away from them. their bodies were covered with countless tiny green shoots, sucking the chemicals from the living flesh and already beginning to grow. button's spoken thought cut across the image. "i have seen your thoughts, some of them, since the moment you came out of the caves. i can't understand them, but i can see our plains gashed to the raw earth and our trees cut down and everything made ugly. if your kind came here, we would have to go. and the valley belongs to us." matt harker's brain lay still in the darkness of his skull, wary, drawn in upon itself. "it belonged to the swimmers first." "they couldn't hold it. we can." "why did you save me, button? what do you want of me?" "there was no danger from you. you were strange. i wanted to play with you." "do you love me, button?" his fingers touched a large smooth stone among the fern roots. "love? what is that?" "it's tomorrow and yesterday. it's hoping and happiness and pain, the complete self because it's selfless, the chain that binds you to life and makes living it worth while. do you understand?" "no. i grow, i take from the soil and the light, i play with the others, with the birds and the wind and the flowers. when the time comes i am ripe with seed, and after that i go to the finish-place and wait. that's all i understand. that's all there is." he looked up into her eyes. a shudder crept over him. "you have no soul, button. that's the difference between us. you live, but you have no soul." after that it was not so hard to do what he had to do. to do quickly, very quickly, the thing that was his only faint chance of justifying sim's death. the thing that button may have glimpsed in his mind but could not guard against, because there was no understanding in her of the thought of murder. iv the black birds darted at harker, but the compulsion that sent them flickered out too soon. the ferns and creepers shook, and then were still, and the birds flew heavily away. matt harker stood up. he thought he might have a little time. the flower-people probably kept in pretty close touch mentally, but perhaps they wouldn't notice button's absence for a while. perhaps they weren't prying into his own thoughts, because he was button's toy. perhaps.... he began to run, toward the cliffs where the finish-place was. he kept as much as possible in the open, away from shrubs. he did not look again, before he left, at what lay by his feet. he was close to his destination when he knew that he was spotted. the birds returned, rushing down at him on black whistling wings. he picked up a dead branch to beat them off and it crumbled in his hands. telekinesis, the power of mind over matter. harker had read once that if you knew how you could always make your point by thinking the dice into position. he wished he could think himself up a blaster. curved beaks ripped his arms. he covered his face and grabbed one of the birds by the neck and killed it. the other one screamed and this time harker wasn't so lucky. by the time he had killed the second one he'd felt claws in him and his face was laid open along the cheekbones. he began to run again. bushes swayed toward him as he passed. thorny branches stretched. creepers rose like snakes from the grass, and every green blade was turned knife-like against his feet. but he had already reached the cliffs and there were open rocky spaces and the undergrowth was thin. he knew he was near the finish-place because he could smell it. the gentle withered fragrance of flowers past their prime, and under that a dead, sour decay. he shouted mclaren's name, sick with dread that there might not be an answer, weak with relief when there was one. he raced over tumbled rocks toward the sound. a small creeper tangled his foot and brought him down. he wrenched it by the roots from its shallow crevice and went on. as he glanced back over his shoulder he saw a thin white veil, a tiny patch in the distant air, drifting toward him. he came to the finish-place. it was a box canyon, quite deep, with high sheer walls, so that it was almost like a wide well. in the bottom of it bodies were thrown in a dry, spongy heap. colorless flower-bodies, withered and grey, an incredible compost pile. rory mclaren lay on top of it, apparently unhurt. the two packs were beside him, with the weapons. strewn over the heap, sitting, lying, moving feebly about, were the ones who waited, as button had put it, to stop. here were the aged, the faded and worn out, the imperfect and injured, where their ugliness could not offend. they seemed already dead mentally. they paid no attention to the men, nor to each other. sheer blind vitality kept them going a little longer, as a geranium will bloom long after its cut stalk is desiccated. "matt," mclaren said. "oh, god, matt, i'm glad to see you!" "are you all right?" "sure. my leg even feels pretty good. can you get me out?" "throw those packs up here." mclaren obeyed. he began to catch harker's feverish mood, warned by harker's bleeding, ugly face that something nasty was afoot. harker explained rapidly while he got out one of the ropes and half hauled mclaren out of the pit. the white veil was close now. very close. "can you walk?" harker asked. mclaren glanced at the fleecy cloud. harker had told him about it. "i can walk," he said. "i can run like hell." harker handed him the rope. "get around the other side of the canyon. clear across, see?" he helped mclaren on with his pack. "stand by with the rope to pull me up. and keep to the bare rocks." mclaren went off. he limped badly, his face twisted with pain. harker swore. the cloud was so close that now he could see the millions of tiny seeds floating on their silken fibres, thistledown guided by the minds of the flower-people in the valley. he shrugged into his pack straps and began winding bandages and tufts of dead grass around the bone tip of a recovered spear. the edge of the cloud was almost on him when he got a spark into the improvised torch and sprang down onto the heap of dead flower-things in the pit. he sank and floundered on the treacherous surface, struggling across it while he applied the torch. the dry, withered substance caught. he raced the flames to the far wall and glanced back. the dying creatures had not stirred, even when the fire engulfed them. overhead, the edges of the seed-cloud flared and crisped. it moved on blindly over the fire. there was a pale flash of light and the cloud vanished in a puff of smoke. "rory!" harker yelled. "rory!" * * * * * for a long minute he stood there, coughing, strangling in thick smoke, feeling the rushing heat crisp his skin. then, when it was almost too late, mclaren's sweating face appeared above him and the rope snaked down. tongues of flame flicked his backside angrily as he ran monkey-fashion up the wall. they got away from there, higher on the rocky ground, slashing occasionally with their knives at brush and creepers they could not avoid. mclaren shuddered. "it's impossible," he said. "how do they do it?" "they're blood cousins. or should i say sap. anyhow, i suppose it's like radio control--a matter of transmitting the right frequencies. here, take it easy a minute." mclaren sank down gratefully. blood was seeping through the tight bandages where harker had incised his wound. harker looked back into the valley. the flower people were spread out in a long crescent, their bright multi-colored heads clear against the green plain. harker guessed that they would be guarding the pass. he guessed that they had known what was going on in his mind as well as button had. new form of communism, one mind for all and all for one mind. he could see that even without mclaren's disability they couldn't make it to the pass. not a mouse could have made it. he wondered how soon the next seed-cloud would come. "what are we going to do, matt? is there any way...." mclaren wasn't thinking about himself. he was looking at the valley like lucifer yearning at paradise, and he was thinking of viki. not just viki alone, but viki as a symbol of thirty-eight hundred wanderers on the face of venus. "i don't know," said harker. "the pass is out, and the caves are out ... hey! remember when we were fighting off those critters by the river and you nearly started a cave-in throwing rocks? there was a fault there, right over the edge of the lake. an earthquake split. if we could get at it from the top and shake it down...." it was a minute before mclaren caught on. his eyes widened. "a slide would dam up the lake...." "if the level rose enough, the swimmers could get out." harker gazed with sultry eyes at the bobbing flower heads below. "but if the valley's flooded, matt, and those critters take over, where does that leave our people?" "there wouldn't be too much of a slide, i don't think. the rock's solid on both sides of the fault. and anyway, the weight of the water backed up there would push through anything, even a concrete dam, in a couple of weeks." harker studied the valley floor intently. "see the way that slopes there? even if the slide didn't wash out, a little digging would drain the flood off down the pass. we'd just be making a new river." "maybe." mclaren nodded. "i guess so. but that still leaves the swimmers. i don't think they'd be any nicer than these babies about giving up their land." his tone said he would rather fight button's people any day. harker's mouth twisted in a slow grin. "the swimmers are water creatures, rory. amphibious. also, they've lived underground, in total darkness, for god knows how long. you know what happens to angleworms when you get 'em out in the light. you know what happens to fungus that grows in the dark." he ran his fingers over his skin, almost with reverence. "noticed anything about yourself, rory? or have you been too busy." mclaren stared. he rubbed his own skin, and winced, and rubbed again, watching his fingers leave streaks of livid white that faded instantly. "sunburn," he said wonderingly. "my god. sunburn!" harker stood up. "let's go take a look." down below the flower heads were agitated "they don't like that thought, rory. maybe it can be done, and they know it." mclaren rose, leaning on a short spear like a cane. "matt. they won't let us get away with it." harker frowned. "button said there were other ways beside the seed...." he turned away. "no use standing here worrying about it." * * * * * they started climbing again, very slowly on account of mclaren. harker tried to gauge where they were in relation to the cavern beneath. the river made a good guide. the rocks were almost barren of growth here, which was a godsend. he watched, but he couldn't see anything threatening approaching from the valley. the flower people were mere dots now, perfectly motionless. the rock formation changed abruptly. ancient quakes had left scars in the shape of twisted strata, great leaning slabs of granite poised like dancers, and cracks that vanished into darkness. harker stopped. "this is it. listen, rory. i want you to go off up there, out of the danger area...." "matt, i...." "shut up. one of us has got to be alive to take word back to the ships as soon as he can get through the valley. there's no great rush and you'll be able to travel in three-four days. you...." "but why me? you're a better mountain man...." "you're married," said harker curtly. "it'll only take one of us to shove a couple of those big slabs down. they're practically ready to fall of their own weight. maybe nothing will happen. maybe i'll get out all right. but it's a little silly if both of us take the risk, isn't it?" "yeah. but matt...." "listen, kid." harker's voice was oddly gentle. "i know what i'm doing. give my regards to viki and the...." he broke off with a sharp cry of pain. looking down incredulously, he saw his body covered with little tentative flames, feeble, flickering, gone, but leaving their red footprints behind them. mclaren had the same thing. they stared at each other. a helpless terror took harker by the throat. telekinesis again. the flower people turning his own weapon against them. they had seen fire, and what it did, and they were copying the process in their own minds, concentrating, all of them together, the whole mental force of the colony centered on the two men. he could even understand why they focused on the skin. they had taken the sunburn-thought and applied it literally. fire. spontaneous combustion. a simple, easy reaction, if you knew the trick. there was something about a burning bush.... the attack came again, stronger this time. the flower people were getting the feel of it now. it hurt. oh god, it hurt. mclaren screamed. his loincloth and bandages began to smoulder. _what to do, thought harker, quick, tell me what to do...._ the flower people focus on us through our minds, our conscious minds. maybe they can't get the subconscious so easily, because the thoughts are not directed, they're images, symbols, vague things. maybe if rory couldn't think consciously they couldn't find him.... another flare of burning, agonizing pain. in a minute they'll have the feel of it. they can keep it going.... without warning, harker slugged mclaren heavily on the jaw and dragged him away to where the rock was firm. he did it all with astonishing strength and quickness. there was no need to save himself. he wasn't going to need himself much longer. he went away a hundred feet or so, watching mclaren. a third attack struck him, sickened and dazed him so that he nearly fell. rory mclaren was not touched. harker smiled. he turned and ran back toward the rotten place in the cliffs. a part of his conscious thought was so strongly formed that his body obeyed it automatically, not stopping even when the flames appeared again and again on his flesh, brightening, growing, strengthening as the thought-energies of button's people meshed together. he flung down one teetering giant of stone, and the shock jarred another loose. harker stumbled on to a third, based on a sliding bed of shale, and thrust with all his strength and beyond it, and it went too, with crashing thunder. harker fell. the universe dissolved into shuddering, roaring chaos beyond a bright veil of flame and a smell of burning flesh. by that time there was only one thing clear in matt harker's understanding--the second part of his conscious mind, linked to and even stronger than the first. the image he carried with him into death was a tall mountain with snow on its shoulders, blazing in the sun. * * * * * it was night. rory mclaren lay prone on a jutting shelf above the valley. below him the valley was lost in indigo shadows, but there was a new sound in it--the swirl of water, angry and swift. there was new life in it, too. it rode the crest of the flood waters, burning gold in the blue night, shining giants returning in vengeance to their own place. great patches of blazing jewel-toned phosphorescence dotted the water--the flower-hounds, turned loose to hunt. and in between them, rolling and leaping in deadly play, the young of the swimmers went. mclaren watched them hunt the forest people. he watched all night, shivering with dread, while the golden titans exacted payment for the ages they had lived in darkness. by dawn it was all over. and then, through the day, he watched the swimmers die. the river, turned back on itself, barred them from the caves. the strong bright light beat down. the swimmers turned at first to greet it with a pathetic joy. and then they realized.... mclaren turned away. he waited, resting, until, as harker had predicted, the block washed away and the backed-up water could flow normally again. the valley was already draining when he found the pass. he looked up at the mountains and breathed the sweet wind, and felt a great shame and humility that he was here to do it. he looked back toward the caves where sim had died, and the cliffs above where he had buried what remained of matt harker. it seemed to him that he should say something, but no words came, only that his chest was so full he could hardly breathe. he turned mutely down the rocky pass, toward the sea of morning opals and the thirty-eight hundred wanderers who had found a home. tangle hold by f. l. wallace illustrated by emsh [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from galaxy science fiction june 1953. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] [sidenote: jadiver objected to being the greatest influence for good on venus ... because what was good for venus was bad for jadiver!] somebody was wrapping him in a sheet of ice and spice. somebody was pulling it tight so that his toes ached and his fingers tingled. he still had fingers, and eyes too. he opened his eyes and they turned in opposite directions and couldn't focus on what they saw. he made an effort, but couldn't keep it up and had to let his eyes flutter shut again. "rest. you're all right." that's where he got the idea of ice and spice--from that voice. "mmmm," said jadiver. he tried to raise his hand, but it wouldn't move. it was good advice--to rest; he couldn't do otherwise. "what happened?" he whispered. "you had an accident. remember?" he didn't. it was his mind playing tricks, of course. it couldn't have been pleasant if his memory didn't have access to it. "mmmm," he evaded. "go to sleep. we'll talk later." he thought he felt something shoved deep in his flesh, but he may have been wrong. in any event, the light that filtered through his closed eyelids faded away and the external world, of which there wasn't much in the first place, vanished completely. * * * * * later, he awakened. how much later, he didn't know, but it may have been days. the oppressive languor had left him and he felt capable of movement. to prove it to himself, he turned his head. he was alone, and he thought he recognized where he was. he didn't like it. there was an odor in the room, but this time it was the kind that lingers in all hospitals. he tried to sit up, but that was more than he could manage. he lay there a long time, looking through the heavily reinforced window; then someone came in. "you'll live," said the voice behind him--the same voice. "think so?" he hadn't intended to turn around, but the spice was back and he wanted to see. it was only the fragrance she wore--there was none in her voice or demeanor. that was still ice. when she sat down, he could see that her hair was a shade of copper and the uniform she wore a dark green. she was not a robot and therefore not a nurse or a guard. it was logical to assume she was a doctor, police variety--definitely the police. thadeus jadiver sighed. "what am i in for?" "you're not in for anything. maybe you should be, but that's not my business," she said in a flat voice. that was the only thing about her that was flat; the rest curved nicely even under the uniform. "this is an emergency as well as a police hospital. we were close, so we took you in." that was reassuring. jadiver tried to smile as he lifted a curiously bandaged arm. "thanks for this." "i'll take only half the credit. that was a combo job." he was going to have difficulty if she insisted on using technical slang. "what's a combo job?" "just what it sounds like. a combination robot-human surgeon. all hospitals use them. the robot is more precise and delicate, but it lacks the final margin of judgment that's supplied by the human. two of us work together in critical cases." he still couldn't remember what had happened, but it would come back in time. "i was critical?" her mouth was firm and her cheekbones a trifle too broad. just the same, the total effect was pleasing, would have been more so with a little warmth stirred in. "to give you an idea, you'll notice that every square inch of your skin is now synthetic." she leaned over and took his hand, which was encased in a light spongy cocoon. expertly, she peeled back the end and exposed the tips of his fingers. jadiver looked, then turned away. "cellophane," he said. "a man can be born, live, die, and be shoveled away; begot and beget, completely untouched by human hands." she looked blank at the mention of cellophane. probably didn't know what it was, thought jadiver. so few people did any more. "don't worry about it," she said. "your skin's transparent now, but in a few days it will be normal." "that's nice," said jadiver. "i suppose it would be educational, but i'd just as soon not be an anatomy model of the first layer of the human body." she stood up and managed to work up a creditable imitation of interest. "we had to peel off the burned part, and when you were completely raw, we fitted the synthetic skin to your body. over that we sprayed the bandage. new body cells form with this synthetic substance as the matrix. you'll gradually return to normal or better. your new skin may be more resistant to corrosive chemicals and microbe invasions." "glad to hear it," said jadiver. "superman." for the first time, she smiled. "don't count on it. this stuff is too new for us to know how it reacts in all cases." she turned around at the door. "in a few days i'll take off the bandages and you can go home. meanwhile, you know what to do if you need anything." * * * * * jadiver lay there after she left, thinking. he hadn't asked what the accident was and she had assumed he remembered. he ought to, but he didn't. he frowned and tried to recall the last thing he had been doing. they had removed his skin and replaced it with a synthetic substance. why? take it from there and work back. he stirred uneasily. the last he remembered, he'd been in his apartment. that didn't help much; he was often there. he shook his head. he was in the apartment, preparing to leave. that meant he must have used the autobath. that was it. the picture came into focus: he touched the door of the autobath and it swung open. he went inside. "shave, massage, bath," he ordered. the mechanism reached out of the wall to enfold him. he leaned back. it gripped him, not comfortably, as usual--but tightly. he squirmed, but when the grip didn't adjust, he relaxed. the autobath rumbled familiarly and a jet of water spouted up from the floor. it was icy cold and jadiver shivered. "you didn't listen," he said firmly. "i asked for the bath last." the autobath paid no attention. the top and side jets turned on. the force was greater than he had ever experienced. it was difficult to breathe. the water got hotter rapidly, and then, seconds later, steam blew out of the nozzles. jadiver shouted and tried to struggle free. the autobath did not let go. instead, it ground at his muscles with hard inflexible hands. here and there his skin began parting from his flesh. the autobath kept on kneading him. it was when it reached for his face--jadiver remembered very clearly--he lost consciousness. he lay on the bed in the hospital, sweat soaking into the bandages. he could understand why he'd had a memory block--being boiled alive was frightful enough for his mind to repress. it was not only the accident that was disturbing, but the manner in which it occurred. he knew robot machinery and the principles used in the construction of it. the autobath was one of the best--foolproof, if there was such a mechanism. someone had tampered with it--object: _to try to kill him_. that was one possibility and he could face it with equanimity. there was also another, but he didn't like to think about that. * * * * * he looked out over venicity. from his apartment, the topography resembled that of a lunar crater. in the middle was a giant concrete plain, the rocketport. from the edges of the rocketport, the size of the buildings increased gradually; at a third of the distance from the center, they were at maximum height; thereafter, they decreased gradually until one and two story structures nibbled at the surrounding forest. five million people and in ten years there would undoubtedly be seven, a sizable metropolis even for earth. that didn't mean that the population of venus could compare with the home planet. venus was settled differently. newcomers started with the cities; only later did they venture out into the vast wild lands. venus was civilized, after a fashion, but it wasn't a copy of earth. the screen glimmered at his back. "thadeus jadiver, consulting engineer?" he turned. "that's right. can i help you?" the man on the screen closed one eye slowly and opened it again the same way. "this is vicon burlingame. i've been doing some experimenting and am now at the point where i can use some technical assistance." "i'm not sure. i've been in the hospital until this morning. i think i need a checkup." "i called while you were gone," said burlingame. "i know about the hospital; however, i don't think my work will be strenuous. perhaps you'd come over and we'll discuss it." "i'll take the chance i can help you." "good." vicon burlingame gave him the address before fading out of the screen. jadiver dressed slowly. weak, but better than he expected. physically, his recovery was far advanced. it wasn't he who was taking a chance, of course; it was burlingame. jadiver had warned him and if burlingame was willing to risk it, that was up to him. before he left, jadiver checked his office. a few calls in the last week, but nothing important. it was a routine check and he gave the robot routine instructions. a tiny thing, that office, located on the ground floor of a building fronting a principal thoroughfare. a space large enough for a client to sit down, if one should come, which wasn't often. behind the desk was the upper half of a robot. tiny though the office was, it was not inexpensive, and the business that passed through it was barely enough to pay the rent. there were other advantages in maintaining it, though. as long as he had a business address, he was spared certain legal embarrassments. * * * * * five minutes later, he was greeted by vicon burlingame. "come in." jadiver did so. burlingame silently studied jadiver closely. "maybe you're tired," he said at last. "a little sun would relax you." "it might," agreed jadiver. "this cloudy venus." "it's not so bad when you're home," said burlingame. "but public places are bad for ultraviolet." he indicated the next room. "the lamp is in there." jadiver went in and began to remove his clothing. before he finished, a little man came in, nodding silently at jadiver. without comment, jadiver stood in front of the machine. while the little man methodically examined him, his clothing disappeared. the little man looked up at the end of the intensive investigation. "you'll do," he said. "clear?" asked jadiver. "clear as the atmosphere of the moon. we were afraid they'd planted you while you were in the hospital, but we decided to take the chance." for the first time since the accident, jadiver felt relaxed. "thanks, cobber. i was hoping to contact someone to check it for me." cobber shrugged. "who can you trust? if you go to a doctor good enough to find a gadget that small, what is he? a high-powered professional and he's got his problems. he sees something inside and smiles and says you're fine and charges you a fat fee. even if he tells you that you've been planted, there's nothing you can do. no one's going to cut it out--not while the police can hear everything through it." "thanks for taking the chance." burlingame came in smiling confidently. "now we can talk," he said. behind him were three other men jadiver had never seen. "where are my clothes?" jadiver wanted to know. "they'll be ready," promised burlingame. "the police have got all kinds of cute tricks, only we don't fall for them. we're systematic." they were that, decided jadiver, and something more. they had to be to survive so long. burlingame was good. a gamin's face peered through the doorway and one hand thrust his clothing into the room and waved it. "here. they didn't try to conceal anything." she sounded disappointed. jadiver dressed as burlingame relayed the clothing to him. the gamin wrinkled her nose and disappeared. by the time jadiver was completely dressed, she came back with refreshments. they sat down at the table. "i want faces," said burlingame, across from him--"five faces." jadiver looked around. there were six. "none of my business, except in a professional way, but who do i leave out?" "cobber. we have other plans for him." it wasn't a good idea to pry. he had to know the human material on which he was expected to work, but it was safer not to know what they were planning. he tapped his glass. "what kind of faces? soft faces, hard faces, space faces? and do you want anything else?" "society faces," said burlingame. "emily wants to wear a low-cut gown. the rest of us just need faces." "real low," the gamin insisted, wriggling. "society," mused jadiver. "i always did think it was better to rob the rich ... like robin hood." "sure," burlingame said. jadiver tilted the glass. "especially since the poor don't have much money." "that has something to do with it," burlingame cheerfully agreed. cobber broke in. he was a little gnarled man, older than the others. "a point, jadiver. the poor don't have much money, but there's so many more of them. you can actually be more successful robbing them. but you have to keep at it every day in the year, and then you don't call it robbery; you say you're governing them." "don't have that kind of stamina," said burlingame. "a good point, cobber." jadiver leaned on the table. "i don't want specific information, but how can you make robbery pay off these days?" * * * * * burlingame looked at him astutely. "considering it yourself?" jadiver shook his head. "intellectual curiosity. i'm doing all right in my own line." "it's a theory," said burlingame. "you can't touch banks or financial institutions. too many electronic safeguards, robots, and what have you. in order to get past that kind of equipment, you have to be a top-notch scientist--and one that can do better at a top-notch job. "now, who's got money? the rich, and they _want_ to show it off wherever they go. naturally they take precautions, too, but people are always involved and that's the weakness. you can build a machine that does one thing perfectly, but people make mistakes--they get rattled. teamwork can take advantage of it. a feint here, and a block there, and before anyone knows what's happening, we're through their defenses. with, of course, their money." jadiver looked at him, at his handsome, ruddy, respectable face. "you played football?" burlingame grinned. "twenty-five years ago." "it's changed. you wouldn't recognize it now." "perhaps not. but the principle is still the same, and it's the principle that pays off." jadiver stood up. "i'd better get started. where do i work?" "here," said burlingame. "we have the tools ready for you." "mind if i look at the setup?" "go ahead." the gamin bounced up and took charge of jadiver, leading him to a small workshop screened off in a corner of one of the larger rooms. the layout was authentic enough to justify the equipment--a few robot forms in the rough state, handbooks on design, several robot heads in various stages of completion, and an assortment of the specialized tools of the trade. it was standard for the tinkerer, for the would-be designer of robot bodies. burlingame always covered himself in every detail. jadiver inspected it thoroughly, the gamin standing impatiently at his side. "i'm first when you're ready," she said. he eyed her amusedly. "what's the hurry?" "there's more to do on me and you'll do your best work when you're not tired." "i'll start soon. let me see the plastic." she opened a cabinet and there it was. jadiver squatted and read the instructions on the containers. he shook his head in despair. every amateur always did this. he stood up. "you've got the worst kind," he said. she shrugged. "they told me it was the best." "that depends. there are two kinds, and this one does look more real than the other. in fact, for a time this actually becomes a part of your body, a pseudo-flesh. but it's quite dangerous." "the other kind is just a cosmetic, isn't it?" "that's right, but--" "then i'm not worried," she said, tossing her head. "the way i see it, it's dangerous not to use the best disguise we can get." she might be right. at least he'd warned her, and as long as she had the facts straight, the decision was hers to make. jadiver peeled off his jacket and slid into a protective smock. "ask burlingame to come in. this is going to be delicate, you know." the gamin grinned. "i've never been overly concerned about vicon, and he knows i can take care of myself." she stepped behind a screen and presently came out again, nude. "where do you want me to stand?" "on the pedestal, under the light." he looked at her closely. he had thought she was a little girl, a tired little girl who hadn't slept much recently. it was the pert face that had fooled him, with the upturned nose, because she wasn't young. forty he would say, maybe more, nearly as old as burlingame. her body was slight, but not much was wrong with it. here and there were a few wrinkles, though in general her figure appeared youthful. it would require all his skill to make her as spectacular in a low-cut gown as she wanted to be. and her legs, though well shaped, were slightly bowed, a sure sign of venusian rickets. early settlers hadn't realized that the soil was deficient in some essential trace elements. he would have to straighten her legs if she expected to mingle with society. it was beyond his power to change the bones, but he could add pseudo-flesh to give the same effect. he slipped on the mask, attached the various containers, thrust his hand into the glovelike control valve, and began to work. she winced involuntarily as the spray tingled against her body and adhered with constrictive force. he blocked out the areas he had to alter and then began to fill in and build up. "i don't see it," said emily. "i know you must be good. that's why burlingame wanted you. but it seems to me this is out of your line." he brought the spray up in a straight line along the edge of her shin. "how good i am is a matter of opinion. mine and the places i've worked." "what places, for instance?" "mostly earth." "i've never been there," she said wistfully. "you haven't missed much." he knew that, while he believed that with part of his mind, essentially he was wrong. as the spray was drying on her legs, he started filling out her breasts. "however, this isn't as much out of my line as you think. engineers specialize, you know. mine's industrial design. we don't usually monkey with the internal mechanism of a machine, though we're able to. mostly, we design housings for the machines, robots as a rule." he proceeded to her face and changed the upturned nose to a straight one. "the ideal external appearance of a machine ought to establish the function of that machine, and do so with the most efficient distribution of space and material." he stood back and eyed the total effect. she was coming along. "the human body is a good design--for a human. it doesn't belong on a robot. that, for most purposes, should be a squat container with three wheels or treads, with eye-stalks and tentacles on top. i designed one like that, but it was never built. robots always look like beautiful girls or handsome men, and the mechanism is twice as clumsy as it should be, in order to fit in with that conception." he squinted at the spray. "in other words, i design robot bodies and faces. why should it be strange i can do the same with humans?" the spray was neither a liquid nor a dustlike jet. she shivered under it. "why don't you like robots? i don't see anything wrong with them. they're so beautiful." he laughed. "i'll give you an idea. i got tired of the meaningless perfection of the bodies i was turning out. why shouldn't the bodies be beautiful, considering how they're made? anyway, i put a pimple on one model. not on her face. her shoulder." she extended her hands and he took off the fine wrinkles with a sweeping motion of the spray. "what happened?" "i had to start looking for another job. but somebody higher up began to think about what i'd done. now, on earth, all robots that model clothing have some perceptible skin defects. more lifelike, they say." "is that why you came to venus?" "i'd been considering it for some time. it seemed to me that there ought to be a place for a good designer, even if i did have to work on robots." he smiled wryly. "a lot of other engineers had the same idea." "too much competition?" "sort of." he grimaced. "my first job here was designing female bodies for so-called social clubs." "oh, those," she said scornfully. "it's legitimate on venus. anyway, i tried out that idea again. customers didn't like it. said they could get women with blemishes any time. when they got a robot, they wanted perfection." "don't blame them," emily said practically. she looked at him with sudden suspicion. "don't give _me_ pimples." "not a one," he assured her. "you're flawless." and she was--with only one item missing. he flexed his fingers in the control glove and sprayed on nipples. she was finished. he shucked off the mask and laid aside the spray gun. "look at yourself." she went to the mirror and turned in front of it. she smoothed her hands across her face and smiled with pleasure. "it feels like flesh." "it is, almost. tomorrow you'll bleed there if you cut yourself." she nodded. "is that all?" "except for instructions, yes." she looked at him with curious shyness and hurriedly slipped into her clothing. she hadn't minded nudity before, when she wasn't as lovely as she wanted to be. what she didn't know was that jadiver liked her better as she had been. * * * * * dressed, she came back to him. "what are those instructions?" he tore off two envelopes attached to the container. he checked the spray gun to determine how much had been used. "pseudo-flesh is highly poisonous," he said, handing her the envelopes. "the tablets in the white package neutralize the toxic effects. take one every eight hours. and don't forget to take it, unless you want to end up in convulsions on the floor." "i'll remember. when do i begin?" "in three hours. and now for some advice i know you don't want. you can keep yourself as you are for two months. but you'll be healthier if you get rid of the pseudo-flesh as soon as you can." she looked longingly at the face in the mirror. "how do i do that?" "when you're ready, take the tablets in the green package, one every hour until the pseudo-flesh is absorbed. after it's gone, take three more at the same interval. the total time should be about thirteen hours." she was not paying attention. he eased between her and the mirror. "get a complete checkup before you try this again. it takes years off your life." "i know that. how many?" "i can't say exactly. it's a body, pseudo-flesh weight ratio, plus some other factors that no one knows anything about. i'd estimate that you'll lose about three years for every two weeks you keep it." "it's worth it," she said, gazing again into the mirror. she turned away in indecision. "i've always known burlingame was mine, even if i wasn't pretty. now i'm not so sure, after this." it wasn't exactly burlingame she was concerned with, thought jadiver. for a while she was going to be beautiful beyond her expectations. the irony was that almost any robot outshone her temporary beauty. she was jealous of machines that had no awareness of how they looked. jadiver straightened up. he hadn't fully recovered from his accident and he was tired. and the artificial skin, no matter what they said, hadn't been completely integrated to his body. it itched. "send the rest of them in, one at a time," he said as she went out. it wasn't going to take long, for which he was grateful. now that he knew a spying device hadn't been surgeried into him, there were certain aspects of the accident that demanded investigation. * * * * * jadiver limped into the apartment. the chair unfolded and came to meet him as he entered. he relaxed in the depths of it and called out for food. soon he had eaten, and shortly after that he dozed. when he awakened, refreshed, he began the thinking he'd put off until now. the fee from burlingame was welcome. it was dangerous business, so jadiver had charged accordingly. now his economic problem was solved for about a month. in the hospital he had been sure of a motive for the accident. it had seemed simple enough: the police had planted a spying device in him. however, since he had been examined thoroughly at burlingame's and nothing had been found, that theory broke down. there was still another possibility--someone had tried to kill him and had failed. if so, that put the police in the clear and he would have to look elsewhere. he might as well start there. he walked over to the autobath and began inspecting it. it wasn't the one he'd been injured in. that had been removed and replaced by the management. it would have helped if he had been able to go over the original one. the new autobath was much like the old, a small unit that fitted decoratively into the scheme of the room, not much taller than an upright man, or longer than a man lying down. the mechanism itself, and there was plenty, was effectively sealed. short of an atomic torch, there wasn't any way to get into it. jadiver pryed and poked, but learned nothing. in response to the human voice, it automatically provided all the services necessary to human cleanliness, but there was no direct way to check on the involved mechanism. * * * * * he finally called the firm that made it. the usual beautiful robot answered: "living rooms, incorporated. can i help you?" "information," he said. "autobath unit." "sales? new or replacement?" "service. i want to see about repairs." "we have no repair department. nothing ever wears out." "perhaps not, but it becomes defective and has to be replaced." "defective parts are a result of wear. since nothing wears out, no repair is necessary. occasionally an autobath is damaged, but then it doesn't work at all, even if the damage is slight. it has to be replaced." that was what he thought, but it was better to be sure. "this is hypothetical," he said. "suppose there was an accident in an autobath. is there an alarm system which would indicate that something was wrong?" the robot was smooth and positive. "your question is basically misleading, according to our statistics. in eight hundred and forty one million plus installations, on all the inhabited planets of the solar system, there has never been one accident. "the autobath is run by a small atomic motor and is not connected in any way to an outside power source. there are plumbing connections, but these are not suitable for the transmission of a signal. to answer your question specifically: there is no alarm system of any kind, local or general, nor is there any provision for someone else to attach one." "thanks," said jadiver, and cut the screen. he was nearly certain now. one check remained. * * * * * he flipped on a switch and walked out of the room to the hall and stood there listening. he could hear nothing. he came closer to the door and there was still no sound. he pressed his ear against the juncture of the door and jamb. not the slightest noise. he winced when he opened the door. the music he had switched on was deafening. he hurried inside and turned it off. he had known his apartment was sound-proofed. just how good that soundproofing was, he hadn't tested until now. the so-called accident had happened in the autobath. the unit couldn't signal that anything was wrong. no one passing in the hall could hear his yells. the evidence indicated that no accident could happen in the autobath--yet it had. logically, he should have died in that accident that couldn't happen--yet he hadn't. what did they want? and was it the police? in the hospital he had been sure--certain, too, of what they were attempting. now the facts wouldn't fit. tiredness came back, reinforced by doubt. his skin itched--probably from nervous tension. he finally fell into an uneasy sleep with the help of a sedative. * * * * * in the morning, the itch was still there. he looked curiously at his skin; it appeared normal. it was definitely not transparent, hadn't been even in the hospital when the bandages were removed. he'd had a glimpse of it in the original transparent stage only once, when the doctor had exposed the tips of his fingers. briefly he wondered about it. did it really itch that bad, or was it an unconscious excuse to see the doctor? she was a sullen, indifferent creature, but without doubt worth seeing again. he didn't know her name, but he could find out easily enough. as if in answer to the silent question, his whole body twitched violently. he raked his fingers across his forearm and the nails broke off. she was at least partly right in her predictions; his skin was considerably tougher than it had been, though nothing appeared different. he didn't like communicating with the police, but he had little choice. he flipped on the screen and made a few inquiries. the name he wanted was doctor doumya filone. she was off duty at present. however, if it was an emergency--? his skin crawled and he decided it was just that and identified himself. there were a number of persons with whom he had contacts who wouldn't approve his doing this, but they didn't have to live in his skin. he dialed her quickly. he couldn't place the number, but figured it was probably across town, in one of the newer districts. he didn't fully remember what she was like until she appeared on the screen. with that face to put on a robot, he might make a fortune. that is, if he could capture the expression as well as the features. "how's the patient?" she asked. behind her briskness he thought he could detect a flicker of concern. "you can take back that skin you gave me," he said. "it itches." she frowned. "i told you it was very new. we aren't able to anticipate all the reactions." she paused. "however, it shouldn't itch. by now it ought to be well integrated with your body and new cell growth should be occurring with the synthetic substance as the matrix." "thanks," he said dryly. "that doesn't explain how i feel." unperturbed, she looked down at a desk he could imagine, but could not see. she got up and walked out of the field of vision. she was gone for quite some time. a disturbing thought formed in his mind. was she calling elsewhere for instructions? there was no reason why she should, yet the thought persisted. she came back. "get a detergent. what kind doesn't matter. put it in the autobath and take a hot bath, plenty of lather. soak in it for at least fifteen minutes." * * * * * her prescription was primitive in the extreme. did she really expect it to be effective, or did she have something else in mind? "do you think i'm going to trust myself to that machine?" he said. "i've got myself a little enamel basin. had to steal it out of a museum." nothing was outwardly changed, but she seemed slightly sympathetic. "i can understand how you feel, but you'll have to get over it or go pioneering in the wild lands. as long as you're in a city, you can't rent, buy or build accommodations that have no autobath. besides, i've been assured that the odds are against that happening again." that was an understatement, if his information was correct. actually, he had wanted her reaction, but it didn't tell him a thing. "feel better already," he said. she nodded. "suggestion at work. take your bath now and call me tomorrow if it doesn't work. sooner, if you need to." she cut their connection before he could answer. in addition to physical relief, he had hoped that she would let slip some information. she hadn't done so. of course, she might not know anything more than the purely medical aspects of the police plan. if it was the police. he left the screen and checked the autobath for supplies. satisfactory for the present. he removed his clothing, stepped inside, and followed her instructions. a tub rose out of the floor, filled with water, and the mechanism immersed him in it. thick soapy suds billowed up and warm water laved his skin. the rubbery hands of the autobath were soft and massaged him gently and expertly. he tried to relax. so far, he had suffered no irreparable harm. he tried to avoid the memory of his accident, but that was impossible. the one comfort was that his death was not the objective. he corrected himself--not the _immediate_ objective. anyway, he'd been rescued and placed under good medical care. how the rescue had been effected was unknown, unless it had been included in the plan from the beginning. if so, he could assume that the autobath had been tampered with and fixed with a signal that would indicate when he was unconscious. "fifteen minutes and ten seconds," said the autobath. "do you wish to remain longer?" "that'll do," he said. "the rinse, please." he lay back and curled up his legs, stretching his arms while clear water flowed soothingly over him. in spite of his skepticism, this primitive prescription of doumya filone seemed to work. the itch had stopped completely; although his skin was now mottled. no scars; the hospital and doumya filone had done a good job. he scrutinized his skin carefully. the marks were not actually on his skin; they were beneath it. so faint as to be almost invisible, it was nevertheless a disturbing manifestation. the marks gradually became more distinct. it looked like a shadowy web thrown over and pressed deep into his body. * * * * * the autobath lifted him and he stood in front of the mirror. there was no mistake--a network spread over his body, arms, legs, face too; perhaps on his head as well, though he couldn't see that. his skin was not transparent--it was translucent for a certain depth. disfigurement didn't concern him. even if the condition persisted, it wasn't noticeable enough to constitute a handicap. it was not the superficial nervous system showing through, nor the capillary blood vessels. the web effect was strikingly regular, almost mathematical in appearance. as he looked, the translucence faded and his skin switched to normal, the marks disappearing. that was the word, switched. he ought to be thankful for that, he supposed. somehow he wasn't. he was out of the autobath and half dressed before the realization came to him. he knew what the network was, the patterned marks beneath his skin. a circuit. a printed circuit, or, since it was imposed on flesh, possibly tattooed. [illustration] a circuit. what did anyone use a circuit for? to compute, to gather data, to broadcast, to control. how much of that applied to him, to the body it was concealed in? the first he could eliminate. not to compute. as for the rest, he was not certain. it seemed possible that everything could be included in the function of the network beneath his skin. he hadn't been controlled up to now, but that didn't mean control wasn't there, quiescent, waiting for the proper time. however, it didn't seem likely. human mentality was strong, and a reasonably intact mind was difficult to take over. what else? to gather data and broadcast it. of that he could be almost positive. the data came from his nervous system. he suspected where it was broadcast to--back to the police. how the circuit on his body gathered data was unknown. the markings appeared to parallel his central nervous system. it seemed reasonable that it operated by induction. that meant it involved chiefly tactile sensations, unless, of course, there were other factors he didn't know about. he felt his forehead carefully, his temples, and his skull around his ears. nothing, but that didn't mean that infinitesimal holes hadn't been drilled through his skull and taps run to the optic and auditory nerves. it could be done and he wouldn't know about it, couldn't feel it. the broadcasting circuits could then be spread over his head, or, for that matter, over any part of his body. if his suppositions were correct, then he was a living, walking broadcasting station. everything he felt, saw or heard was relayed to some central mechanism which could interpret the signals. the police. cobber had been looking for a spy mechanism, a mechanical device in jadiver's body. he hadn't found it, but it was there, almost impossible to locate. a surgeon might find it by performing an autopsy, but even then he would have to know what to look for. how jadiver had been able to find it was a pure puzzle. obviously, the police hadn't been as thorough as they had meant to be. their mechanism had somehow gone awry at precisely the time jadiver was most conscious of his skin. without the itch, he would never have noticed it. at least one thing was clear now--the purpose. he'd been boiled into unconsciousness, his skin removed, the circuit put in place, and then had the synthetic substance carefully fitted over his body. his tension increased, for he knew now that he had betrayed burlingame without meaning to--but it was betrayal nonetheless. it wasn't only a question of professional ethics; it was how long he would remain alive. burlingame's survivors, if there were any, would have an excellent idea of who was responsible. this thing went with him wherever he went. did it also sleep when he did? that wasn't important, really. he had to try to warn burlingame. even these thoughts might be a mistake. the police might know what he was thinking. this was one way to determine whether there was such a thing as mechanically induced telepathy, but he couldn't work up much enthusiasm for the experiment. his own problem was essentially the same as if a mechanical spying device had been planted in him--with one difference. a mechanical part was a foreign object and could be cut out by any competent surgeon willing to risk police retaliation. but only those who had installed this complicated circuit would know how to take it out. * * * * * burlingame didn't answer. it was probably useless trying to trace him--he very likely had arranged to drop out of sight. he was good at that. the police hadn't caught up with him in twenty years. there was cobber. he'd be elsewhere, setting up a rendezvous to which burlingame and the rest could return and hide while their faces and figures were absorbed into their normal bodies. cobber would be even tougher to locate. the only place burlingame could be found with any degree of certainty, jadiver reasoned, would be at the scene of the robbery. jadiver went to the screen and spent an intensive half hour in front of it. at the end of that time, he had narrowed it down to two society events, one of which would occur in a few hours. he made a decision to cover it and warn them, if he could. after that, it was up to burlingame. jadiver rubbed his chin; the stubble had to come off. he went to the autobath, but it wouldn't open. a figure in bas-relief appeared on the door. the surface had been smooth an instant before. "sorry," said the voice of the lifelike, semi-nude girl, "the autobath is out of certain supplies. it won't function properly until these are replaced." "let's have the list," growled jadiver. he was jumpy. the bas-relief figure extended a hand with a slip in it. "if i may suggest, these can be placed on perpetual order to avoid future inconvenience." what the future held was unknown. it wasn't likely to include a comfortable existence in a well-furnished apartment. "i'll think about it," he grunted. "if there's any other way i can help you--" "there isn't," said jadiver. the door shivered and the figure snapped back into the memory plastic from which it was made. the surface was smooth again. * * * * * he went to the screen and punched a code. the counter display flashed on and then was replaced by a handsome neuter face. that face studied him, ascertained his maximum susceptibility, and promptly faded. the next face was that of a robot harem girl. sex sells, that was always the axiom. "is there anything i can do for you?" she asked huskily. "yes," said jadiver. "you can get off the screen and let me see some merchandise." "we're not allowed to do that." jadiver grumbled in defeat. "i want something for my whisk--" "just the thing," she said enthusiastically, reaching out of his field of vision. the hand came back with a package. "tear off a capsule, crush it, and apply to your face. it removes whiskers permanently for two days, and leaves your face as soft and smooth as martian down." jadiver shuddered. "i'd rather be a man than a bird. do you have anything that leaves a face feeling like skin?" the robot harem girl stabbed out frantically, but nothing came to hand. she turned around and went off to search. jadiver sighed with relief and started to scan the shelves. the robot returned before he could make a selection. "we have nothing like that," she said, crestfallen. "asteroid alabaster or hydroponic grapes and several other things, but no whiskoff that will leave your face feeling like skin." "then order something that will," said jadiver. "meanwhile i'll settle for a face of hydroponic grapes. two weeks supply will be enough." the robot complied eagerly. "anything else? shampoo?" jadiver looked at the list and nodded. "no need to open the bottle," she rushed on. "just place in the autobath dispenser and let the machine do the rest. the bottle will dissolve, adding to the secret ingredients. foams in micro-seconds as proven by actual test, and when you're through, only an expert can tell your hair from mink." "mink?" he repeated. "don't think i'd like it. what about raccoon? i've always admired the legendary daniel boone, alone in the terrestrial wilderness with a single-shot rifle. sure, make it raccoon." "i know we have none of that." the clerk was positive. "then order it," he snapped. "you don't have to furnish the rifle, though." she seemed confused. "there is a ten per cent extra charge for non-standard merchandise." "all right. just don't stand there arguing." when the clerk left the screen to place the order, jadiver hastily selected what he wanted. he validated the purchases and snapped off the screen. the merchandise arrived in a few minutes. he loaded it into the autobath. this time the door opened and the bas-relief figure didn't appear on it. within a half hour he was ready to leave. * * * * * the door was not a door. it was a mirror, three-dimensional. the difference to the eye was slight, but since he knew what to expect, it was not difficult to detect. it was a legitimate piece of staging, but it cost plenty to maintain the illusion. a society event, he supposed, called for such precautions. there must be more inside. he ignored the mirror and pressed a blank section of the wall directly opposite. the wall faded and a robot in an impressive black-and-white livery stared at him with the proper insolence. "your invitation, sir." "what?" he said tipsily. "your invitation, sir." the voice was louder and the insolence increased. if he asked again, the robot would very likely shove him out and close the door. delicately adjusted and unhumanly strong, it was a bit too invariable in the behavior department to be consistently efficient. his knowledge of robots was more than fair. in a few seconds he sized up the model facing him. a thin slip fluttered from his hand to the floor. the robot bent over to pick it up. at that instant jadiver thrust a long, thin, double-tined fork deep into the back of the robot's neck, probing for the right place. he found it. time became static for the robot; it remained bent over and could not move. jadiver rifled the pockets, removed all the invitations, glanced at them, found one that would do, and thrust the rest back. shadows of figures passed across the field behind the robot. could they see what jadiver was doing? probably not; privacy was too highly regarded. nevertheless, some people were coming down the corridor and _they_ could see when and if they got close. stepping back, he took away the double-tined fork and the robot straightened up. "you dropped something, sir," said the robot, handing him the slip from the floor. "it was nothing," said jadiver, taking it. that was the best description of what he had dropped. he extended the invitation he had just filched. the robot grasped the invitation and seemed unable to focus. it tried to examine the markings invisible to human eyes. it passed a trembling hand across a troubled forehead. "didn't you come in half an hour ago?" it asked in bewilderment. someone had--the person to whom the invitation had been issued. the robot, of course, had remembered. "nonsense," said jadiver sharply. "do you feel right? are you sure of your equilibrium?" if it was sure, he had miscalculated badly. robots were so much more or less than humans. it should be possible to design a perfect robot, one that would realize all the potentialities of a mechanical personality. it had never been done; anthropomorphic conceptions had always interfered. "must be mistaken," mumbled the robot, and swayed. it would collapse in twenty minutes. the robot pressed a button and the field behind him flickered off. jadiver passed through it and the field fell back in place. * * * * * inside, he looked around. the usual swank, or maybe more so. impressive, if he cared to be impressed by it. at the moment he didn't. he had to find burlingame or emily. he had created the faces of the other three as well, but he had made them into handsome nonentities. among so many others who resembled them, he doubted that he could recognize them. for an instant he thought he saw emily and made his way through the crowd. when he got there, he saw his mistake. this girl's flesh hadn't been put on with a spray gun. burlingame was after jewels, of course, to be carefully selected from two or three of the wealthier guests. he must also have currency in mind, something negotiable for immediate use. he'd need cash to drop out of sight for a while. time was growing short for a word with burlingame, just one word, whispered or spelled out silently: "police." that was all burlingame would need. jadiver was weaponless, and aside from warning burlingame, he couldn't help. until now he'd steered clear of violence and illegality. he'd known the use to which his disguises had been put, but that was the business of those who paid him. now it was different. the police had a line to him, direct. how much they knew was impossible to estimate. he could visualize a technician sitting in front of a screen, seeing everything that jadiver saw. that, however, was a guess, for he didn't actually know how the circuit beneath his skin functioned. until he learned, he would have to continue guessing, and blunder accordingly. he made his way to the balcony that encircled half the huge high room. he didn't know the entire layout or the habits of those who lived here, but it was reasonably certain that they kept a large amount of cash on hand and that it would be safeguarded in a room not accessible to all the guests. it might even be up here. the few people on the balcony were at the far end. he looked down on the milling guests. still no sign of burlingame or any of his crew. jadiver had done his work too well. they were indistinguishable from the others. at that moment, the lights brightened glaringly. the guests looked less glamorous. women bulged excessively, top-heavy, and the tanned faces of the men turned an unpleasant gray. magically, uniforms appeared at every exit. "attention," a harsh voice rang out. "please line up. there are criminals among you and we can identify them." * * * * * jadiver didn't listen to the rest. his eyes were on the uniformed men. mercifully, they carried tangle guns. that much he was thankful for. burlingame and his crew would be taken alive. they might not like what would happen later, but at least they would live. the tangle gun was the most effective and least lethal weapon ever conceived. it would bring down a butterfly at two hundred yards and hold it there, without crumpling a wing or disturbing the dustlike scales. it would do the same with a venusian saurian or a martian windbeast, either of which outbulked an elephant and outsavaged a tiger. it didn't have to hit the target. with proximity fuses--and it was usually furnished that way--it was sufficient for the bullet to pass near. jadiver drew a deep breath. no one was going to get killed because of him. nevertheless, his skin crawled. he gazed down at the guests lining up. they, too, knew what tangle guns were. suddenly a man darted out of line and headed toward one of the exits. he collided with an officer and the policeman went down. a tangle gun snapped. the running man fell headlong. three more times the tangle gun fired at the man writhing on the floor--at his hands, at his face, and again at his legs. [illustration] the tangle gun propelled a plastic bullet, and that plastic was a paradox. it was the stickiest substance known and would adhere to a sphere of polished platinum, tearing away the solid metal if it were forcibly removed without first being neutralized. it also extruded itself into fine, wire-like strands on a moving object. the more anything moved, the tighter it wrapped around. the victim was better off to relax. he couldn't escape; no one ever had. jadiver watched the man threshing on the floor. one shot would have been enough. someone on the venicity force liked to see men squirm. as nearly as jadiver could determine, the man on the floor was not burlingame. the leader hadn't been taken, but he didn't have long to enjoy his freedom. the theory he had about teamwork was tarnished now--a feint here and a block there--and they were all headed into the arms of the venicity police. it couldn't work against superior force, and an ambush set unwittingly by jadiver. then jadiver saw them. they moved as a unit--burlingame, emily and two others. they smashed through the guests with a formation that had the flying wedge as a remote ancestor. burlingame was leading it, tangle gun in hand. the guests were thrown back and a policeman went down. [illustration] it was hard to fire into the mob through which burlingame and his crew were bulling. in that respect, the tangle gun was not selective. it seized on any motion. they couldn't make it, but jadiver hoped for them. they were at the edge of the crowd. between them and freedom was a thin cordon of police. beyond the police was a planted area where jungle vines and shrubs, considerably taller than a man, grew dense. just past that area were two exits leading to the street. from the balcony, jadiver could see it clearly. if they could reach the exits, they had a chance for flight. they broke through the cordon. they shouldn't have, for superior trained men were opposing them. but it was another kind of training that burlingame was using and with it he split the police. the group plunged into the jungle shrubs and emerged on the other side. the police on the floor couldn't see them, the planted area screened off the view. they were almost safe. the exits opened before they could reach them--more police. burlingame went down, a cloud around his face, weaving wire shapes that tightened on his throat. the other two stumbled as police fired at their feet. * * * * * emily alone was not hit. she was close and moving too fast. she escaped the tangle guns, but ran directly into the arms of a burly officer. he laughed and grabbed her as if she were a robot. she bit him. he swore at her and swiftly looked around. the guests couldn't see. he hit her solidly in the middle. she gasped for breath. he took out his tangle gun and fired into her mouth. jadiver sicklily knew he had been wrong about the tangle gun; it could kill if the person who used it had sufficient experience and brutality. emily would never have to lose that beautiful face and figure. she could keep it until she died, which wouldn't be long. nobody could stop the peristaltic motion of the digestive system, voluntarily or otherwise, or of the lungs in trying to breathe. burlingame wouldn't know. policemen were cooperative, and it would be listed as an accident. jadiver closed his eyes. emily was dying and no one could help her. or himself, either, when they came to pick him up. they had to know exactly where he was. he waited, expecting a tap on the shoulder or the snap of the tangle gun. the lights dimmed and the same harsh voice spoke. "the danger is over, thanks to the efficient work of the venicity police force. you are now safe." nothing like advertising yourself, thought jadiver. no one came near him. apparently the police didn't want him yet--they expected him to do more for them. he went down the stairs and mingled with the excited guests. it had been a good show, unexpected entertainment, especially since it hadn't involved any real danger for them. he circulated through the chattering men and women until he came near the planted area. at an opportune moment, he slipped in. it was a miniature jungle; he was safe from ordinary detection as long as he stayed there. he went quietly through the vines and shrubs toward the other side. the broad back of a policemen loomed up in front of him. jadiver was an industrial engineer, a specialist in the design of robot bodies and faces, robots that had to look like humans. he knew anatomy, not in the way a doctor did, but it was nonetheless the knowledge of an expert. he reached out and the policeman toppled. he dragged the unconscious man deeper into the little jungle and listened. no one had noticed. physically a large man, the policeman might be the one who had shot emily--and then again he might not be. he did have a tangle gun, which was the important thing. jadiver took it and rifled the man's pockets for ammunition. he knelt for a final check on the body. the chest rose and fell with slow regularity. for insurance, jadiver again pressed the nerve. this man wouldn't trouble anyone for a few hours. jadiver looked out. when he was sure he wasn't observed, he walked out and joined the guests. he moved politely from one group to another and in several minutes stood beside the door. he left the way he came. it was that simple. he had to assume that until events proved he was mistaken. * * * * * outside, he walked briskly. it was not late and the city overflowed with men and women walking, flying, skimming. roughly dressed men down from the north polar farms, explorers from the temperate jungles, government girls--the jumbled swarm that comes to a planet in the intermediate stages of exploitation. it was a background through which he could pass unnoticed. the circuit, though--always the circuit. he couldn't escape that by walking away from it. but at least he'd proved that telepathy wasn't possible by means of it, or he wouldn't still be free. other than that, he didn't know how it operated. if it was purely electronic in nature, then it had a range. he might be able to get beyond that range, if he knew how far it extended. a lot depended on the power source. he hadn't been able to check closely, hadn't really known what he was looking at when he'd seen it in the autobath. he remembered that the circuit seemed to be laid over his own nervous system. considering the power available, the range was apt to be quite limited. that was pure supposition and might be wrong. there was nothing to preclude an external power source, say a closed field blanketing the city or even the entire planet. if so, it represented a technical achievement beyond anything he was familiar with. that didn't disprove it, of course. the circuit itself indicated a startling advance and he knew _it_ existed. there was still another possibility. the circuit might not be entirely electronic. it might operate with the same forces that existed inside a single nerve cell. if so, all bets were off; there was no way he could determine the range. it might be anything at all, micro-inches or light-years. with unlimited equipment and all the time in the worlds, he could answer some of those questions floating around in his mind. he had neither, but there were solutions he could make use of. limited solutions, but it was better than waiting to be caught. jadiver headed toward one such solution. the robot clerk looked up, smiling and patient, as he entered. it could afford to be patient. there was no place it wanted to be other than where it was at the moment. "can i help you?" "passage to earth," said jadiver. the clerk consulted the schedule. that was pretense. the schedule and not much else had been built into its brain. "there's an orbit flight in two weeks." in two weeks, jadiver could be taken, tried, and converted ten times over. "isn't there anything sooner?" "there's an all-powered flight leaving tomorrow, but that's for earth citizens only." "suits me. book me for it." "be glad to," said the robot. "passport, please." * * * * * it was going to cost more than just the fare, jadiver knew. he would arrive on earth with very little money and could expect to start all over. he was no longer fresh out of training, willing to start at the bottom. he was a mature man, experienced beyond the ordinary, and most organizations he could work for would be suspicious of that. but it was worth it, aside from the escape. no future for him there, jammed in on a crowded world, but it was his planet, always would be, and he wouldn't mind going back. "sorry," said the clerk, flipping over the passport and studying it. "i can't book you. the flight's only for earth citizens." "i was born there," jadiver impatiently said. "can't you see?" "you were?" asked the robot eagerly. "i was built there." it handed him back the passport. "however, it doesn't matter where you were born. you've been here three years without going back. automatically, you became a citizen of venus two and a half years ago." jadiver hadn't known that. he doubted that many did. it was logical enough. earth was overflowing and the hidden citizenship clause was a good way of getting rid of the more restless part of the population and making sure they didn't come back. "there's still the orbit flight," said the clerk, smiling and serene. "for that you need a visitor's visa, which takes time. shall i make the arrangements?" aside from the time element, which was vital, he couldn't tip the police off that he intended to leave. "thanks," he said, taking the passport. "i'll call back when i make up my mind." down the street was another interplanetary flight office and he wandered into it. it might have been the same office he had just left, robot and all. "information on mars," he said, his manner casual. the clerk didn't bother to consult the schedule. there was a difference, after all. "there'll be an orbit flight in four months," it said pleasantly. "rate, four-fifths of the standard fare to earth." nothing was working out as expected. "what about the moons of jupiter?" this was the last chance. "due to the position of the planets, for the next few months there are no direct flights anywhere beyond mars. you have to go there and transfer." that escape was closed. "i can't make plans so far in advance." the robot beamed at him. "i can see that you're a gentleman who likes to travel." it grew confidential and leaned over the counter. "i have a bargain here, truly the most sensational we've ever offered." jadiver drew away from that eagerness. "what is this bargain?" "did you notice the fare to mars? four-fifths of that to earth, and yet it's farther away. did you stop to think why?" * * * * * he had noticed and he thought he knew why. it was another side of the citizenship program. get them away from earth, the farther the better, and don't let them come back. if necessary, shuttle them between colonies, but don't let them come back. "i hadn't," he said. "why?" the voice throbbed throatily and robot eyes grew round. "to induce people to travel. travel is wonderful. i love to travel." pathetic thing. someone had erred in building it, had implanted too much enthusiasm for the job. it loved to travel and would never get farther than a few feet from the counter. jadiver dismissed that thought. "what's this wonderful offer?" he asked. "just think of it," whispered the robot. "we have another destination, much farther than jupiter, but only one-tenth the fare to earth. if you don't have the full fare in cash, just give us verbal assurance that you'll pay when you get the money. no papers to sign. we have confidence in your personal integrity." "sounds intriguing," jadiver said, backing away. it sounded more like a death sentence. alpha centauri or some such place--hard grubbing labor under a blazing or meager sun, it didn't matter which. exile forever on planets that lagged and would always lag behind earth. it took years to get there, even at speeds only a little below that of light, time in which the individual was out of touch. "i hope you won't forget," said the robot. "it's hard to get people to understand. but i can see that you do." he understood too well. he ducked out of the flight office. he'd stay and take it here if he had to, escape some way if he could. nothing was worth that kind of sacrifice. he went slowly back to the apartment. it was not so strange that the police hadn't arrested him. they knew that he'd stay on the planet, that he had to. they'd had it figured out long before he did. he fell into the bed without removing his clothing. the bed made no effort to induce him to sleep. it wasn't necessary. * * * * * in the morning, jadiver awakened to the smell of food. the room he slept in was dark, but in the adjacent room he could hear the kitch-hen clucking away contentedly as it prepared breakfast. he rolled over and sat up. he was not alone. "cobber?" he called. "yeah," said cobber. he was very close, but jadiver couldn't see him. "the police got them," jadiver said, reaching for the tangle gun. it was gone. he'd expected that. "i heard. i was waiting for them and they didn't come." he was silent for a moment. "it had to be you, didn't it?" "it was," jadiver said. "when i found out, i tried to tell them. but it was too late." "glad you tried," said cobber. at that instant, so was jadiver. "i checked you myself. i couldn't find anything," cobber added thoughtfully. "they must have something new." "it is new," jadiver wearily confirmed. "i can't get rid of it." "mind telling me? i figure i ought to know." hunched up in the darkness, jadiver told him what he could. at present, he was defenseless. cobber was a little man, but he was no stranger to violence and he had the weapons. perhaps that was what the police counted on--that cobber would save them an arrest. "bad," said cobber after an interval. it sounded like a reprieve. jadiver waited. "i liked burlingame," continued cobber. "emily, too." burlingame was a decent fellow. emily he had seen only once, twice if he counted last night. she deserved better than she got. "i don't know who it was," jadiver said. "some big policeman." "i know a lot of people--i'll find out," cobber promised. "i liked emily." it wouldn't do any good, though jadiver approved. for a while there'd be one less sadist on the force, and after that they'd hire another. "you'd better leave while you can," said jadiver. cobber laughed. "i'll get away. i know venus and i don't have a spy inside." he got up, turned on the lights and tossed the tangle gun on the bed. "here. you need this worse than i do." jadiver blinked gratefully and took it. cobber believed him. if the police wanted to eliminate him, they'd have to come for him, after all. he stood up. "breakfast?" "no breakfast," said cobber. "i'm going to take your advice and get out of here." he went to the door, opened it a fraction and listened. satisfied, he closed it and turned back to jadiver. "tell that cop i know a few tricks with a tangle gun he never heard of. i'll show him what they are." "i won't see him, i hope." "you don't have to. they're taking everything down. they'll tell him. that is, i hope they do." he slipped out the door and was gone. * * * * * the kitch-hen tired of waiting for jadiver to come out. it cackled disgustedly and sent a table into his room. mechanically he sat down and began to eat. not only how far but also what kind of data did the circuit transmit? that was one unanswered problem. if he couldn't outrun it, he might outthink it. first, the data was transmitted to the police with some degree of accuracy. they had been able to anticipate the robbery. not completely, but they did know it was burlingame and how many men he was using. they also knew the approximate date. from that, it was a matter of logic to determine what specific society event he was aiming at. jadiver had been able to do the same. thoughts, visual and auditory impressions, tactile and other sensory data--that was the sum of what the circuit could transmit, theoretically. he could almost positively rule out thoughts. it had never been proved that thoughts could be transferred from one person to another, mechanically or otherwise. but that was not his reason for rejecting it. if they could read his thoughts, it was useless for him to plan anything. and he was going to plan ahead, whether it was useless or not. tactile sensations, temperature, roughness, and the like were unimportant except to a scientist. he doubted that police were that scientifically interested in him. he could forget about the sense of touch. sight and hearing. neither of these could be eliminated at present. they could see what he saw, hear what he heard. as long as they could, escape was out of the question. it wouldn't take much to betray him--a street sign glimpsed through his eyes, for instance, and they knew where he was. as long as they could see what he saw. but there was such a thing as a shield. any known kind of radiation could be shielded against. he was working with intangibles. he didn't know the nature of the phenomenon he had to fight. he had to extrapolate in part, guess the rest. one thing was certain, though: if he was successful in setting up a shield against the circuit, the police would arrive soon after. arrive here. his value to them was obvious. through him they could make an undetected contact with the shadowy world of illegality. if that contact was cut off or if he seemed about to escape, his usefulness came to an end and they would want one more arrest while they could get it. once he started to work on the shield, he would have to work fast. jadiver went to the screen. there could be no hesitation; the decision was ready-made. the bank robot appeared on the screen and jadiver spoke to him briefly, requesting that his account be cleared. he scribbled his signature and had it recorded. * * * * * while waiting, he began to pack, sorting what he wanted to take. it wasn't much, some special clothing. his equipment, except for a few small tools, he had to leave. no matter. with luck, he could replace it; without luck, he wouldn't need it. in a few minutes he was ready, but the money hadn't arrived. he sat down and nervously scrawled on a scrap of paper. presently the delivery chute clattered and the money was in it, crisp new bills neatly wrapped, the total of his savings over the years. he stuffed the money in his pocket. the scrap of paper was still in his hand. he started to throw it away, but his fingers were reluctant to let it go. he stared curiously at the crumpled wad and on impulse smoothed it out. there were words on it, though he hadn't remembered writing any. the handwriting was shaky and stilted, as if he were afflicted with some nervous disease; nevertheless, it was unmistakably his own. there was a message on it, from himself to himself. no, not from himself. but it was intended that he read it. the note said: run, jadiver. i'll help. your friend he sat down. a picture rose involuntarily in his mind: the face was that of doumya filone. he couldn't prove it, but it seemed certain that she was the one. she knew about the circuit, of course, had known long before he did. he remembered the incident when his skin had itched. he had called her about it and she hadn't seemed surprised. she had left the screen for some time--for what purpose? to adjust the mechanism, or have someone else adjust it. the last, probably; the mechanism was almost certainly at the police end, and at the time he called she had been at home. in any event, the mechanism had originally been set too strong and she had ordered the setting to be reduced. that suggested one thing: the power to activate the circuit came from the mechanism--a radarlike device. then what? his skin had momentarily become translucent, allowing him to see the circuit. how she achieved that, he didn't know, but the reason was obvious. it had been her way of warning him and it had worked. the message in his hand told him one thing. he had known about the danger, but he hadn't guessed that he didn't have to face it alone. something else was evident: her control was limited--perhaps she could step in at a critical moment, but the greater part was up to him. he moved quickly. he opened the delivery chute and put in the small bag that held his clothing, then punched a code that dispatched it to the transportation terminal. in return, he received a small plastic strip with the same code on it. the bag could be traced, but not without trouble, and he should be able to pick it up before then. at this stage he didn't want to be encumbered. he took a last look around and stepped into the hall. he leaped back again. a heavy caliber slug crashed into the door. * * * * * that had been meant to kill. he was lucky it hadn't. who was it? not the police. by law they were restricted to tangle guns, though they sometimes forgot. in this case, their memory should be good--they'd have difficulty explaining away the holes in his body. not that they'd have to, really; if they wanted, they could toss him into an alley and claim they had found his body later. still, there was no particular reason why they should want to kill him outright when they could do it by degrees scientifically and with full legal protection. they didn't call it killing. there was another term: converting. the converting process was not new; the principles had existed for centuries. the newness lay in the proper combination of old discoveries. electric shock was one ingredient, a prolonged drastic application of it during the recreation of a situation that the victim had a weakness for. in the case of an adulterer, say, the scene was hypnotically arranged with the cooperation of a special robot that wouldn't be short-circuited. at the proper moment, electric shock was applied, repeatedly. rigorous and somewhat rough on the criminal's wife, but the adulterer would be saddled all his life with an unconditional reflex. that was only one ingredient. there were others, among them a pseudo-religious brotherhood, membership in which was compulsory. c. c.--confirmed converters. _they_ kept tab on one another with apocalyptic fervor. transgressions were rare. death came sooner. jadiver stood there thinking. it wasn't the police, because they had converting with which to threaten him. it wasn't cobber, either. he could have killed jadiver earlier and hadn't. cobber might have talked, though. there were enough people who now regretted that jadiver had once given them new faces. as far as they were concerned jadiver was in the hands of the police. the identity of the man outside didn't matter. he was not from the police, but he did want jadiver dead. jadiver stood back and pushed the door open. another slug crashed into it, tiny, but with incredible velocity. he knelt, thrust his hand outside the door near the bottom and fired a random fusillade down the corridor. then he took his finger off the trigger and listened. there wasn't a sound. the man had decided to be sensible. jadiver stepped out. the man was crouched in an inconspicuous corner and he was going to stay in that position for a long time. he couldn't help breathing, though, and his chest was a tangle of wires. there were some on his face, too, where his eyelids flickered and his mouth twitched. the gun was in his hand and it was aimed nearly right. there was nothing to prevent his squeezing the trigger--except the tangle extruded loosely over his hand. and he could move faster than it could. once, at any rate. "i wouldn't," said jadiver. "you're going to have a hard time explaining that illegal firearm. and it'll look worse if i'm here with my head wrapped around a hole that just fits the slug." the man reaffirmed his original decision to be sensible about it by remaining motionless. jadiver didn't recognize him. probably a hired assassin. the man paled with the effort not to move. he teetered and the tangle stuff coiled fractionally tighter. "take care of yourself," jadiver said, and left him there. * * * * * jadiver headed toward the transportation terminal. the police could trace him that far. let them; he intended that they should. it would confuse them more when he walked right off their instruments. once inside the underground structure, he lost himself in the traffic. that was just in case he had been followed physically as well as by radiation. people coming from earth, fewer going back. they arrived in swarms from the surface, overhead from the concrete plain where rockets roared out on takeoff or hissed in for landing. transportation shunted the mob in one direction for interplanetary travel, in another for local air routes. jadiver reclaimed his bag, boarded the moving belts and hopped on and off several times, again just in case. the last time off, he had coins ready. he slipped around a corner and walked down a long quiet corridor. there were doors on either side, a double deck with a narrow balcony on the second story. at intervals, stairs led to the balcony. he walked a third of the way down the corridor, inserted coins in the slot, and a door opened. he went inside the sleep locker and the door closed behind, locking automatically. it was miserable accommodation if he intended to sleep, but he didn't. it was also a trap if the police were trailing him. he didn't think they were--they were too certain of him. nevertheless, the sleep locker had one advantage: it was all metal. considering the low power that probably went into the circuit, it should be a satisfactory temporary shield. he changed into clothes that looked ordinary--out of style, in fact, though that was not noteworthy in a solarwide economy--but the material, following a local terrestrial fad of a few years back, contained a high proportion of metallic fiber. that solved only part of the problem, of course. his hands and his head were uncovered. the pseudo-flesh that he had used on emily was not for him. in a way, it was the best disguise, but he was playing this one to live, as much as he could, all the way. a standard semi-durable cosmetic would do; that is, it would when he finished altering it to suit his purpose. the chief addition was a flaky metallic powder, lead. however the signal worked, radar or not, that should be effective in dampening the signal. he squeezed the mixture into a tube and attached the tube to a small gun which he plugged into a wall socket. standing in front of the tiny mirror, with everything else cramped in the sleep locker, he went over his face and hands. he had trouble getting it on his scalp and under his hair, but it went on. he looked himself over. he now appeared older, respectable, but not successful, which fitted neatly into the greatest category on venus--or anywhere, for that matter. he stuffed the clothing he'd worn back into the bag and walked out. he'd been in the sleep locker half an hour. he was operating blind, but it was all he could do. he had to assume that the metallic fiber in his clothing and the lead flakes in the cosmetic would scramble the circuit signal. if they didn't, then he was completely without protection. he'd soon know how correctly he had analyzed the problem. * * * * * he walked out of the transportation terminal and hailed an air cab which took him over the city and left him at the edge of a less reputable section. it was not an old slum--venicity hadn't endured long enough to have inherited slums; it built them quickly out of shoddy material and then tore them down again as the need for living space expanded outward. he checked in at a hotel neither more nor less disreputable than the rest. the structure made up in number of rooms what it lacked in size and appearance. this was the test period and he had to wait it out. if he passed, he was on an equal footing with any other person wanted by the police. he'd take his chances on that, his wits against their organization; he could disappear if he didn't carry a beacon around with him. this was the best place to spend the interim period, crowded together with people coming and going to and from the wild lands of venus. but if he didn't pass the test-he refused to think about it. he walked aimlessly in the grayness of the venusian day. different people from those in the bright new sections of venicity, quieter, grimmer, more bewildered. tough, but not the hardness of the criminal element. these people had no interest in either making or breaking the law. after nightfall, he loitered on the streets for a few hours, watching faces. when policemen began appearing in greater numbers, he checked into his room. it was a grimy, unpleasant place. considering the comfort it offered, the rate was exorbitant. safety, however, if it did afford, and that was beyond price. he lay down, but couldn't sleep. the room, apparently, was designed on the acoustical principle of an echo chamber or a drum. the adjacent room on one side was occupied by a man and woman. the woman, though, was not a woman. there was a certain pitch to the laughter that could come only from a robot. the management obviously offered attractions other than sleep. the room on the other side was quieter. somebody coughed twice, somebody sniffled once. two of them, decided jadiver, a man and a woman, both human. they weren't talking loud or much. he couldn't hear the words, but the sounds weren't gay. in the hall, other voices intruded. jadiver lay still. he could recognize the way of walking, the tone of voice. cops. his test period wasn't lasting as long as he'd hoped. "what good is it?" grumbled one, down the hall, but jadiver could hear distinctly. "we had him dead center and now we've lost him. if i had my way, we'd have taken him sooner." * * * * * jadiver's reasoning was not so good if the police were this close. he got up and crept noiselessly toward the door, fully dressed, as he had to be at all times if he expected to scramble the circuit signal. the companion of the first policeman was more cheerful. "he's not lost. we've just mislaid him. we know the direction he's in. follow the line and there he is at the end of it." "sounds good, but have we got him?" "we will." that was the fallacy. he'd scrambled the signal, but he hadn't eliminated it. he still showed up on the police instrument as a direction. he could imagine a technician sitting in front of a crazily wavering screen. the instrument could no longer pick up what he saw through his eyes, but it hadn't lost him altogether. jadiver clutched the tangle gun. "better check where we are," said the first officer. "going to," answered the second. jadiver couldn't see, but he could visualize the pocket instrument. "this is lieutenant parder. how close are we?" the voice came back, almost inaudible. what he could hear, though, was disturbing. it sounded like someone he knew, but not doumya filone. "you're off a hundred yards to your left," said the voice. "also, he's a mile farther out. either that or a hundred and fifty miles." "he's really moving," said the lieutenant. "a hundred and fifty miles is in the middle of the swamp." "i know that," said the tantalizing familiar voice. "i can't choose between outside and inside the city. if he's inside, i want him to move. that motion, extended a hundred and fifty miles, by simple mathematics will indicate a distance he couldn't possibly travel in the jungle." the voice paused. "we'll send a party to check the swamp. you go to the point a mile farther on. we want him tonight. if we don't get him, we'll probably have to wait until tomorrow night." "i'll find him," said the lieutenant. "report when i get there." jadiver could hear footsteps receding down the hall. he breathed in relief. the makeshift shield hadn't been a total failure. they knew the direction, but not the distance from some central location. the scramble had affected the strength of the signal and they couldn't be sure. the impromptu visit told him this as well: there was only one instrument on him. with two, they could work a triangulation, regardless of the signal strength. he could hazard a guess as to why they had to get him at night. during the day, there were radiological disturbances originating in the atmosphere that made reception of the signals difficult. that meant that the day was safest for him. * * * * * he went back to the bed and lay down, to puzzle over the familiar voice, to sleep if he could. sleep didn't come easily. the man and the female robot had left, but the quiet couple on the other side had been awakened by the noise in the hall. the woman sniffled. "i don't care, henry. we're going back to earth." it was not an old voice, though he couldn't be sure, not seeing her. thirty-five, say. jadiver resented the intrusion at a time like this. he was trying to sleep, or think, he wasn't sure which. "now, hon, we can't," henry whispered back. "we've bought the land and nobody's going to buy it back." "we bought it when they told us there would be roses," said the woman, loud and bitter. "great big roses, so big that most of the plant grew below ground, only the flower showing. so big, no stem could support them." "well, hon--" "don't hon me. there _are_ roses, ten feet across, all over our land, just like they said." her voice rose higher. "mud roses, that's what they are. stinking mud roses that collapse into a slimy hole in the ground." she sniffled again. "did you notice the pictures they showed us? people standing by the roses with their heads turned away. and you know why the pictures were like that? because they didn't dare show us the expressions on those people's faces, that's why." "it's not so bad," said the man soothingly. "maybe we can do something about it." "what can we do? the roses poison cattle and dogs run away from the smell. and we're humans. we're stronger, we're supposed to take it." "i've been thinking," said henry quietly. "i could take a long pipe and run it at an angle to the roots. i could force concrete through the pipe and seal it off below ground. when it collapsed, the rose wouldn't grow back." the woman asked doubtfully, "could you?" "i think so. of course i'd have to experiment to get the right kind of concrete." "but what would we do with the hole it left?" there was a faint tremor of hope. "we could haul away the slime," he said. "it would stop smelling after a while. we might even be able to use it for fertilizer." "but there's still the hole." "it would fill with water after the next rain. we could raise ducks in it." "white ducks?" "if you like." the woman was silent. "if you think we can do it, then we'll try," she said. "we'll go back to our farm and forget about earth." henry was silent, too. "they're kind of pretty, even if they do smell bad," he said after a long interval. "maybe i could pump a different kind of cement, real thin, directly into the stem. it might travel up into the flower instead of down." "and make them into stone roses," enthused the woman. "mud roses into stone. i'd like that--a few of them--to remind us of what our farm was like when we came to it." she wasn't sniffling. they had their own problems, decided jadiver, and their own solution, which, in their ignorance, might actually work. he'd been like that when he first came to venus, expecting great things. with him it had been different. he was an engineer, not a farmer, and he didn't want to be a farmer. there was nothing on venus for him. he couldn't stay much longer on venus in any capacity. earth was out of the question. mars? if he could escape capture in the months that followed and then manage to get passage on a ship. it wasn't hopeless, but his chances weren't high. the puzzling thing was why the police wanted him so badly. he was an accessory to a crime--several of them, in fact. but even if they regarded him as a criminal, they couldn't consider him an important one. and yet they were staging a manhunt. he hated to think of the number of policemen looking for him. there must be a reason for it. he had a few days left, possibly less. in that time, he would have to get off the planet or shed the circuit. without drastic extensive surgery, there was not much hope he could peel off the circuit. unless-he had received a message from someone self-identified as a friend. and that friend knew about the circuit and claimed to be willing to help. he kept seeing gray eyes and a strong, sad, indifferent face, even in his sleep. * * * * * he awakened later than he intended. since daylight was safest for him, that was a serious error. he wasted no time in regret, but went immediately to the mirror. under the makeup, his face was dirty and sweating. he didn't dare to remove the disguise for an instant, since to do so would be to expose himself to the instrument. he sprayed on a new face, altering the facial characteristics as best he could. his clothing, too, had to stay on. he roughed it up a bit, adding a year's wear to it. for what it was worth, he didn't look quite the same as yesterday. seedier and older. it was a process he couldn't keep extending indefinitely. he would not have to, of course. one way or the other, it would be decided soon. he shredded the bag and his extra clothing, tossing them into the disposal chute. no use giving the police something to paw over, to deduce from it what they could. the tiny spray gun he kept, and the tube of makeup. he might need them once more. it was close to noon when he left the room. there were lots of people on the streets and only a few policemen. again he had an advantage. he found a pay screen and began the search. doctor doumya filone wasn't listed with the police and that seemed strange. a moment's reflection showed that it wasn't. if she were officially connected, she might not show the sympathy she had. neither was she listed on the staff of the emergency hospital in which he'd been a patient. he had a number through which he could reach her, but he resisted an impulse to use it. it was certain the police wouldn't confine their efforts to the instrument check. they knew he had that number and they'd have someone on it, tracing everyone who called her. noon passed and his stomach called attention to it. he hadn't eaten since yesterday. he took a short break, ate hurriedly, and resumed the search. doumya filone was difficult to find. it was getting late and he had ascertained she wasn't on the staff of any hospital not listed for private practice. he finally located her almost by accident. she had an office with medical research incorporated. that was the only thing registered under her name. evening came early to venus, as it always did under the massive cloud formations. he got off the air cab a few blocks from his destination and walked the rest of the way. inside the building, he paused in the lobby and found her office. luckily it was in a back wing. he wandered through the corridors, got lost once, and found the route again. the building was almost empty by this time. her name was on the door. dr. doumya filone. research neurological systems, whatever that meant. there was a light in the office, a dim one. he eased the door open. it wasn't locked, which meant, he hadn't tripped an alarm. * * * * * no one was inside. he looked around. there was another door in back. he walked over to it. it didn't lead to a laboratory, as he expected. instead, there were living quarters. a peculiar way to conduct research. the autobath was humming quietly. he sat down facing it and waited. she came out in a few minutes, hair disarranged, damp around her forehead. she didn't see him at first. "well," she said coolly, staring at him. there was no question that she recognized him through the disguise. she slipped quickly into a robe that, whatever it did for her modesty, subtracted nothing from the view. he wished he was less tired and could appreciate it. she found a cigarette and lighted it. "you're pretty good, you know." "yeah." but not good enough, he thought. "why are you here?" she asked. she was nervous. "you know," he said. she had promised him help once before. now let her deliver. but she had to volunteer. "i know." she looked down at her hands, long skilled hands. "i put in the circuit. but i didn't choose you." he began to understand part of it. the 'medical research' business was just a cover. the real work was done at the police emergency hospital. that was why she had no laboratory. and the raw material-"who did choose me?" "the police. i have to take what they give me." there were certain implications in that statement he didn't like. "have there been others?" "two before you." "what happened to them?" "they died." he didn't like where this was taking him. his hand slid toward the tangle gun in his pocket. "maybe i should die, too." she nodded. "that would be one solution." she added harshly: "they shouldn't have taken you. legally speaking, you're not a criminal. but i couldn't investigate you personally before i put the circuit in." why not? was she an automaton that reacted in response to a button? in a way she was, but the button was psychological. "that doesn't help me," he said tiredly. "the police wanted to catch burlingame through me. that's right, isn't it?" she indicated that it was. "i did, without knowing what i was doing," he went on. "now i want out. even if i cooperated with the cops, which i'm not going to do, i'm of no further value to them. every criminal on venus knows about me by now." "that's part of it," she said. "but there's more. you've tied up the machine and neither i nor the police can use it." * * * * * explanations were coming faster. it was no wonder the police wanted him badly. they had a perfect device to use against criminals, which was all they were concerned with, and they couldn't use it as long as the circuit was in him. it made sense, but that kind of logic was deadly--for him. "i'll face it," he said. "i'll take whatever charge they hang on me. it shouldn't be more than a few years. you can use the time to take this damn thing out of me. only i want a guarantee first." she got up and stood with the light behind her. it was deliberately intended to distract him. under other circumstances, it would have. "if it were a small circuit, over just a fraction of your body, i could cut it out," she said. "but the way it is, i can't. it would kill you." at least she was honest about it. and he still didn't know what she meant when she had written, with his hands in the apartment, that she would help him. he would have to find out. "i can smash the machine," he said. "that's the other solution." she leaned against the wall. "you can't. and neither can i, though it's technically my machine. it's in the police department with an armed guard around it at all times. besides, the machine can defend itself." he looked at her without understanding. it didn't sound right. he was sweating under the makeup and part of it was coming loose. "then what did you mean when you said you'd help?" he asked. "you promised, but what can you do?" "i never promised to help." it was her turn not to understand. her hand slipped down and so did the robe. she was lying to him, had been lying all along. she never intended to help, though she said she would. the purpose? to lead him into a trap. she'd been successful enough. he looked up in anger, in time to see an object hurtling from her hand. it struck him on the side of the head, hard. some of the makeup chipped and fell off, but that was less important than yanking out the tangle gun. he fired twice, once at her feet and once at her shoulders. he had aimed at her head, but the shot went low. [illustration] her face was still pretty, though no longer indifferent or so strong. "what do you want?" she screamed. "why don't you leave me alone? i can't help you. nobody can." she was standing there rigid, not daring to move. the robe rippled in a breeze from the vent and the tangle stuff gripped it and the fabric tore. she'd stand there a few more hours and then topple over. they'd find her in the morning and remove the tangle with the special tongs. as for himself, it was too late. he might have got off venus at one time if he had concentrated on it. he hadn't tried harder because of doumya filone. he had _wanted_ to believe her because--well, because. "i told you i'd help, jadiver. i will." the voice was distinct. it wasn't doumya filone who'd said it. a tangle strand had worked up her throat and gripped her face. she couldn't speak if she tried. her gray eyes weren't gray; they were the color of tears. * * * * * he looked around. it wasn't doumya filone--and there wasn't any other person in the room. "i've kept the police away," said the familiar voice. "i can protect you for a while longer. there's still time to save yourself. but you have to guess right. you can't make any more mistakes." strictly speaking, it wasn't a voice. doumya filone didn't hear it; that was obvious. it was the circuit then. someone was making use of the machine to actuate the auditory nerve directly. that was what he seemed to hear. jadiver was tired and his body grimy, muscles twitching under the tension. but if his unknown friend--real, after all--could out-wit a room full of police and tinker with the mechanism which was supposed to spot him, he couldn't do less. he grinned. "i'll make it this time. i know what to do." "the police haven't given up," said the voice. "i'm going to be busy with them. don't expect further communication from me." he didn't know who the person was, in spite of the haunting familiarity of the voice. and he wasn't going to find out soon. probably never. it was enough, however, to know that he had a friend. he left doumya filone standing there, which was a mistake, he realized as he reached the front office. he should have fired once more at her hands. the screen was crackling; her hands had been free and she'd managed to turn the screen on before the tangle strands interfered with her movement. he'd made a grave error, but not necessarily fatal. it would be some time before anyone got there. by then he hoped to be safe. he slipped through the corridors, went out the rear of the building and looked around for an air cab. the place was deserted at this hour and no cabs were in the nearby sky. he had to walk and he didn't have that much time. he headed toward the nearest main thoroughfare. it was in the opposite direction to his destination, but he should be able to find an air cab there. he was walking too fast, for a light flashed down on him. he wasn't presentable and his haste was suspicious. "stop," said the amplified voice. it was probably just a routine check, but he couldn't risk even that. he dodged into a space between two buildings and began to run. in the center of town, this would be a blind alley, but in this section it wasn't. there was a chance he could lose them. the buildings were just high enough so that they couldn't use the air car and they'd have to follow on foot. the patrol car alighted almost instantly and one of the policemen started after him. the man following him knew his business and was in good physical condition, better than jadiver was after days of tension and little sleep. jadiver turned and snapped a half dozen shots at his pursuer. he was lucky, a couple were close enough. the policeman crashed to the ground and began to swear. his voice was choked off in seconds. the other one got out of the patrol car and let it stand. it was the principle of the thing: nobody did that to a policeman. jadiver had a substantial lead and it was dark, but he didn't know the route. jadiver was enormously tired and this was the policeman's regular beat. the gap between them closed rapidly. out of breath and time and space to move around in, jadiver took the wrong turn because the man was so close--and found himself boxed in. * * * * * crouching, jadiver fired at the oncoming man, a dark shape he sensed rather than saw. the tangle gun clicked futilely, out of ammunition. he fumbled hastily for a clip; before he could reload, the policeman squeezed the trigger and held it down. the bullets didn't hit him, they were set to detonate a fraction of an inch away. he gave up and awaited the constricting violence of the tangle strands. the bullets detonated and the strands flashed out, glowing slightly in the darkness. they never touched him; instead, they bent into strange shapes and flipped away. the stickiest substance known, and one of the strongest, from which there was no escape, yet it would not adhere to him--was, in fact, forcefully repelled! it was that skin, of course, the synthetic substance they had put on him over the circuit. they should have tested it under these conditions. they might not have been so anxious to boil men alive. he felt that he was almost invincible. it was an exhilarating feeling. he stopped trying to reload the tangle gun and stood up. he sprinted at the policeman, who stood his ground, firing frantically at a target he could not miss and yet did not hit. the tangle strands shattered all around the target. jadiver swung the gun with his remaining strength; the butt connected with the policeman's forehead. jadiver scooped up the discarded tangle gun and fired twice at close range, in case the man should decide to revive too soon, which was doubtful. he went back and entered the idling patrol car. he hadn't lost much time, after all. he sat the car down on top of a building near the edge of the rocketport, straightened his clothing and wiped the grime off his face. some of the disguise went, too, but that no longer mattered much. he stepped out of the elevator and walked casually along the street until he came to the interplanetary flight office. the same robot was there--would be there every hour, day and night, until the rocketport was expanded and the building torn down and rebuilt, or the robot itself wore out and had to be replaced. the clerk looked up eagerly. "you're back. i knew i could count on you." "i'm interested in that flight you were telling me about," said jadiver. "we've changed rates," the robot clerk replied, beaming. "it was a bargain before, but just listen to the revised offer. we pay you, on a per diem basis--subjective, of course. when you arrive, you actually have a bank account waiting for you." per diem, subjective--the time that _seemed_ to elapse when the rocket was traveling near the speed of light. it wasn't as good as the robot made it sound. "never mind that," said jadiver. "i'll take it if it's going far." "going far!" echoed the clerk. a policeman sauntered by outside, just looking, but that was enough. "i said i'd take it," jadiver repeated in a loud voice. the clerk deflated. "i wish i could go with you," it explained wistfully. it reached under the counter and pulled out a perforated tape. "this will get you on the ship, and it also constitutes the contract. just present it at the other end and collect your money. you can send for your baggage after you're on board." jadiver opened his mouth and then closed it. his baggage was intangible, mostly experience, not much of it pleasant. "i'll do that," he said. the clerk came out from behind the counter and watched jadiver leave. lights from the rocketport glittered in its robot eyes. * * * * * jadiver paced about the ship. it was not enough to be on it, for the police could still trace him. and if they did, they could get him off. it was not only himself, there was his unknown friend. they had ways to learn about that. he passed a vision port on his way through the ship. it was night, but it didn't seem so on the vast, brightly lighted concrete plain. a strange vehicle streaked across the surface of the rocketport in defiance of all regulations and common sense. it was coming his way. it dodged in and out of rockets landing and taking off, escaping blazing destruction with last minute, intricate maneuvers. the driver had complete control of the vehicle and was fantastically skillful. it was a strange machine. jadiver had never seen anything quite like it. as far as he knew, it resembled nothing the police used. it didn't halt outside the ship. the loading ramp was down and the machine came up without hesitation. the entrance was too narrow and the vehicle would never get through--that seemed evident. an instant later, he was not so sure. the ship quivered and groaned and vibrations ran throughout the structure. he leaned over the railing and looked down. the machine was inside, dented and scraped. "captain," bellowed a voice from the vehicle. it was an authoritative voice and it puzzled jadiver. the captain came running, either in response to the command or to find out how much damage had been done in the crash and why. "take off, captain," said the voice. "take off at once." the captain sputtered. "i give orders here. i'll take off when i get ready." "you're ready when the ship reaches a certain mass. as soon as i came on board, you attained it. check your mass gauges, captain." the captain hurried to the gauges and glanced at them. he stared back at the machine. "captain," purred the machine, "you have a little daughter. by the time you get back, she will be grown and will have children of her own. the sooner you leave, the sooner you will see her again. i will regard it as a personal favor if you see that we take off immediately." the captain looked at the machine. tentacles and eye stalks rose up out of the tip as he watched. it was a big machine, well put together, and it appeared quite capable of handling a roomful of armed men. as a matter of fact, it just had. the captain shrugged and gave the order to lift ship. * * * * * it was none too soon. out of the visionport, jadiver could see uniformed men edging up from the underground shelters. they backed out of sight when the rockets began to flame. faster the ship rose and higher. they were in the dense clouds and then through them, out in the clear black of space, away from venus. jadiver looked down at the machine. it wasn't a vehicle. it was a robot, and it was familiar. "it ought to be familiar," said the robot softly. that voice was for him alone, directly on the auditory nerve. "you designed most of it back on earth, remember?" he remembered. it was not a pretty imitation of a human--it was his perfect robot. and it was also, his unknown friend, the one who had watched over him. he walked slowly down the stairs and stood beside it. the robot switched to the regular speaking voice. "they built your design, after all. they needed a big and powerful mobile robot, one that could house, in addition to the regular functions, an extensive and delicate mechanism." that was the voice that had haunted him so long and in so many situations. it was not jadiver's own voice, but it resembled his. a third person might not recognize the difference. "that other mechanism," said jadiver. "is that the one that monitors the circuit in my body?" "that _parallels_ the circuit in your body." tentacles were busy straightening out the dents. "when i was built, they gave me a good mind, better than your own in certain respects. what i lacked was sensory perception. eyes and ears, to be sure, good ones in a way, but without the delicate shadings a human has, particularly tactile interpretations. i didn't need better, they thought, because my function was to observe and report on the parallel circuit i mentioned. "in the beginning, that circuit was a formless matrix and only faintly resembled your nervous system. as nerve data was exchanged back and forth, it began to resemble you more and more, especially your mind. now, for practical purposes, it is you and i can look into it at will." jadiver stirred uneasily. "don't you understand?" asked the robot. "my mind isn't yours, and vice versa. but we do have one thing in common, a synthetic nervous system which, if you were killed, would begin to disintegrate slowly and painfully. and now that it's developed as much as it is, i would probably die, too, since that synthetic nervous system is an otherwise unused part of my brain." "there were two other victims before me," said jadiver. "there were, but they were derelicts--dead, really, before the experiment got started. they lasted a few hours. i tried to help them, but it was too late. it was not pleasant for me." * * * * * not only was it a friend; it had a vital interest in keeping him alive. he could trust it, had to. after what had happened, doubt wasn't called for. jadiver rubbed his weary eyes. "that shield i used," he said. "did it work?" the robot laughed--jadiver's laughter. it had copied him in many ways. "it worked to your disadvantage. the circuit signals got through to me, but i couldn't send any back until doumya filone chipped off part of your disguise. then i spoke to you. before that, i had to misdirect the police. i built up a complete and false history for you and kept them looking where you weren't." if he had thought, he would have known it had to be that way. the police were efficient; they could have taken him long ago without the aid of the circuit. but it had seemed so easy and they had trusted the robot--had to where the circuit was concerned. no man could sit in front of a screen and interpret the squiggles that meant his hand was touching an apple. jadiver sat down. the strain was over and he was safe, bound for some far-off place. "the police used you, though not as much as you used them," he said. "still, they didn't develop the theory." "they didn't. there was a man on earth, a top-notch scientist. he worked out the theory and set up the mechanism. he had a surgical assistant, a person who would never be more than that on earth because she wasn't good on theory, though she was a whiz at surgery. she realized it and got his permission to build another machine and take it to venus. originally it was intended to accumulate data on the workings of the human nervous system. "on venus, things were different. laws concerning the rights of individuals are not so strict. she got the idea of examining the whole nervous system at once, not realizing what it meant because it had never been done that way. she discussed it with officials from the police department who saw instantly what she didn't--that once an extensive circuit was in a human, there was no way to get it out, except by death. they had no objections and were quite willing to furnish her with specimens, for their own purposes and only incidentally hers. once the first man died, they had her and wouldn't let her back out, though she wanted to." "specimen," repeated jadiver. "yeah, i was a specimen to her." his head was heavy. "why didn't you tell me this in the beginning?" "would you have listened when i first contacted you?" asked the robot. "later, perhaps. but once you put on the shield, i couldn't get in touch with you until you were with doumya filone." * * * * * would jadiver have listened? not until it became a matter of raw survival. even now he hated to leave earth and what it meant for the unknown dangers and tedium of a planet circling an alien sun. it was more than that, of course. just as he'd had a design for a perfect robot, he had in mind a perfect woman. he could recognize either when he saw it. "doumya filone was the assistant?" "she was." the robot was his now, jadiver knew. others had built it, but it belonged to him by virtue of a nervous system. it had as good a mind as his, but it wouldn't dispute his claim. "like yourself," continued the robot, "in the solar system she would never have been more than second rate, and she wanted to be first. hardly anyone recognizes it, but the solar system is not what it once was. it's like a nice neighborhood that decays so slowly that the people in it don't notice what it's become. there are some who can rise even in a slum, but they're the rare exceptions. "others need greater opportunity than slums offer. they have to leave if they expect to develop freely. but the hold of a whole culture is strong and it's hard to persuade them that they have to go." the robot paused. "take a last look at a blighted area." outside planets glimmered in the distance. jadiver was tired and his eyes were closing. now he could sleep safely, but not in peace. "don't regret it," advised the robot. "where you're going, you'll have real designs to work on. no more pretty robot faces." "where is it--alpha centauri?" jadiver asked disinterestedly. "that ship left yesterday. they got their quota and left within the hour, before any of the passengers could change their minds. we're going farther, to sirius." * * * * * sirius. a mighty sun, with planets to match. it was a place to be big. big and lonely. "i can't force you to do anything," said the robot. it sounded pleased. "but i have no inhibitions about others." the robot flipped up its cowl. there was a storage space and a woman in it. except for her hands, she was bound tightly by tangle strands. "i don't think she likes you at the moment," said the robot. "she'll tell you that as soon as she's able to speak. she may relent later, when she realizes what it's really like on sirius. you've got the whole voyage to convince her." the eye-stalks of the robot followed jadiver interestedly. "are you looking for the tongs? remember that the tangle stuff is repelled by your skin." jadiver willingly used his hands and the tangle strands fell off. as the robot had predicted, doumya filone was not silent--at first. citadel of lost ships by leigh brackett it was a gypsy world, built of space flotsam, peopled with the few free races of the solar system. roy campbell, outcast prey of the coalition, entered its depths to seek haven for the kraylens of venus--only to find that it had become a slave trap from which there was no escape. [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from planet stories march 1943. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] roy campbell woke painfully. his body made a blind, instinctive lunge for the control panel, and it was only when his hands struck the smooth, hard mud of the wall that he realized he wasn't in his ship any longer, and that the spaceguard wasn't chasing him, their guns hammering death. he leaned against the wall, the perspiration thick on his heavy chest, his eyes wide and remembering. he could feel again, as though the running fight were still happening, the bucking of his sleek fitz-sothern beneath the calm control of his hands. he could remember the pencil rays lashing through the night, searching for him, seeking his life. he could recall the tiny prayer that lingered in his memory, as he fought so skillfully, so dangerously, to evade the relentless pursuer. then there was a hazy period, when a blasting cannon had twisted his ship like a wind-tossed leaf, and his head had smashed cruelly against the control panel. and then the slinking minutes when he had raced for safety--and then the sodden hours when sleep was the only thing in the universe that he craved. he sank back on the hide-frame cot with something between a laugh and a curse. he was sweating, and his wiry body twitched. he found a cigarette, lit it on the second try and sat still, listening to his heartbeats slow down. he began to wonder, then, what had wakened him. it was night, the deep indigo night of venus. beyond the open hut door, campbell could see the _liha_-trees swaying a little in the hot, slow breeze. it seemed as though the whole night swayed, like a dark blue veil. for a long time he didn't hear anything but the far-off screaming of some swamp-beast on the kill. then, sharp and cruel against the blue silence, a drum began to beat. it made campbell's heart jerk. the sound wasn't loud, but it had a tight, hard quality of savagery, something as primal as the swamp and as alien, no matter how long a man lived with it. the drumming stopped. the second, perhaps the third, ritual prelude. the first must have wakened him. campbell stared with narrow dark eyes at the doorway. he'd been with the kraylens only two days this time, and he'd slept most of that. now he realized, that in spite of his exhaustion, he had sensed something wrong in the village. something was wrong, very wrong, when the drum beat that way in the sticky night. he pulled on his short, black spaceman's boots and went out of the hut. no one moved in the village. thatch rustled softly in the slow wind, and that was the only sign of life. campbell turned into a path under the whispering _liha_-trees. he wore nothing but the tight black pants of his space garb, and the hot wind lay on his skin like soft hands. he filled his lungs with it. it smelled of warm still water and green, growing things, and.... freedom. above all, _freedom_. this was one place where a man could still stand on his legs and feel human. the drumming started again, like a man's angry heart beating out of the indigo night. this time it didn't stop. campbell shivered. the trees parted presently, showing a round dark hummock. it was lit by the hot flare of burning _liha_ pods. sweet oily smoke curled up into the branches. there was a sullen glint of water through the trees, but there were closer glints, brighter, fiercer, more deadly. the glinting eyes of men, silent men, standing in a circle around the hummock. there was a little man crouched on the mound in the center. his skin had the blue-whiteness of skim milk. he wore a kilt of iridescent scales. his face was subtly reptilian, broad across the cheek-bones and pointed below. a crest of brilliant feathers--they weren't really feathers, but that was as close as campbell could get--started just above his brow ridges and ran clean down his spine to the waist. they were standing erect now, glowing in the firelight. he nursed a drum between his knees. it stopped being just a drum when he touched it. it was his own heart, singing and throbbing with the hate in it. campbell stopped short of the circle. his nerves, still tight from his near-fatal brush with the spaceguard, stung with little flaring pains. he'd never seen anything like this before. the little man rocked slightly, looking up into the smoke. his eyes were half closed. the drum was part of him and part of the indigo night. it was part of campbell, beating in his blood. it was the heart of the swamp, sobbing with hate and a towering anger that was as naked and simple as adam on the morning of creation. * * * * * campbell must have made some involuntary motion, because a man standing at the edge of the hummock turned his head and saw him. he was tall and slender, and his crest was pure white, a sign of age. he turned and came to campbell, looking at him with opalescent eyes. the firelight laid the earthman's dark face in sharp relief, the lean hard angles, the high-bridged nose that had been broken and not set straight, the bitter mouth. campbell said, in pure liquid venusian, "what is it, father?" the kraylen's eyes dropped to the earthman's naked breast. there was black hair on it, and underneath the hair ran twisting, intricate lines of silver and deep blue, tattooed with exquisite skill. the old man's white crest nodded. campbell turned and went back down the path. the wind and the _liha_-trees, the hot blue night beat with the anger and the hate of the little man with the drum. neither spoke until they were back in the hut. campbell lit a smoky lamp. the old kraylen drew a long, slow breath. "my almost-son," he said, "this is the last time i can give you refuge. when you are able, you must go and return no more." campbell stared at him. "but, father! why?" the old man spread long blue-white hands. his voice was heavy. "because we, the kraylens, shall have ceased to be." campbell didn't say anything for a minute. he sat down on the hide-frame cot and ran his fingers through his black hair. "tell me, father," he said quietly, grimly. the kraylen's white crest rippled in the lamplight. "it is not your fight." campbell got up. "look. you've saved my neck more times than i can count. you've accepted me as one of your own. i've been happier here than any--well, skip that. but don't say it isn't my fight." the pale, triangular old face smiled. but the white crest shook. "no. there is really no fight. only death. we're a dying tribe, a mere scrap of old venus. what matter if we die now--or later?" campbell lit a cigarette with quick, sharp motions. his voice was hard. "tell me, father. all, and quick." opalescent eyes met his. "it is better not." "i said, 'tell me'!" "very well." the old man sighed. "you would hear, after all. you remember the frontier town of lhi?" "remember it!" campbell's white teeth flashed. "every dirty stone in it, from the pumping conduits on up. best place on three planets to fence the hot stuff." he broke off, suddenly embarrassed. the kraylen said gently, "that is your affair, my son. you've been away a long time. lhi has changed. the terra-venusian coalition government has taken it for the administration center of tehara province." campbell's eyes, at mention of the coalition government, acquired a hot, hard brightness. he said, "go on." the old man's face was cut from marble, his voice stiff and distant. "there have been men in the swamps. now word has been sent us. it seems there is coal here, and oil, and certain minerals that men prize. they will drain the swamps for many miles, and work them." campbell let smoke out of his lungs, very slowly. "yeah? and what becomes of you?" the kraylen turned away and stood framed in the indigo square of the doorway. the distant drum sobbed and shouted. it was hot, and yet the sweat turned cold on campbell's body. the old man's voice was distant and throbbing and full of anger, like the drum. campbell had to strain to hear it. "they will take us and place us in camps in the great cities. small groups of us, so that we are divided and split. many people will pay to see us, the strange remnants of old venus. they will pay for our skills in the curing of _leshen_-skins and the writing of quaint music, and tattooing. we will grow rich." campbell dropped the cigarette and ground it on the dirt floor. knotted veins stood out on his forehead, and his face was cruel. the old man whispered: "_we will die first._" * * * * * it was a long time since anyone had spoken. the drumming had stopped, but the echo of it throbbed in campbell's pulses. he looked at his spread, sinewy hands on his knees and swallowed because the veins of his neck were swollen and hurting. presently he said, "couldn't you go further back into the swamps?" the old kraylen spoke without moving. he still stood in the doorway, watching the trees sway in the slow wind. "the nahali live there. besides, there is no clean water and no earth for crops. we are not lizard eaters." "i've seen it happen," said campbell somberly. "on earth, and mars, and mercury, and the moons of jupiter and saturn. little people driven from their homes, robbed of their way of life, exploited and for the gaping idiots in the trade centers. little people who didn't care about progress, and making money. little people who only wanted to live, and breathe, and be let alone." he got up in a swift savage rush and hurled a gourd of water crashing into a corner and sat down again. he was shivering. the old kraylen turned. "little people like you, my son?" campbell shrugged. "maybe. we'd worked our farm for three hundred years. my father didn't want to sell. they condemned it anyhow. it's under water now, and the dam runs a hell of a big bunch of factories." "i'm sorry." campbell looked up, and his face softened. "i've never understood," he said. "you people are the most law-abiding citizens i ever met. you don't like strangers. and yet i blunder in here, hot on the lam and ugly as a swamp-dragon, and you...." he stopped. it was probably the excitement that was making his throat knot up like that. the smoke from the lamp stung his eyes. he blinked and bent to trim it. "you were wounded, my son, and in trouble. your quarrel with the police was none of ours. we would have helped anyone. and then, while you had fever and your guard was down, you showed that more than your body needed help. we gave you what we could." "yeah," said campbell huskily. he didn't say it, but he knew well enough that what the kraylens had given him had kept him from blowing his top completely. now the kraylens were going the way of the others, straws swept before the great broom of progress. nothing could stop it. earth's empire surged out across the planets, building, bartering, crashing across time and custom and race to make money and the shining steel cage of efficiency. a cage wherein a sheep could live happily enough, well-fed and opulent. but campbell wasn't a sheep. he'd tried it, and he couldn't bleat in tune. so he was a wolf, now, alone and worrying the flock. soon there wasn't going to be a place in the solar system where a man could stand on his own feet and breathe. he felt stifled. he got up and stood in the doorway, watching the trees stir in the hot indigo gloom. the trees would go. wells and mines, slag and soot and clattering machinery, and men in sweat-stained shirts laboring night and day to get, to grow, to produce. campbell's mouth twisted, bitter and sardonic. he said softly: "god help the unconstructive!" the old kraylen murmured, "what happened to those others, my son?" campbell's lean shoulders twitched. "some of them died. some of them submitted. the rest...." he turned, so suddenly that the old man flinched. campbell's dark eyes had a hot light in them, and his face was sharply alive. "the rest," he said evenly, "went to romany." * * * * * he talked, then. urgently, pacing the hut in nervous catlike strides, trying to remember things he had heard and not been very much interested in at the time. when he was through, the kraylen said: "it would be better. infinitely better. but--" he spread his long pale hands, and his white crest drooped. "but there is no time. government men will come within three days to take us--that was the time set. and since we will not go...." campbell thought of the things that had happened to other rebellious tribes. he felt sick. but he made his voice steady. "we'll hope it's time, father. romany is in an orbit around venus now--i nearly crashed it coming in. i'm going to try, anyhow. if i don't--well, stall as long as you can." remembering the drum and the way the men had looked, he didn't think that would be long. he pulled on a loose shirt of green spider-silk, slung the belt of his heavy needle-gun over one shoulder, and picked up his black tunic. he put his hand on the kraylen's shoulder and smiled. "we'll take care of it, father." the old man's opalescent eyes were shadowed. "i wish i could stop you. it's hopeless for us, and you are--_hot_ is that the word?" campbell grinned. "hot," he said, "is the word. blistering! the coalition gets awfully mad when someone pulls their own hi-jacking stunt on them. but i'm used to it." it was beginning to get light outside. the old man said quietly, "the gods go with you, my son." campbell went out, thinking he'd need them. it was full day when he reached his hidden ship--a sleek, souped-up fitts-sothern that had the legs of almost anything in space. he paused briefly by the airlock, looking at the sultry green of _liha_-trees under a pearl-grey sky, the white mist lapping around his narrow waist. he spent a long time over his charts, feeding numbers to the calculators. when he got a set-up that suited him, he took the fitts-sothern up on purring 'copters, angling out over the deep swamps. he felt better, with the ship under his hands. the planetary patrol blanket was thin over the deep swamps, but it was vigilant. campbell's nerves were tight. they got tighter as he came closer to the place where he was going to have to begin his loop over to the night side. he was just reaching for the rocket switch when the little red light started to flash on the indicator panel. somebody had a detector beam on him. and he was morally certain that the somebody was flying a patrol boat. ii there was one thing about the venusian atmosphere. you couldn't see through it, even with infra-beams, at very long range. the intensity needle showed the patrol ship still far off, probably not suspicious yet, although stray craft were rare over the swamps. in a minute the copper would be calling for information, with his mass-detectors giving the fitts-sothern a massage. campbell didn't think he'd wait. he slammed in the drive rockets, holding them down till the tubes warmed. even held down, they had plenty. the fitts-sothern climbed in a whipping spiral. the red light wavered, died, glowed again. the copper was pretty good with his beam. campbell fed in more juice. the red light died again. but the patrol boat had all its beams out now, spread like a fish net. the fitts-sothern struck another, lost it, struck again, and this time she didn't break out. campbell felt the sudden racking jar all through him. "tractor beams," he said. "you think so, buddy?" the drive jets were really warming now. he shot it to them. the fitts-sothern hung for a fractional instant, her triple-braced hull shuddering so that campbell's teeth rang together. then she broke, blasting up right through the netted beams. campbell jockeyed his port and starboard steering jets. the ship leaped and skittered wildly. the copper didn't have time to focus full power on her anywhere, and low power to the fitts-sothern was a nuisance and nothing more. campbell went up over the patrol ship, veered off in the opposite direction from the one he intended to follow, hung in a tight spiral until he was sure he was clean, and then dived again. the patrol boat wasn't expecting him to come back. the pilot was concentrating on where campbell had gone, not where he had been. campbell grinned, opened full throttle, and went skittering over the curve of the planet to meet the night shadow rushing toward him. he didn't meet any more ships. he was way off the trade lanes, and moving so fast that only blind luck could tag him. he hoped the patrol was hunting for him in force, back where they'd lost him. he hoped they'd hunt a long time. presently he climbed, on slowed and muffled jets, out of the atmosphere. his black ship melted indistinguishably into the black shadow of the planet. he slowed still more, just balancing the venus-drag, and crawled out toward a spot marked on his astrogation chart. an outer patrol boat went by, too far off to bother about. campbell lit a cigarette with nervous hands. it was only a quarter smoked when the object he'd been waiting for loomed up in space. his infra-beam showed it clearly. a round, plate-shaped mass about a mile in diameter, built of three tiers of spaceships. hulks, ancient, rusty, pitted things that had died and not been decently buried, welded together in a solid mass by lengths of pipe let into their carcasses. before, when he had seen it, campbell had been in too much of a hurry to do more than curse it for getting in his way. now he thought it was the most desolate, godforsaken mass of junk that had ever made him wonder why people bothered to live at all. he touched the throttle, tempted to go back to the swamps. then he thought of what was going to happen back there, and took his hand away. "hell!" he said. "i might as well look inside." he didn't know anything about the internal set-up of romany--what made it tick, and how. he knew romany didn't love the coalition, but whether they would run to harboring criminals was another thing. it wouldn't be strange if they had been given pictures of roy campbell and told to watch for him. thinking of the size of the reward for him, campbell wished he were not quite so famous. romany reminded him of an old-fashioned circular mouse-trap. once inside, it wouldn't be easy to get out. "of all the platinum-plated saps!" he snarled suddenly. "why am i sticking my neck out for a bunch of semi-human swamp-crawlers, anyhow?" he didn't answer that. the leading edge of romany knifed toward him. there were lights in some of the hulks, mostly in the top layer. campbell reached for the radio. he had to contact the big shots. no one else could give him what he needed. to do that, he had to walk right up to the front door and announce himself. after that.... the manual listed the wave-length he wanted. he juggled the dials and verniers, wishing his hands wouldn't sweat. "spaceship _black star_ calling romany. calling romany...." his screen flashed, flickered, and cleared. "romany acknowledging. who are you and what do you want?" * * * * * campbell's screen showed him a youngish man--a taxil, he thought, from some mercurian backwater. he was ebony-black and handsome, and he looked as though the sight of campbell affected him like stale beer. campbell said, "cordial guy, aren't you? i'm thomas black, trader out of terra, and i want to come aboard." "that requires permission." "yeah? okay. connect me with the boss." the taxil now looked as though he smelled something that had been dead a long time. "possibly you mean eran mak, the chief councillor?" "possibly," admitted campbell, "i do." if the rest of the gypsies were anything like this one, they sure had a hate on for outsiders. well, he didn't blame them. the screen blurred. it stayed that way while campbell smoked three cigarettes and exhausted his excellent vocabulary. then it cleared abruptly. eran mak sounded martian, but the man pictured on the screen was no martian. he was an earthman, with a face like a wedge of granite and a frame that was all gaunt bones and thrusting angles. his hair was thin, pale-red and fuzzy. his mouth was thin. even his eyes were thin, close slits of pale blue with no lashes. campbell disliked him instantly. "i'm tredrick," said the earthman. his voice was thin, with a sound in it like someone walking on cold gravel. "terran overchief. why do you wish to land, mister black?" "i bring a message from the kraylen people of venus. they need help." tredrick's eyes became, if possible, thinner and more pale. "_help?_" "yes. help." campbell was struck by a sudden suspicion, something he caught flickering across tredrick's granite features when he said "kraylen." he went on, slowly, "the coalition is moving in on them. i understand you people of romany help in cases like that." there was a small, tight silence. "i'm sorry," said tredrick. "there is nothing we can do." campbell's dark face tightened. "why not? you helped the shenyat people on ganymede and the drylanders on mars. that's what romany is, isn't it--a refuge for people like that?" "as a _latnik_, there's a lot you don't know. at this time, we cannot help anyone. sorry, black. please clear ship." the screen went dead. campbell stared at it with sultry eyes. sorry. the hell you're sorry. what gives here, anyway? he thrust out an angry hand to the transmitter. and then, quite suddenly, the taxil was looking at him out of the screen. the hostile look was gone. anger replaced it, but not anger at campbell. the taxil said, in a low, rapid voice: "you're not lying about coming from the kraylens?" "no. no, i'm not lying." he opened his shirt to show the tattoo. "the dirty scut! mister black, clear ship, and then make contact with one of the outer hulks on the lowest tier. you'll find emergency hatchways in some of the pipes. come inside, and wait." his dark eyes had a savage glitter. "there are some of us, mister black, who still consider romany a refuge!" * * * * * campbell cleared ship. his nerves were singing in little tight jerks. he'd stepped into something here. something big and ugly. there had been a certain ring in the taxil's voice. the thin, gravelly mr. tredrick had something on his mind, too. something important, about kraylens. why kraylens, of all the unimportant people on venus? trouble on romany. romany the gypsy world, the solar system's stepchild. strictly a family affair. what business did a public enemy with a low number and a high valuation have mixing into that? then he thought of the drum beating in the indigo night, and an old man watching _liha_-trees stir in a slow, hot wind. roy campbell called himself a short, bitter name, and sighed, and reached lean brown hands for the controls. presently, in the infra-field, he made out an ancient krub freighter on the edge of the lowest level, connected to companion wrecks by sections of twelve-foot pipe. there was a hatch in one of the pipes, with a hand-wheel. the fitts-sothern glided with exquisite daintiness to the pipe, touched it gently, threw out her magnetic grapples and suction flanges, and hung there. the airlock exactly covered the hatchway. campbell got up. he was sweating and as edgy as a tomcat on the prowl. with great care he buckled his heavy gun around his narrow hips. then he went into the airlock. he checked grapples and flanges with inordinate thoroughness. the hatch-wheel jutted inside. he picked up a spanner and turned it, not touching the frigid metal. there was a crude barrel-lock beyond. campbell ran his tongue once over dry lips, shrugged, and climbed in. he got through into a space that was black as the coalsack. the air was thin and bitingly cold. campbell shivered in his silk shirt. he laid his hand on his gun butt and took two cautious steps away from the bulge of the lock, wishing to hell he were some place else. cold green light exploded out of nowhere behind him. he half turned, his gun blurring into his palm. but he had no chance to fire it. something whipped down across the nerve-center in the side of his neck. his body simply faded out of existence. he fell on his face and lay there, struggling with all his might to move and achieving only a faint twitching of the muscles. he knew vaguely that someone rolled him over. he blinked up into the green light, and heard a man's deep, soft voice say from the darkness behind it: "what made you think you could get away with it?" campbell tried three times before he could speak. "with what?" "spying. does tredrick think we're children?" "i wouldn't know." it was easier to speak this time. his body was beginning to fade in again, like something on a television screen. he tried to close his hand. it didn't work very well, but it didn't matter. his gun was gone. something moved across the light. a man's body, a huge, supple, muscular thing the color of dark bronze. it knelt with a terrible tigerish ease beside campbell, the bosses on its leather kilt making a clinking noise. there was a jeweled gorget of reddish metal around the base of its throat. the stones had a wicked glitter. the deep, soft voice said, "who are you?" campbell tried to force the returning life faster through his body. the man's face was in shadow. campbell looked up with sultry, furious eyes and achieved a definite motion toward getting up. the kneeling giant put out his right arm. the green light burned on it. campbell's eyes followed it down toward his throat. his face became a harsh, irregular mask cut from dark wood. the arm was heavily, beautifully muscled. but where the hand should have been there was a leather harness and a hook of polished martian bronze. * * * * * campbell knew what had struck him. the thin, hard curve of that hook, more potent than the edge of any hand. the point pricked his throat, just over the pulse on the left side. the man said softly: "lie still, little man, and answer." campbell lay still. there was nothing else to do. he said, "i'm thomas black, if that helps. who are you?" "what did tredrick tell you to do?" "to get the hell out. what gives with you?" if that taxil was spreading the word about him, he'd better hurry. campbell decided to take a chance. the guy with the hook didn't seem to love tredrick. "the black boy in the radio room told me to come aboard and wait. seems he's sore at tredrick, too. so am i. that makes us all pals, doesn't it?" "you lie, little man." the deep voice was quietly certain. "you were sent to spy. answer!" the point of the hook put the exclamation point on that word. campbell winced away. he wished the lug wouldn't call him "little man." he wouldn't remember ever having felt more hopelessly scared. he said, "damn your eyes, i'm not lying. check with the taxil. he'll tell you." "and betray him to tredrick? you're clumsy, little man." the hook bit deeper. campbell's neck began to bleed. he felt all right again otherwise. he wondered whether he'd have a chance of kicking the man in the stomach before his throat was torn out. he tried to draw farther away, but the pipe wall wouldn't give. a woman's voice spoke then, quite suddenly, from beyond the green light. campbell jumped. he hadn't even thought about anyone else being there. now it was obvious that someone was holding the light. the voice said, "wait, marah. zard is calling me now." it was a clear, low voice. it had music in it. campbell would have loved it if it had croaked, but as it was it made his nerves prick with sheer ecstasy. the hook lifted out of the hole it had made, but it didn't go away. campbell raised his head a little. the lower edge of the green light spilled across a pair of sandalled feet. the bare white legs above them were as beautiful as the voice, in the same strong clear way. there was a long silence. marah, the man with the hook, turned his face partly into the light. it was oblong and scarred and hard as beaten bronze. the eyes in it were smoky ember, set aslant under a tumbled crest of tawny hair. after a long time the woman spoke again. her voice was different this time. it was angry, and the anger made it sing and throb like the kraylen's drum. "the earthman is telling the truth, marah. zard sent him. he's here about the kraylens." the big man--a martian drylander, campbell thought, from somewhere around kesh--got up, fast. "the kraylens!" "he asked for help, and tredrick sent him away." the light moved closer. "but that's not all, marah. tredrick has found out about--us. old ekla talked. they're waiting for us at the ship!" iii marah turned. his eyes had a greenish, feral glint like those of a lion on the kill. he said, "i'm sorry, little man." campbell was on his feet, now, and reasonably steady. "think nothing of it," he said dourly. "a natural mistake." he looked at the hook and mopped the blood from his neck, and felt sick. he added, "the name's black. thomas black." "it wouldn't be campbell?" asked the woman's voice. "roy campbell?" he squinted into the light, not saying anything. the woman said, "you are roy campbell. the spaceguard was here not long ago, hunting for you. they left your picture." he shrugged. "all right. i'm roy campbell." "that," said marah softly, "helps a lot!" he could have meant it any way. his hook made a small, savage flash in the green light. "there's trouble here on romany. civil war. men are going to be killed before it's over--perhaps now. where's your place in it?" "how do i know? the coalition is moving in on the kraylens. i owe them something. so i came here for help. help! yeah." "you'll get it," said the woman. "you'll get it, somehow, if any of us live." campbell raised his dark brows. "what goes on here, anyhow?" the woman's low voice sang and throbbed against the pipe walls. "a long time ago there were a few ships. old ships, crowded with people who had no homes. little, drifting people who made a living selling their odd handicrafts in the spaceports, who were cursed as a menace to navigation and distrusted as thieves. perhaps they were thieves. they were also cold, and hungry, and resentful. "after a while the ships began to band together. it was easier that way--they could share food and fuel, and talk, and exchange ideas. space wasn't so lonely. more and more ships drifted in. pretty soon there were a lot of them. a new world, almost. "they called it romany, after the wandering people of earth, because they were gypsies, too, in their own way. "they clung to their own ways of life. they traded with the noisy, trampling people on the planets they had been driven away from because they had to. but they hated them, and were hated, just as gypsies always are. "it wasn't an easy life, but they were free in it. they could stand anything, as long as they were free. and always, anywhere in the solar system, wherever some little lost tribe was being swallowed up and needed help, ships from romany went to help them." her voice dropped. campbell thought again of the kraylen's drum, singing its anger in the indigo night. "that was the creed of romany," she whispered. "always to help, always to be a refuge for the little people who couldn't adjust themselves to progress, who only wanted to die in dignity and peace. and now...." "and now," said marah somberly, "there is civil war." * * * * * campbell drew a long, unsteady breath. the woman's voice throbbed in him, and his throat was tight. he said "_tredrick?_" marah nodded. "tredrick. but it's more than that. if it were only tredrick, it wouldn't be so bad." he ran the curve of his hook over his scarred chin, and his eyes burned like candle flames. "romany is growing old, and soft. that's the real trouble. decay. otherwise, tredrick would have been kicked into space long ago. there are old men in the council, campbell. they think more of comfort than they do of--well...." "yeah. i know. what's tredrick's angle?" "i don't know. he's a strange man--you can't get a grip on him. sometimes i think he's working for the coalition." campbell scowled. "could be. you gypsies have a lot of wild talents and some unique skills--i've met some of 'em. the man that controlled them would be sitting pretty. the coalition would like it, too." the woman said bitterly, "and they could always exhibit us. tours, at so much a head. so quaint--a cross-section of a lost world!" "tredrick's the strong man," marah went on. "eran mak is chief councillor, but he does as tredrick tells him. the idea is that if romany settled down and stops getting into trouble with the planetary coalitions, we can have regular orbits, regular trade, and so on." "in other words," said campbell dryly, "stop being romany." "you understand. a pet freak, a tourist attraction, a fat source of revenue." again the savage flash of the hook. "a damned circus!" "and tredrick, i take it, has decided that you're endangering the future of romany by rebellion, and put the finger on you." "exactly." marah's yellow eyes were bright and hard, meeting campbell's. campbell thought about the fitts-sothern outside, and all the lonely reaches of space where he could go. there were lots of coalition ships to rob, a few plague-spots left to spend the loot in. all he had to do was walk out. but there was a woman's voice, with a note in it like a singing, angry drum. there was an old man's voice, murmuring, "little people like you, my son?" it was funny, how a guy could be alone and not know he minded it, and then suddenly walk in on perfect strangers and not be alone any more--alone inside, that is--and know that he _had_ minded it like hell. it had been that way with the kraylens. it was that way now. campbell shrugged. "i'll stick around." he added irritably, "sister, will you for pete's sake get that light out of my eyes?" she moved it, shining it down. "the name's moore. stella moore." he grinned. "sorry. so you do have a face, after all." it wasn't beautiful. it was pale and heart-shaped, framed in a mass of unruly red-gold hair. there were long, grey eyes under dark-gold brows that had never been plucked, and a red, sullen mouth. her teeth were white and uneven, when she smiled. he liked them. the red of her sullen lips was their own. she wore a short tunic the color of tokay grapes, and the body under it was long and clean-cut. her arms and throat had the whiteness of pearl. marah said quietly, "contact zard. tell him to throw the pa system wide open and say we're taking the ship, now, to get the kraylens!" * * * * * stella stood absolutely still. her grey eyes took on an eerie, remote look, and campbell shivered slightly. he'd seen telepathy often enough in the system's backwaters, but it never seemed normal. presently she said, "it's done," and became human again. the green light went out. "power," she explained. "besides, we don't need it. give me your hand, mister campbell." he did, with absolutely no aversion. "my friends," he said, "generally call me roy." she laughed, and they started off, moving with quick sureness in the black, icy darkness. the ship, it seemed, was up on the second level, on the edge of the living quarters. down here was all the machinery that kept romany alive--heat, light, water, air, and cooling systems--and a lot of storage hulks. the third tier was a vast hydroponic farm, growing the grain and fruit and vegetables that fed the romany thousands. stumbling through pipes and dismantled hulks that smelled of sacking and dried vegetables and oil, campbell filled in the gaps. the leaders of the rebel element had held a meeting down here, in secret. marah and the girl had been coming from it when campbell blundered into them. the decision had been to rescue the kraylens no matter what happened. they'd known about the kraylens long before campbell had. gypsies trading in lhi had brought word. now the kraylens were a symbol over which two points of view were clashing in deadly earnest. remembering tredrick's thin, harsh face, campbell wondered uneasily how many of them _would_ live to take that ship away. he became aware gradually of a broken, rhythmic tap and clank transmitted along the metal walls. "hammers," said stella softly. "hammers and riveters and welders, fighting rust and age to keep romany alive. there's no scrap of this world that wasn't discarded as junk, and reclaimed by us." her voice dropped. "including the people." campbell said, "they're scrapping some beautiful things these days." she knew what he meant. she even laughed a little. "i was born on romany. there are a lot of earth people who have no place at home." "i know." campbell remembered his father's farm, with blue cold water over the fields instead of sky. "and tredrick?" "he was born here, too. but the taint is in him...." she caught her breath in a sudden sharp cry. "marah! marah, _it's zard_!" they stopped. a pulse began to beat under campbell's jaw. stella whispered, "he's gone. i felt him call, and now he's gone. he was trying to warn us." marah said grimly, "tredrick's got him, then. probably knocked him out while he was trying to escape from the radio room." "he was frightened," said stella quietly. "tredrick has done something. he wanted to warn us." marah grunted. "have your gun ready, campbell. we go up, now." * * * * * they went up a wooden ladder. it was suddenly getting hot. campbell guessed that romany was in the sun again. the martian opened a door at the top, very, very slowly. a young, vibrant voice sang out, "all clear!" they piled out of the doorway. four or five husky young paniki barbarians from venus stood grinning beside two bound and slumbering earthmen. campbell stared past them. the air was still and hot, hung with veils of steamy mist. there was mossy earth dotted with warm pools. there were _liha_-trees, sultry green under a pearly light that was still brightening out of indigo gloom. a slow, hot breath of wind stirred the mist and _liha_-trees. it smelt of warm still water and growing things, and--freedom. campbell drew a long breath. his eyes stung and the veins in his neck hurt. he knew it was a dead hulk, with an iron sky above the pearl-grey mist. but it smelt of freedom. he said, "what are we waiting for?" marah laughed, and the young venusian laughed. barbarians, going to fight and laughing about it. stella's grey eyes held a sultry flame, and her lips were blood-orange and trembling. campbell kissed them. he laughed, too, softly, and said, "okay, gypsy. let's go." they went, through the seven hulks of the venusian quarter. because of the kraylens, most of the venusians were with the rebels, but even so there were angry voices raised, and fists, and a few weapons, and some blood got spilled. more tow-headed young men joined them, and squat little upland nomads who could talk to animals, and three four-armed, serpentine crawlers from the lohari swamps. they came presently to a huge dismantled hoyt freighter on the edge of the venusian quarter. there were piles of goods waiting lading through the row of airlocks into smaller trading ships. marah stopped, his gorget shooting wicked jeweled sparks in the sunlight that seared in through half-shuttered ports, and the others flowed in behind him. they were on a narrow gallery about halfway up the inner wall. campbell looked down. there were people on the ladders and the two balcony levels below. a sullen, ugly mob of people from earth, from venus, from mars and mercury and the moons of jupiter and saturn. men and near-men and sheer monstrosities, silent and watching in the hot light. here a crest of scarlet antennae burning, there the sinuous flash of a scaled back, and beyond that the slow ominous weaving of light-black tentacles. a creature like a huge blue spider with a child's face let out a shrill unearthly scream. "traitor! traitor!" the whole packed mass on the ladders and the galleries stirred like a weird tapestry caught in a gust of wind. the rushing whisper of their movement, their breathing, and their anger sang across campbell's nerves in points of fire. anger. anger in the kraylen's drum and stella's voice and marah's yellow eyes. anger like the sunlight, hot and primal. the anger of little men flogged into greatness. a voice spoke from across the deck below, cold, clear, without the faintest tremor. "we want no trouble. return to your quarters quietly." "_the kraylens!_" the name came thundering out of all those angry throats, beating down against the gaunt, erect figure standing in the forefront of a circle of earthmen guarding the locks with ready guns. tredrick's thin, red head never stirred from its poised erectness. "the kraylens are out of your hands, now. they harbored a dangerous criminal, and they are now being imprisoned in lhi to answer for it." roy campbell gripped the iron railing in front of him. it seemed to him that he could see, across all that space, the cold, bright flame of satisfaction in tredrick's eyes. the thin, calm voice slid across his eardrums with the cruel impersonality of a surgeon's knife. "that criminal, roy campbell, is now on romany. the spaceguard is on its way here now. for the sake of the safety of your families, for the future of romany, i advise no one to hide him or help him escape." iv campbell stood still, not moving or speaking, his hard, dark face lined and dead, like old wood. from a great distance he heard marah's smothered, furious curse, the quick catch of stella's breath, the sullen breathing and stirring of the mob that was no longer sure what it wanted to do. but all he could see was the pale, kind face of an old man smiling in the warm, blue night, and the dirty, sordid stones of lhi. a voice spoke, from beside the circle of armed men. campbell heard it with some part of his brain. an old voice, dry and rustling, possessed of great dignity and great pain. "my children," it said. "have patience. have faith that we, your leaders, have the good of romany at heart." campbell looked with dead, dark eyes at the speaker, standing beside tredrick. a small man in a robe of white fur. a martian from one of the polar cities, frail, black-eyed grave, and gently strong. "remember the cold, the hunger, the uncertainty we have endured. we have a chance now for security and peace. let there be no trouble, now or when the spaceguard comes. return to your quarters quietly." "trouble!" marah's voice roared out across the hot, still air. every face down there below turned up toward the balcony. campbell saw tredrick start, and speak to one of the guards. the guard went out, not too fast. campbell swore under his breath, and his brain began to tick over again, swift and hard. marah thundered on, a bronze titan in the sultry glare. his gorget, his yellow eyes, the bosses on his kilt held points of angry flame. "you, eran mak, a martian! have you forgotten kesh, and balakar, and the wells of tamboina? can you crawl to the coalition like a _sindar_ for the sake of the bones they throw you? you, tredrick! you've sold us out. since when have _latniks_ been called to meddle in romany's affairs?" tredrick's cold voice was quite steady. "the kraylens are beyond reach, marah. a revolt will get you nothing. do you want blood on your hands?" "my hand," said marah softly. his hook made a burning, vicious arc in the hot light. "if there's blood on this, the coalition spilled it when their frontier marshal lopped my sword-hand for raising it against him." the mob stirred and muttered. and campbell said swiftly, "tredrick's right. but there's still a chance, if you want to take it." stella moore put a hand on marah's arm. "how?" tredrick was still pretending he hadn't seen campbell, pretending there weren't men crawling through dark tunnels to trap him. "it'll mean trouble. it may mean death or imprisonment. it's a million-to-one shot. you'd better give me up and forget it." the point of marah's hook pricked under his jaw. "speak quickly, little man!" "okay. tell 'em to behave. then get me out of here, fast!" * * * * * tredrick's men knew their way around. a lot of gypsies, moreover, who weren't with tredrick, joined the hunt for the _latnik_. they didn't want trouble with the spaceguard. campbell stumbled through a maze of dark and stifling passages, holding stella's hand and thinking of the spaceguard ships sweeping closer. they were almost caught a dozen times, trying to get across romany to the fitts-sothern. the hunt seemed to be an outlet for the pent feelings of romany. campbell decided he would never go hunting again. and then, just above where his ship lay, they stepped into a trap. they were in the saturnian quarter, in the hulk devoted to refugees from titan. there were coolers working here. there was snow on the barren rocks, glimmering in weird light like a dark rainbow. "the caves," said stella moore. "the baraki." there was an echoing clamor of voices all around them, footsteps clattering over metal and icy rock. they ran, breathing hard. there were some low cliffs, and a ledge, and then caves with queer blue-violet fires burning in them. creatures sat at the cave mouths. they were small, vaguely anthropoid, dead white, and unpleasantly rubbery. they were quite naked, and their single eyes were phosphorescent. marah knelt. "little fathers, we ask shelter in the name of freedom." the shouts and the footsteps were closer. there was sweat on campbell's forehead. one of the white things nodded slightly. "no disturbance," it whispered. "we will have no disturbance of our thoughts. you may shelter, to stop this ugly noise." "thank you, little father." marah plunged into the cave, with the others on his heels. campbell snarled, "they'll come and take us!" stella's sullen lips smiled wolfishly. "no. watch." the cave, the violet fire were suddenly gone. there was a queer darkness, a small electric shiver across campbell's skin. he started, and the girl whispered: "telekinesis. they've built a wall of force around us. on the outside it seems to be rock like the cave wall." marah moved, the bosses on his kilt clinking slightly. "when the swine are gone, there's a trap in this hulk leading down to the pipe where your ship is. now tell us your plan." campbell made a short, bitter laugh. "plan, hell. it's a gamble on a fixed wheel, and you're fools if you play it." "and if we don't?" "i'm going anyway. the kraylens--well, i owe them something." "tell us the plan." he did, in rapid nervous sentences, crouched behind the shielding wall of thought from those alien brains. marah laughed softly. "by the gods, little man, you should have been a keshi!" "i can think of a lot of things i should have been," said campbell dourly. "hey, there goes our wall." it hadn't been more than four minutes. long enough for them to look and go away again. there might still be time, before the spaceguard came. there was, just. the getaway couldn't have been more perfectly timed. campbell grinned, feeding power into his jets with exquisite skill. he didn't have a chinaman's chance. he thought probably the gypsies had less than that of coming through. but the kraylens weren't going to rot in the slave-pens of lhi because of roy campbell. not while roy campbell was alive to think about it. and that, of course, might not be long. he sent the fitts-sothern shooting toward the night side of venus, in full view and still throttled down. the spaceguard ships, nine fast patrol boats, took out after him, giving romany the go-by. no use stopping there. no mistaking that lean, black ship, or whose hands were on the controls. campbell stroked the firing keys, and the fitts-sothern purred under him like a cat. just for a second he couldn't see clearly. "i'm sorry, old girl," he said. "but that's how it has to be." * * * * * it was a beautiful chase. the guard ships pulled every trick they knew, and they knew plenty. campbell hunched over the keys, sweating, his dark face set in a grin that held no mirth. only his hands moved, with nervous, delicate speed. it was the ship that did it. they slapped tractors on her, and she broke them. they tried to encircle her, and she walked away from them. that slight edge of power, that narrow margin of speed, pulled roy campbell away from what looked like instant, easy capture. he got into the shadow, and then the spaceguard began to get scared as well as angry. they stopped trying to capture him. they unlimbered their blasters and went to work. campbell was breathing hard now, through his teeth. his dark skin was oiled with sweat, pulled tight over the bones and the ridges of muscle and the knotted veins. deliberately, he slowed a little. a bolt flamed past the starboard ports. he slowed still more, and veered the slightest bit. the fitts-sothern was alive under his hands. he didn't speak when the next bolt struck her. not even to curse. he didn't know he was crying until he tasted the salt on his lips. he got up out of the pilot's seat, and then he said one word: "_judas!_" the follow-up of the first shot blasted the control panel. it knocked him back across the cockpit, seared and scorched from the fusing metal. he got up, somehow, and down the passage to the lock compartment. there was a lot of blood running from his cheek, but he didn't care. he could feel the ship dying under him. the timers were shot. she was running away in a crazy, blind spiral, racking her plates apart. he climbed into his vac-suit. it was a special one, black even to the helmet, with a super-powerful harness-rocket with a jet illegally baffled. he hoped his hands weren't too badly burned. the ship checked brutally, flinging him hard into the bulkhead. tractors! he clawed toward the lock, an animal whimper in his throat. he hoped he wasn't going to be sick inside the helmet. the panel opened. air blasted him out, into jet-black space. the tiny spearing flame of the harness-rocket flickered briefly and died, unnoticed among the trailing fires of the derelict. campbell lay quite still in the blackened suit. the spaceguard ships flared by, playing the fitts-sothern like a tarpon on the lines of their tractor beams. campbell closed his eyes and cursed them, slowly and without expression, until the tightness in his throat choked him off. he let them get a long way off. then he pressed the plunger of the rocket, heading down for the night-shrouded swamps of tehara province. he retained no very clear memory of the trip. once, when he was quite low, a spaceship blazed by over him, heading toward lhi. there were still about eight hours' darkness over the swamps. he landed, eventually, in a clearing he was pretty sure only he knew about. he'd used it before when he'd had stuff to fence in lhi and wasn't sure who owned the town at the time. he'd learned to be careful about those things. there was a ship there now, a smallish trader of the inter-lunar type. he stared at it, not really believing it was there. then, just in time, he got the helmet off. when the world stopped turning over, he was lying with his head in stella moore's lap. she had changed her tunic for plain spaceman's black, and it made her face look whiter and lovelier in its frame of black hair. her lips were still sullen, and still red. campbell sat up and kissed them. he felt much better. not good, but he thought he'd live. stella laughed and said, "well! you're recovering." he said, "sister, you're good medicine for anything." a hand which he recognized as marah's materialized out of the indigo gloom. it had a flask in it. campbell accepted it gladly. presently the icy deadness around his stomach thawed out and he could see things better. he got up, rather unsteadily, and fumbled for a cigarette. his shirt had been mostly blown and charred off of him and his hands hurt like hell. stella gave him a smoke and a light. he sucked it in gratefully and said: "okay, kids. are we all ready?" they were. * * * * * campbell led off. he drained the flask and was pleased to find himself firing on all jets again. he felt empty and relaxed and ready for anything. he hoped the liquor wouldn't wear off too soon. there was a path threaded through the hammocks, the bogs and potholes and reeds and _liha_-trees. only campbell, who had made it, could have followed it. remembering his blind stumbling in the mazes of romany, he felt pleased about that. he said, rather smugly: "be careful not to slip. how'd you fix the getaway?" marah made a grim little laugh. "romany was a madhouse, hunting for you. some of the hot-headed boys started minor wars over policy on top of that. tredrick had to use most of his men to keep order. besides, of course, he thought we were beaten on the kraylen question." "there were only four men guarding the locks," said stella. "marah and a couple of the paniki boys took care of them." campbell remembered the spaceship flashing toward lhi. he told them about it. "could be tredrick, coming to supervise our defeat in person." defeat! it was because he was a little tight, of course, but he didn't think anyone could defeat him this night. he laughed. something rippled out of the indigo night to answer his laughter. something so infinitely sweet and soft that it made him want to cry, and then shocked him with the deep and iron power in it. campbell looked back over his shoulder. he thought: "me, hell. these are the guys who'll do it, if it's done." stella was behind him. beyond her was a thin, small man with four arms. he wore no clothing but his own white fur and his head was crowned with feathery antennae. even in the blue night the antennae and the man's eyes burned living scarlet. he came from callisto and he carried in his four hands a thing vaguely like a harp, only the strings were double banked. it was the harp that had spoken. campbell hoped it would never speak against him. marah brought up the rear, swinging along with no regard for the burden he bore. over his naked shoulder, campbell could see the still white face of the baraki from titan, the little father who had saved them from the hunters. there were tentacles around marah's big body like white ropes. four gypsies and a public enemy. five little people against the terro-venusian coalition. it didn't make sense. a hot, slow wind stirred the _liha_-trees. campbell breathed it in, and grinned. "what does?" he wondered, and stooped to part a tangle of branches. there was a stone-lined tunnel beyond. "here we go, children. join hands and make like little mousies." he took stella's hand in his left. because it was stella's he didn't mind the way it hurt. in his right, he held his gun. v he led them, quickly and quietly, along the disused branch of an old drainage system that he had used so often as a private entrance. presently they dropped to a lower level and the conduit system proper. when the rains were on, the drains would be running full. now they were only pumping seepage. they waded in pitch darkness, by-passed a pumping station through a side tunnel once used for cold storage by one of lhi's cautious business men, and then found steep, slippery steps going up. "careful," whispered campbell. he stopped them on a narrow ledge and stood listening. the callistan murmured, with faint amusement: "there is no one beyond." antennae over ears. campbell grinned and found a hidden spring. "lhi is full of these things," he said. "the boys used to keep their little wars going just for fun, and every smart guy had several bolt holes. maps used to sell high." they emerged in a very deep, very dark cellar. it was utterly still. campbell felt a little sad. he could remember when martian mak's was the busiest thieves' market in lhi, and a man could hear the fighting even here. he smiled bitterly and led the way upstairs. presently they looked down on the main gate, the main square, and the slave pens of lhi. the surrounding streets were empty, the buildings mostly dark. the coalition had certainly cleaned up when it took over the town. it was horribly depressing. campbell pointed. "reception committee. tredrick radioed, anyway. one'll get you twenty he followed it up in person." the gate was floodlighted over a wide area and there were a lot of tough-looking men with heavy-duty needle guns. in this day of anaesthetic charges you could do a lot of effective shooting without doing permanent damage. there were more lights and more men by the slave pens. campbell couldn't see much over the high stone walls of the pens. vague movement, the occasional flash of a brilliant crest. he had known the kraylens would be there. it was the only place in lhi where you could imprison a lot of people and be sure of keeping them. campbell's dark face was cruel. "okay," he said. "let's go." * * * * * down the stone steps to the entrance. stella's quick breathing in the hot darkness, the rhythmic clink of the bosses on marah's kilt. campbell saw the eyes of the callistan harper, glowing red and angry. he realized he was sweating. he had forgotten his burns. stella opened the heavy steel-sheathed door. quietly, slowly. the baraki whispered, "put me down." marah set him gently on the stone floor. he folded in upon himself, tentacles around white, rubbery flesh. his single eye burned with a cold phosphorescence. he whispered, "now." the callistan harper went to the door. reflected light painted him briefly, white fur and scarlet crest and outlandish harp, and the glowing, angry eyes. he vanished. out of nowhere the harp began to sing. through the partly opened door campbell had a clear view of the square and the gate. in all that glare of light on empty stone nothing moved. and yet the music rippled out. the guards. campbell could see the startled glitter of their eyeballs in the light. there was nothing to shoot at. the harping was part of the night, as all-enveloping and intangible. campbell shivered. a pulse beat like a trip-hammer under his jaw. stella's voice came to him, a faint breath out of the darkness. "the baraki is shielding him with thought. a wall of force that turns the light." the edge of the faint light touched her cheek, the blackness of her hair. marah crouched beyond her, motionless. his hook glinted dully, curved and cruel. they were getting only the feeble backwash of the harping. the callistan was aiming his music outward. campbell felt it sweep and tremble, blend with the hot slow wind and the indigo sky. it was some trick of vibrations, some diabolical thrusting of notes against the brain like fingers, to press and control. something about the double-banked strings thrumming against each other under the cunning of four skilled hands. but it was like witchcraft. "the harp of dagda," whispered stella moore, and the irish music in her voice was older than time. the scot in campbell answered it. somewhere outside a man cursed, thickly, like one drugged with sleep and afraid of it. a gun went off with a sharp slapping sound. some of the guards had fallen down. the harp sang louder, throbbing along the grey stones. it was the slow wind, the heat, the deep blue night. it was sleep. the floodlights blazed on empty stone, and the guards slept. the baraki sighed and shivered and closed his eye. campbell saw the callistan harper standing in the middle of the square, his scarlet crest erect, striking the last thrumming note. campbell straightened, catching his breath in a ragged sob. marah picked up the baraki. he was limp, like a tired child. stella's eyes were glistening and strange. campbell went out ahead of them. it was a long way across the square, in the silence and the glaring lights. campbell thought the harp was a nice weapon. it didn't attract attention because everyone who heard it slept. he flung back the three heavy bars of the slave gate. the pain of his burned hands jarred him out of the queer mood the harping and his celtic blood had put on him. he began to think again. "hurry!" he snarled at the kraylens. "hurry up!" they came pouring out of the gate. men, women with babies, little children. their crests burned in the sullen glare. campbell pointed to marah. "follow him." they recognized him, tried to speak, but he cursed them on. and then an old man said, "my son." campbell looked at him, and then down at the stones. "for god's sake, father, hurry." a hand touched his shoulder gently. he looked up again, and grinned. he couldn't see anything. "get the hell on, will you?" somebody found the switch and the nearer lights went out. the hand pressed his shoulder, and was gone. he shook his head savagely. the kraylens were running now, toward the house. and then, suddenly, marah yelled. men were running into the square. eight or ten of them, probably the bodyguard of the burly grey-haired man who led them. beside the grey-haired man was tredrick, overchief of the terran quarter of romany. * * * * * they were startled. they hadn't been expecting this. campbell's battle-trained eye saw that. probably they had been making a routine tour of inspection and just stumbled onto the crash-out. [illustration: _campbell swung about, blasted shots at tredrick and his men, while stella pressed the kraylens to greater speed in escaping._] campbell fired, from the hip. anaesthetic needles sprayed into the close-packed group. two of them went down. the rest scattered, dropping flat. campbell wished there had been time to kill the gate lights. at least, the shadows made shooting tricky. he bent over and began to run, guarding the rear of the kraylen's line. stella, in the cover of the doorway, was laying down a methodical wall of needles. campbell grinned. some of the kraylens caught it and had to be carried. that slowed things down. campbell's gun clicked empty. he shoved in another clip, cursing his burned fingers. a charge sang by him, close enough to stir his hair. he fired again, blanketing the whole sector where the men lay. he wished he could blow tredrick's head off. the kraylens were vanishing into the house. marah and the callistan had gone ahead, leading them. campbell groaned. speed was what they needed. speed. a child, separated from his mother in the rush, knelt on the stones and shrieked. campbell picked him up and ran on. enemy fire was slackening. stella was doing all right. the last of the kraylens shoved through the door. campbell bounded up the steps. stella got up off her belly and smiled at him. her eyes shone. they were halfway through the door when the cold voice said behind them, "there are lethal needles in my gun. you had better stop." campbell turned slowly. his face was wooden. tredrick stood at the bottom of the steps. he must have crawled around the edge of the square, where the shadows were thick under the walls. "drop your gun, campbell. and you, stella moore." campbell dropped it. tredrick might be bluffing about those needles. but a mickey at this stage of the game would be just as fatal. stella's gun clattered beside him. she didn't say anything, but her face was coldly murderous. tredrick said evenly, "you might as well call them back, campbell. you led them in, but you're not going to lead them out." it was funny, campbell thought, how a man's voice could be so cold when his eyes had fire in them. he said sullenly, "okay, tredrick. you win. but what's the big idea behind this?" tredrick's face might have been cut from granite, except for the feral eyes. "i was born on romany. i froze and starved in those rotten hulks. i hated it. i hated the darkness, the loneliness, the uncertainty. but when i said i hated it, i got a beating. "everybody else thought it was worth it. i didn't. they talked about freedom, but romany was a prison to me. i wanted to grow, and i was stifled inside it. then i got an idea. "if i could rule romany and make a treaty with the coalition, i'd have money and power. and i could fix it so no more kids would be brought up that way, cold and hungry and scared. "marah opposed me, and then the kraylens became an issue." tredrick smiled, but there was no mirth or softness in it. "it's a good thing. the coalition can take of marah and you others who were mixed up in this. my way is clear." stella moore said softly between her teeth, "they'll never forgive you for turning romany people over to the _latniks_. there'll be war." tredrick nodded soberly. "no great change is made without bloodshed. i'm sorry for that. but romany will be happier." "we don't ask to be happy. we only ask to be free." campbell said wearily, "stella, take the kid, will you?" he held out the little kraylen, droopy and quiet now. she looked at him in quick alarm. his feet were spread but not steady, his head sunk forward. she took the child. campbell's knees sagged. one seared arm in a tattered green sleeve came up to cover his face. the other groped blindly along the wall. he dropped, rather slowly, to his knees. the groping hand fell across the gun by stella's foot. in one quick sweep of motion campbell got it, threw it, and followed it with his own body. * * * * * the gun missed, but it came close enough to tredrick's face to make him move his head. the involuntary muscular contraction of his whole body spoiled his aim. the charge went past campbell into the wall. they crashed down together on the stones. campbell gripped tredrick's wrist, knew he couldn't hold it, let go with one hand and slashed backward with his elbow at tredrick's face. the gun let off again, harmlessly, tredrick groaned. his arm was weaker. campbell thrashed over and got his knee on it. tredrick's other fist was savaging his already tortured body. campbell brought his fist down into tredrick's face. he did it twice, and wept and cursed because he was suddenly too weak to lift his arm again. tredrick was bleeding, but far from out. his gun was coming up again. he didn't have much play, but enough. campbell set his teeth. he couldn't even see tredrick, but he swung again. he never knew whether he connected or not. something thrummed past his head. he couldn't say he heard it. it was more like feeling. but it was something deadly, and strange. tredrick didn't make a sound. campbell knew suddenly that he was dead. he got up, very slow, shaking and cold. the callistan harper stood in the doorway. he was lowering his hands, and his eyes were living coals. he didn't say anything. neither did stella. but she laughed, and the child stirred and whimpered in her arms. campbell went to her. she looked at him with queer eyes and whispered, "i called him with my mind. i knew he'd kill." he took her face in his two hands. "listen, stella. you've got to lead them back. you've got to touch my mind with yours and let me guide you that way, back to the ship." her eyes widened sharply. "but you can come. he's dead. you're free now." "no." he could feel her throat quiver under his hands. her blood was beating. so was his. he said harshly, "you fool, do you think they'll let you get away with this? you're tackling the coalition. they can't afford to look silly. they've got to have a scapegoat, something to save face! "romany, so far, is beyond planetary control. slap your tractors on her, tow her out. clear out to saturn if you have to. nobody saw the callistan. nobody saw anybody but me and the kraylens and an unidentifiable somebody up here on the porch. nobody, that is, but tredrick, and he won't talk. do you understand?" she did, but she was still rebellious. her sullen lips were angry, her eyes bright with tears and challenging. "but you, roy!" he took his hands away. "damn you, woman! if i hide out on romany i bring you into spaceguard jurisdiction. i'll be trapped, and romany's last chance to stay free will be gone." she said stubbornly, "but you can get away. there are ships." "oh, sure. but the kraylens are there. you can't hide them. the coalition will search romany. they'll ask questions. i tell you they've got to have a goat!" he was really weak, now. he hoped he could hold out. he hoped he wouldn't do anything disgraceful. he turned away from her, looking out at the square. some of the guards were beginning to stir. "will you go?" he said. "will you get to hell out?" she put her hand on him. "roy...." he jerked away. his dark face was set and cruel. "do you have to make it harder? do you think i want to rot on phobos in their stinking mines, with shackles on my feet?" he swung around, challenging her with savage eyes. "how else do you think romany is going to stay free? you can't go on playing cat and mouse with the big shots this way. they're getting sick of it. they'll pass laws and tie you down. somebody's got to spread romany all over the solar system. somebody's got to pull a publicity campaign that'll make the great dumb public sit up and think. if public opinion's with you, you're safe." he smiled. "i'm big news, sister. i'm roy campbell. i can splash your lousy little mess of tin cans all over with glamour, so the great dumb public won't let a hair of your little head be hurt. if you want to, you can raise a statue to me in the council hall. "and now will you for god's sake go?" * * * * * she wasn't crying. her gray eyes had lights in them. "you're wonderful, roy. i didn't realize how wonderful." he was ashamed, then. "nuts. in my racket you don't expect to get away with it forever. besides, i'm an old dog. i know my way around. i have a little dough saved up. i won't be in for long." "i hope not," she said. "oh, roy, it's so stupid! why do earthmen have to change everything they lay their hands on?" he looked at tredrick, lying on the stones. his voice came slow and sombre. "they're building, stella. when they're finished they'll have a big, strong, prosperous world extending all across the planets, and the people who belong to that world will be happy. "but before you can build you have to grade and level, destroy the things that get in your way. we're the things--the tree--stumps and the rocks that grew one way and can't be changed. "they're building, stella. they're growing. you can't stop that. in the end, it'll be a good thing, i suppose. but right now, for us...." he broke off. he thrust her roughly inside and locked the steel-sheathed door. "you've got to go now." it was dark, and hot. the kraylen child whimpered. he could feel stella close to him. he found her lips and kissed them. he said, "so long, kid. and about that statue. you'd better wait till i come back to pose for it." his voice became a longing whisper. "_and i'll be back!_" he promised. alcatraz of the starways by albert depina and henry hasse venus was a world enslaved. and then, like an avenging angel, fanning the flames of raging revolt, came a warrior-princess in whose mind lay dread knowledge--the knowledge of a weapon so terrible it had been used but once in the history of the universe. [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from planet stories may 1943. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] "purple!" mark denning almost sobbed. "a purple josmian!" forgetting the sweat in his eyes and the insufferable heat about him, his clutching hand held up the mud-dripping globe the size of a baseball, iridescent in the venusian night. the phosphorescent glow that bathed the endless swamp in ghastly green, struck myriad shimmering rainbows from the dark sphere. "two more of those and you're free, lower species!" it was an ironic voice, with the resonant sweetness of a cello in its depths, that issued from the haze nearby. frantically mark reached down into the tepid mud, where he had felt the swaying stems of josmian lilies whip about his knees. another globe met his hand. he tugged and twisted until it tore from the stem, but when he raised it to the surface, it was white. immediately it began to shrink. it would continue until it became the size of a small marble, when it would either rot, as the majority did, or begin to crystallize into a priceless venusian pearl. but that happened only with one in ten thousand. it was different with the purple ones, they never failed to crystallize into a violet globe of unearthly beauty and incalculable value. less than a hundred of the purple had ever been found. they were so rare that any prisoner who harvested three, was granted freedom. "pretty!" the cello voice taunted, behind mark. "in a few hours it will be rotting and stinking to high heaven!" "cut it, aladdo!" mark growled. he tossed the white josmian into the basket he pushed before him across the mud; the purple one he placed carefully in his trouser pocket. he pushed on, searching the pungent-smelling mud that came up to his thighs. suddenly the warm ooze rose to his waist and crept inexorably higher. for an instant, mark clawed at the mud. it was surging up to his armpits now, as he floundered in the tenacious sink hole. he shook his head to get the sweat out of his eyes and the numbness from his brain. he stopped thrashing about, for he knew that was futile. he threw back his head and gave a shout in which was more than a note of sheer terror. [illustration: _mark clawed at the mud surging up to his armpits._] at least a dozen men were moving near him, waist deep in the venusian mud. at his cry, they stopped and stared at him dully, fatalistically. they could easily have formed a chain and pulled him out, but none moved. they'd seen too many repetitions of this tragedy to care anymore. it happened every day; a new man, a little careless, caught in one of the deadly sink holes ... it happened even to the veterans of this venusian prison camp, sometimes deliberately, as they became weary of a hopeless existence. the mud was almost to mark's chin now; only his forearms and his blond head were visible. hatred came into his eyes as he glared at the men about him, most of them earthmen like himself, who would not help him. again he struggled, tried to hoist himself upward. "don't struggle, you fool!" came the resonant voice from behind him. "be still; every movement helps to sink you!" then, in an undertone, "no human was ever able to think clearly, anyway." mark smiled despite his predicament, then he urged: "hurry aladdo--hurry!" * * * * * over the expanse of hellish, green-lit muck, a tiny figure inched toward mark. scarcely five feet in height, aladdo's arms and legs were now outspread, to distribute his weight over as much area as possible. the rescuing figure was like an imp from hades, clad as it was in a tight-fitting garment of metallic blue, which even the clinging mud failed to dull; while membraneous wings of a lighter hue began at its wrists, joined to the entire under-arm and the sides of its body all the way to its feet, much as the wings of a bat. swiftly it crawled and wriggled toward the earthman, and without a word grasped him with both tiny hands by the arms. it braced itself on its wings, and heaved. a few inches of mark denning emerged from the mud with a sucking sound. again aladdo made a prodigious effort, and again the earthman came up from the mud a few more inches. the winged figure held him there, while it gasped for breath. "now, spread your arms on the mud and stiffen your neck, sub-species!" the winged one laughed. swiftly it cupped its seemingly fragile hands under mark's chin, and slowly but surely began to pull him back and out. most of an hour went by before the earthman's superb torso had emerged and was able to help the rescuer. at last he was out of the sink hole, panting, almost exhausted and half nude. he still found strength to feel at his trouser pocket, and was gratified to find his purple josmian still there. it was now about half its original size, and soon would cease its shrinkage and begin to crystallize. mark gazed into the oval face, panting next to his. the heavily fringed eyes were closed as it breathed in labored gasps, and the slender, fragile form shook now and then with nervous spasms. mark never ceased to wonder at the beauty of the venusians, nor at their absolute and maddening conviction that theirs was the only true intelligence in the universe. now to these qualities mark added that of indomitable courage, as he gazed at aladdo and marvelled. "well, aladdo, thanks seems sort of a stupid word in a case like this; i owe you my life. i don't know how i'll ever repay the debt...." mark's eyes roved over the weird scene, taking in the soulless, hopeless hulks that had once been men. and it suddenly occurred to him that he'd had enough of this hellish corner of venus; he had been here two months and already he was unable to think clearly, he was becoming identified with the living death of the venusian prison swamp. his mission apparently had failed. what he had come to learn, remained a secret, and he was slowly becoming like these shells of men who prowled the ocean of mud, eventually to disappear beneath it. "no need to thank me, middle order, i would have missed our discussions had you gone." the venusian grinned impishly. "what? i've been promoted! you must be ill, to call me anything above a 'lower order' or a 'sub-species'!" mark smiled too, but seriously wondered what crime had condemned aladdo to a prison reserved only for the most hardened and hopeless criminals, or for political prisoners whose existence was a threat to the tri-planetary league. "at times, you're almost intelligent," the venusian replied placidly. "any one of these other men would have struggled had they been in your place, and i would have been helpless." "why didn't you use _your_ brain," mark couldn't resist prodding the other, "and by flying above me, get to me quicker, instead of crawling all that distance?" the winged figure laughed mirthlessly, and for an answer held up its arms. the azure membranes that were its wings, hung in limp folds. "useless, you see," he said quietly. "the tendons have been cut. otherwise i could fly up and out of this swamp, despite its five hundred mile width." * * * * * mark could find no words to say. since being assigned at his own request to this last grim haven of the damned, by the tri-planetary prison bureau, on a special mission, there had been moments when the horror of it all had made him doubt the wisdom of maintaining such a ghastly place. he knew, of course, the tremendous deterrent influence its existence exerted, besides the important revenue derived from venusian pearls; still it all seemed too inhuman. "you don't seem criminal, earthman!" the cello-like voice introduced on mark's thoughts. "i fail to catch the typical vibrations of the killers and ravagers. your crime ... was it political?" "why, yes!" mark assented hurriedly. it wouldn't do for this venusian to suspect he was an operative. "to put it briefly, i am classified as too individualistic for the new order of 'controlled endeavor'. also typed as irreconcilable--and you know what _that_ means!" "perfectly!" the enigmatic smile hovering on the venusian's lips faded slowly. "i, too, am a 'political'. my father was bedrim, the liberator. all we of venus asked was real independence instead of the mock freedom your earth grants us; in reality we are a vassal state with no voice but earth's." "bedrim!" mark exclaimed, aghast. for more than a decade that name had made history, engulfing three planets in a suicidal struggle that had ended in a stalemate. bedrim was dead now, mark knew; but in venus and even on mars, the name was a glorious legend. it was only with the greatest effort and vigilance that earth was able to enforce the peace. "so _this_ is what became of you!" mark said slowly, softly. "the three worlds do not know, they still wonder--" then he caught himself and bit his lip. "yes," aladdo murmured bitterly. "the worlds do not know. i was to be given amnesty, i was so young; but your inner council decided that as long as i lived i would be a rallying point for irreconcilables of venus, and so i was hunted from planet to planet until ... well, here i am on my own world, but as far away from my people as if i were on betelgeuse. here i do not live." "but surely there must be some way of convincing the council that you're harmless! and if that fails, well ... of getting you out of here!" "out of paradim?" aladdo's smile had all the despairing bitterness of a soul damned for all eternity; all the tears and the anguish and the wracking sorrow of the condemned since the world began seemed to be frozen for an instant in that smile. "look about you, earthman!" it was true. mark had to acknowledge the psychological genius who had devised the venusian prison system. for five hundred miles the swamp paradim extended in either direction, impassable, pitted with sink holes into which a man would disappear without trace. and beyond were the impenetrable jungles, alive with lurking carnivora, lurking monsters of the night, red in tooth and claw. only on the opposite hemisphere were the two larger and hospital continents of venus. here, on this tiny continent, the prison ship came once a month, to hover over the tiny islet in the middle of the swamp, the only spot of firm ground for untold miles. here it dropped supplies and food, and occasionally picked up the little heaps of fabulous venusian pearls. there were no guards and none were needed, for at night when the awful humidity increased, the men worked or died. with night came the dreaded fog, lurid in the ghostly illumination of the _igniis fatui_, the phosphorescent radiance of this vast graveyard. and the idle died. decomposition of the blood set in; essential salts within their bodies were dissolved, cellular activity ceased, and their bodies bloated. not many, however, were idle. escape? for years it had been thought a virtual impossibility. the very thought would have brought smiles to the grim faces of that august body, the tri-planetary bureau of prisons. and yet--a notorious killer who had been sent to this swamp only a year ago, had recently been found dead--out in space! * * * * * a patrol ship had found the body floating a few thousand miles off callisto, an atom-blast hole drilled neatly through the forehead. there was not the slightest doubt that this was the same man. how had this criminal been able to escape the swamp and travel to callisto, millions of miles away? it was a mystery and above all, a challenge. apparently the venus prison had ceased to be impregnable. and that was why mark denning, the prison bureau's leading investigator, was here. "guard your pearl, middle species," aladdo's voice was ironic once more. "escape, and with it you may buy a pardon!" without a backward glance, the venusian moved on with nightmare slowness through the swirling mists, pushing his basket into which the josmian globes were loaded. escape, mark thought, following the venusian. he did not need to escape, he could signal the prison ship to pick him up the next time it arrived. he wondered if he should. he had been here two months, and they were an eternity that dwarfed any concept of hell. but he hadn't any clue to the mystery of the escaping convicts, and he could hardly return with a confession of failure. he looked ahead through the mists, at the slender body of aladdo in its tight-fitting sheath of metallic blue. "i _would_ miss aladdo," mark whispered to himself; "and if he can stand it here, i should be able to!" "what are you mumbling about to yourself?" aladdo's mocking voice came back to him. "that lowers you from the middle species to the sub species again." he held up a josmian globe against the greenish swamp glow. "white," he said contemptuously and threw it into the basket. pushing through the muck with his tremendous strength, mark cut the distance that separated them. "you may have my purple one, aladdo. i will not need it, and perhaps you ... with it you might...." "if i were to gather a hundred purple ones, i could not buy my release." the venusian was staring at mark peculiarly, as if wondering why he should have made that offer. "do you suppose, earthman, any of the other men saw you find it? they would kill you for it--cheerfully." "no, i think not; no one saw me bring it up but you." "then guard it." aladdo eyed mark's powerful frame critically. "guard it with your life, for you may have to fight for it soon." "telepathy! you've caught someone's thought vibrations?" mark asked in a whisper. he well knew that telepathy, although not commonly used, was an established fact among the venusians. but aladdo's long lashes rested against pallid cheeks, veiling eyes that were abrim with something mark could not understand. "no," the winged one said at last, "it wasn't a thought vibration--not that clear--perhaps a vibration of evil! be alert, earthman. i can say no more." "all right, thanks, aladdo." but inwardly mark cursed the inherent venusian mania for ultra-reserve, for making a mystery of even the most commonplace affairs. "let's head for the island, it's almost dawn." above, the cloud-cap was prismatic with color as the sun tried feebly to penetrate the grayness and then gave up the attempt, as if it had tried many times before and failed. slowly the vast swamp's contours came into view, with their small island a faint green line against the horizon's rim. and as the grayish dawn light increased, suffusing the grim morass, mark and aladdo made their slow way toward it. ii "up you go!" mark's long muscles corded as he heaved and aladdo's body left the mud with a sucking sound, to sprawl on the solid ground of the island. presently the earthman joined him, and for a few seconds they rested silently. all around them the vegetation surged, lush and matted, inextricably tangled with parasitic vines. whereas the expanse of swamp was bare of the myriad growths of venus, for some unknown chemical reason, the island itself was riotous with them. it was as if every inch of _terra firma_ were precious. the humid air was hot and stagnant, heavy with the overpowering fragrance of flowers. even after two months of conditioning, mark had difficulty in breathing, as the odors of this alien world increased as the temperature rose. "arrgh, what a world!" mark said disgustedly, as he rose to his feet. "i'm going to bathe, before the gang arrives. you'd better come too." together they went up the vine-entangled path toward the barracks, and, rounding a corner of the building, followed another path to where a small spring gushed from an elevation; it fell in a sparkling shower and then meandered a few feet to lose itself in the swamp. aladdo, as usual, merely let the water flow over the metallic suit that sheathed the slender body. by the time they had finished bathing, the rest of the convicts began to emerge from radiating paths, to dump their swamp pearls onto the growing heap by the side of their barracks. some of the men threw themselves on the ground, exhausted in minds and bodies, and were almost instantly asleep. a few sat against the barracks wall and chewed the deadly _tsith_ stems, their eyes vacant, their faces gray. _tsith_ was awful stuff, even if it did banish pain. mark knew that these men wouldn't last long, but he wondered if perhaps they weren't the wiser ones after all! returning from his bath to the barracks, mark found that aladdo had disappeared. he entered, and donned a thin rubberoid garment from among his meager store of personal belongings. it resembled one of the ancient woolen suits that earthmen had used against the cold many centuries before; but there was a great difference. mark's garment was impervious to cold or heat, highly flexible, yet the interlining of allurium mesh could intercept anything short of a ray blast. when mark emerged, he found aladdo talking in very low tones, with a tall, martian-venusian half-breed. this man was fantastic. he had the slenderness of the venusians, and the finely chiseled features, but his eyes were martian--deep purple and immense, far too large for the face. the breadth of shoulder and barrel chest was martian too, ludicrous in comparison with the wasp waist and slender thighs. mark had seen this half-breed about the swamp before, and wondered who he was. now aladdo, glancing up, called to him. mark walked over to them. "this is luhor, earthman," the venusian crossed both hands at the wrists in the immemorial venusian gesture indicating that a friend was being introduced. "luhor, the earthman's name is mark. he is the one i told you about. note the muscular power of the body, the intelligence of the face, no less than middle-order. i think you shall find him most useful." * * * * * mark felt as if he were on the auction block, as aladdo calmly pointed out his physical attributes. he was mystified. at the back of his mind a vague memory strove to emerge; it was barely a sense of having seen this man luhor before, moving among the torpid convicts and whispering to them briefly. perhaps it had been an allusion of the swamp's night glow, and yet, the feeling persisted. mark extended his hand to the martian-venusian, who eyed him silently, expressionless, without grasping the proffered hand. around them, the atmosphere was electric. at last luhor spoke. "only fifteen can go. they have been picked out!" his was a rumbling voice, emotionless--cold. "eliminate one then," aladdo said imperiously. "how? they'll fight like ocelandians; they already know they've been picked, o aladdian!" then mark denning understood. escape was being planned. aladdo was one of those to go, and was trying to induce luhor to include him! mark's heart was pounding, he knew that it was now or never; he must be among those who escaped. he would never again be so close to the solution of the mysteries he had been sent here to solve. "i'm new here," mark spoke hurriedly. "look at my arms, my chest. i have tremendous strength and endurance. my vitality has not been sapped by the swamp as yet. take me also, luhor, i'll repay you beyond anything you can dream of!" the half-breed's mouth twisted slowly into a cold sneer as he gazed at the earthman, then he shrugged his shoulders. it might have meant anything, but mark thought it meant denial. in silence luhor bowed to aladdo and strode off toward a group of several men. it was odd, mark thought--a half-breed convict showing such a mark of respect to another convict. but perhaps it was because luhor was half venusian, and bedrim had been aladdo's father. mark turned questioningly to aladdo. he was amazed to see sudden alarm leap into the venusian's eyes, together with a warning cry. mark stepped lithely aside, but not in time to avoid a terrific blow between his shoulder-blades that left a burning point of fire in his flesh. he half fell to his knees, but whirled around to confront a bestial face, maddened now by blood-lust. in the attacker's hand was the haft and a piece of broken blade from what had evidently been a smuggled knife. it was useless now, shattered against the allurium mesh interlining of mark's suit. with a cry of baffled rage the attacking earthman hurled the broken weapon into mark's face, and launched himself close behind it. mark rolled slightly aside, then gained his feet and whirled to face his attacker. mark was icy calm now. he awaited the convict's next rush, then sent a straight left unerringly to the man's head, driving him off-balance. mark kept facing him, balanced lightly on his toes as the man came boring back in tenaciously. mark's right arm was a peg upon which he hung the convict's blow, while he used the boxer's left, long and weaving, throwing it swiftly three times like a cat sparring with a mouse. the killer rushed, aggressive and eager. mark let his heels touch the ground this time, refused to give way. he took a murderous hook to the stomach without flinching, countered with a quick left to the face and then a vicious right-cross. the convict's face seemed to lose contour, its features blurred as the face went gory; his feet crossed and his knees went suddenly rubbery, he fell with a crash and didn't get up. * * * * * mark towered above him, breathing heavily, only now aware of the little group of interested men who had watched. "you fight like a venusian ocelandian--as ruthless, and as methodical." it was luhor who stepped forward and spoke; he was grinning twistedly as he surveyed mark's handiwork. "now i wonder why he wanted to eliminate me?" mark gestured puzzledly. for an answer aladdo, standing close by him, tapped the spot where in a hidden, inner pocket reposed the purple pearl. the gesture went unnoticed by luhor, but mark suddenly understood. "what do you care?" luhor waved a hand as if dismissing the fallen foe. "he was one of the chosen. you may take his place, earthman, since you have so neatly disabled him." his large weird eyes took in mark's physique with a new interest. to aladdo he said, "you have your wish." again there was that odd note of deference in his voice. he bowed slightly and turned away again to the gathered little group of men. "when do we start?" mark whispered eagerly to aladdo. but the venusian's eyes were preternaturally bright. a frail hand was held up for silence. mark stood tense, listening. the brightness of aladdo's eyes seemed to increase. and then mark heard it. they all heard it. it was unbelievable. the low, powerful hum of a repulsion beam rent the stillness. it was faint and far away at first, but became steadily louder. this, mark knew, was not the hornet's hum of the tiny craft the prison bureau sent with supplies; this was the unmistakable vibration of a spacer hovering above them! soon the immense bulk of the spaceship dropped slowly from the cloud banks above, like a silvery ghost descending. it hovered fifty feet above the islet, the powerful repulsion beam humming its deafening drone. an under-hull lock opened. a long flexible ladder rushed uncoiling through the murky atmosphere until it struck the ground a dozen paces from the barracks. "back!" luhor's voice crackled like an icy javelin as an avalanche of humanity scrambled toward the ladder, clawing, tearing and screaming. in his hand he held an atom-blast capable of annihilating that entire snarling group. they saw it and halted uncertainly. luhor strode calmly toward the ladder and again shouted, "back, you vermin!" he brought the weapon up as if to fire, and the tattered dregs who had been human beings still prized life enough to retreat sullenly. in a cold voice luhor called names from a list in his hand. his huge purple orbs inspected each man to step forward, then he waved them toward the ladder. aladdo was first, and mark's heart leaped as the venusian scrambled up the weaving ladder, grasping the metal rungs with fragile hands. one by one, fifteen convicts were called. mark was among the last, and he heard luhor ordering the remaining convicts into the swamp. two disobeyed and leaped forward desperately. luhor's atom-blast spat, one man dropped in his tracks and the other went scrambling back. cries, imprecations, curses and pleadings dwindled as the men retreated to the mud. it was then that luhor himself began to ascend the rungs, as the ladder was slowly pulled up. a rush of maddened convicts clawed at empty air as the stairway to freedom rose above their heads. luhor laughed mockingly down at them. mark, just above, suddenly hated luhor for that. * * * * * inside the spacer, with the air-lock closed, luhor turned to the waiting men. his rumbling voice rose commandingly. "anyone with weapons, whatever they are, throw them on the floor before you; if you refuse, or we have to search you and find them, you'll be dropped through the air-lock into the swamp. choose!" the absolute cold finality of his tone left no doubt. a veritable arsenal of sharpened rocks, crude metal knives, and bent wires coated with deadly poison from venusian plants, showered down. "all through?" the half-breed's purple eyes ranged down the line of men, as if he could see into their minds. there was a moment of silence, then one of the men hesitantly dropped an outmoded heat-gun, old-fashioned but deadly. luhor's eyebrows went up, and he smiled thinly. "all right," he told a member of the crew, "gather up this junk and toss it out. you new men follow me. first you'll sluice off the mud and put on some decent clothes. afterwards you'll see the _commander_; and," he added, "the _commander_ will see you!" a fleeting smile hovered on his lips as if he had a little joke all his own. mark was amazed at the spaciousness of the ship, and at the luxury of its appointments. it was apparent at once that this was no ordinary spacer, for it was a fighting craft as well--a long, slim torpedo of death modern beyond anything he'd ever seen. he only obtained a glimpse of a few of the craft's weapons, but they looked formidable enough to tackle anything the tri-planetary ships could muster. he tried not to appear too curious, however; he knew that just now his best bet was to look dazed and docile. he glanced around for aladdo, but the little venusian had disappeared. mark wasn't too surprised. he was satisfied to know that aladdo was on the ship, and that eventually he would appear. the men scrubbed themselves with soap under needles of warm water, and achieved cleanliness for the first time in many months. dressed in clean trousers and tunics, they were ready at last to go before the commander. the men moved restlessly and whispered among themselves. none knew where they were going, or why. they only knew that a miracle had happened and they had been delivered from the great swamp. it didn't occur to any of them as yet that there could be a situation even remotely as bad as their living death in the swamp. one by one, they were called, as they waited in the ship's comfortable leisure-room. at its far end was an automatic beryllium door, and as each man's name was called through an amplifier, the door would open to permit a man to go through. already nine men had passed through, and none had emerged. mark could hardly restrain his impatience. behind that door was the solution of a great mystery--a mystery which had grown in importance beyond anything the prison bureau officials had dreamed of, mark realized, considering the perilous super-efficiency of this spaceship, now speeding away from venus! * * * * * mark's name was called last, and he tried to achieve a careless nonchalance as he walked toward the door that opened silently for him. he would not have been too surprised to find that aladdo was the commander of this ship; that thought had occurred to him. as he entered the huge compartment, however, he had only a confused impression of brilliant lighting and indiscriminate luxury. magnificent, ceiling-high tapestries covered the metal walls; beneath his feet, the resilient pile of an imperial martian rug was a splash of varicolored splendour. ornaments from three planets were everywhere, some of them museum pieces, like the desk of extinct martian _majagua_ wood, inlaid with miniature mosaics of semi-precious stones. "loot from the spacelanes!" mark exclaimed inwardly. and then he was beyond all amazement as his gaze went across the bright room, and he saw the two people present. one was luhor, dressed resplendently now, the shadow of a smile upturning the corners of his mouth. he was standing. seated at a desk beside him was a girl. she was clad in a close-fitting uniform of a white, gleaming material like watered silk. mark slowly let out his breath, and then he crossed the room. he wondered if she were really that beautiful, or if it was just the garish lights and surroundings. she spoke first. "if you must be amazed, please do it quickly. i am weary of these interviews." mark looked at her eyes that were blue but unsmiling, and lips that smiled thinly but didn't mean it. her slightly turned-up nose would have been amusing ordinarily but wasn't now. coppery brown hair was brushed smoothly back from her forehead, to fall in waves to her shoulders. mark wished she would smile with her eyes as well as her lips. his own smile faded, he took a deep breath and said, "i am sufficiently amazed." "good. then we can proceed. luhor, is this the last one?" "yes. he's the one i was telling you about." she turned her cold blue eyes upon mark again. her voice was emotionless, almost a monotone. "luhor tells me you were exceedingly anxious to leave the venus swamp. why?" "why!" mark repeated in amazement. "why does any man want to leave there? it's a living death--and i was slowly going crazy." "you had only been there a few months?" "that's right." "why were you sent there?" mark hesitated for a split second, and decided he had better stick to the same story he'd told aladdo. "i'm a 'political'," he said. she nodded, as though satisfied. "i have never been actually in the swamp. i understand that you worked hard there?" "yes, very hard. we had to, to stay alive." "you will work very hard for me--for the same reason. perhaps you will wish you had stayed in the swamp. what can you do?" mark brightened. "around a spaceship? i can handle rocket-tubes, or controls. also probably any weapon you care to mention. calculations and differential equations are pretty easy. i could almost quote you the entire _advanced principles of space navigation_...." with a rush of nostalgia mark was remembering all the mechanics and mathematics of his four years in government spacer school. he went on with cool confidence, "i could take one of your atomomotors apart, jumble the pieces and put it together again. i'm really a mechanic rather than a spaceman. spacery's only a hobby of mine...." she swung her eyes over to the half-breed. luhor nodded, grinning with huge amusement. she said to mark: "you will work at the mines, where you are going. you can make _that_ a hobby of yours. i do not like men with me in space who know more about a ship than i do." mark slowly seethed, but said nothing. she waved a slim hand in dismissal. luhor, still grinning, showed mark the door by which to go out. iii mark awakened suddenly, aware that someone was shaking him. intense light almost blinded him as he opened his eyes, and he shut them hurriedly. he lay for a few seconds enjoying the luxury of the berth on which he had slept. it had been long since he'd felt the yielding comfort of a coil-pad beneath his body, or cool lynon sheets against his flesh. "rouse yourself, sluggard!" the voice was mocking, familiar, rich with golden overtones. "get that deficient brain of yours to working, lower order!" "aladdo! you venusian demon--where have you been?" in his delight mark grabbed aladdo's slender hands and almost crushed them. "i was beginning to think i'd have to tear this ship apart to find you!" "my hands!" aladdo exclaimed in alarm and withdrew them. but there was shining joy in his smile. perched on the edge of the berth, the tiny venusian regarded the giant earthman with laughing eyes, bluer even than the azure wings that hung like a cloak. but it was a subtly different aladdo; glowing and clean until the exquisitely chiseled face was like alabaster, the curling close-cropped hair blue-black and gleaming. dressed in a soft gray tunic and tight white trousers, the wings were vivid in contrast, almost iridescent. the tiny feet were encased in bootlets of red ocelandian fur, and a belt of platinum links circled the narrow waist, holding a holster with a small short-range atom-blast. surprised, mark flicked a forefinger at the weapon and looked inquiringly at aladdo. "they let you have this?" "yes," the venusian nodded. "remember, bedrim was my father; i can be most useful to them. although my father's dead, there are still followers on three planets, ready at a moment's notice to rally behind a leader. i could be that leader--or at least appear to be. i am a guest of honor on this cruiser--a prisoner, of course," aladdo smiled ironically, "but shown every courtesy. i even have my own private quarters instead of sleeping here with the crew." "but what is it all about, aladdo?" mark was exasperated as the mystery grew. "what's the purpose behind all this? ruthless criminals salvaged from a venusian prison swamp, and now this super-cruiser built to withstand anything! and who is that girl? i--" but the venusian interrupted him. "no time now. you'll learn everything presently. dress quickly and come with me." "i'm dressed," mark answered, springing up. he zipped on light, insulated shoes and followed aladdo to the main cabin. the rest of the men were already there, clustered about the starboard ports in an excited group. the light in this room was blazing. mark could feel the gentle vibration of the atomomotors somewhere deep in the spaceship, and again the question overwhelmed him: where were they going? * * * * * he was soon to learn. recklessly he gazed out into space. instantly he pivoted away, as if a gigantic hand had spun him. he had looked almost directly into the sun! it was a sun vast beyond imagining, tongues of flame flickering slowly out for thousands of miles. he knew it was only the thickness of the crystyte ports that saved the men's eyes. slowly mark's eyes became accustomed to the fierce glare and by shading them obliquely he could discern the object of the men's excitement--a dark little speck of a planet sweeping in its orbit just beyond the sun's rim. it rapidly grew larger as the spaceship moved inward on a long tangent. "mercury!" mark exclaimed, staring. "no, we crossed the orbit of mercury two hours ago." it was aladdo who spoke beside him. "then, that must be ... but it's impossible!" mark laughed a little wildly. "how long since we left venus?" "ten hours, earthman. it is possible. that is the planet vulcan." "unbelievable," mark almost whispered. "why, it takes the fastest patrol cruiser forty-eight hours to reach mercury's orbit from venus. lord! what sort of speed has this spacer?" but aladdo didn't answer. a door had opened and luhor stepped in. "vulcan," he said tonelessly. "as we approach, even the thickness of these ports won't be enough. put on these." he handed the men pairs of crystyte goggles, the lenses specially processed. "does this mean we're actually going to attempt a landing on vulcan?" mark asked the half-breed. "it's madness! it has never been done!" "but it has been done." luhor gazed at mark frigidly. "you merely have never heard of it." "who's at the controls?" mark struggled to subdue the excitement in his voice. "why, the commander, naturally--assisted by myself." luhor's vast chest arched with pride. "observe closely, earthman, and you will be treated to as masterly a feat of navigation as you're likely ever to see again!" his purple orbs roved over the men, clean-dressed, and rested, the haunted look beginning to fade from their eyes. he nodded approval, as he turned and left. "a base at vulcan!" mark was repeating inwardly. and a cold fear at this growing mystery grew apace within him. it was not only a masterly feat of navigation--it was incredible as the hurtling spaceship continued along its tangent, until vulcan, slightly smaller than mercury, came swinging around to bisect their trajectory. very neatly, their speed was manipulated to allow the planet to come between them and the sun; then the great spacer began to pursue a direct course. mark noticed that vulcan kept one side eternally sunwards. swiftly the spaceship approached the dark, outward side. actually it was not "dark" but it could be called so in comparison with the molten sunward side. mark realized the almost insurmountable difficulty of keeping the spacer on a trajectory, with the sun's tremendous gravitational pull so dangerously near; the slightest deviation now would send them hurtling past vulcan and into that naming hecotomb. he knew, as well, that there could be no atmosphere on vulcan to help them brake. * * * * * but even as these thoughts were racing through his mind, vulcan came rushing up at them with the fury of a miniature hell running rampant. its surface was lividly aglow, with the flaming curve of the sun as a backdrop blotting out the horizon. suddenly they were leveling over its surface, at a speed that to mark spelled disaster. he saw the fore-jets flaming over a wide terrain of what might have been lava or pumice, but that didn't seem to check their reckless speed at all. directly ahead black mountain ranges sheered upward as if to disembowel the ship on jagged summits. mark merely closed his eyes, awaiting the crash that seemed inevitable. no ship he knew could ever brake in time at that suicidal speed. a terrific force jarred him to the floor. a profound nausea made him retch. then luhor was touching his shoulder, and mark opened his eyes. "all out, we're home!" the half-breed grinned. "you're lucky that the synchronized magnetic fields minimize deceleration, earthman." doors were opening, voices were drifting into the ship. the vibration of the atomomotors had ceased. white-faced and shaken, the men debarked into a wide corridor hewn out of solid rock, into which the ship had berthed. glancing back, mark saw metal doors of titanic proportions now hermetically closed; ahead were similar doors. then he heard the deep, far-away throbbing of generators and he knew that he was in an air-lock built on a gigantic scale. a few seconds later the inner doors slid open. as they walked forward luhor turned to mark with a proud smile. "you won't find _that_ type of navigation in the 'advanced principles,' eh, earthman?" "no, indeed not," mark admitted. "but i still don't understand that braking process!" luhor pointed to colossal sets of coils, in niches along each side of the vast corridor. "synchronized magnetic degravitation fields; they arrest mass and speed synchronously, finally stopping the spacer in a graduating net of force. similar coils to these exist for a mile along the gorge back there, through which we came. even so it is a very delicate and precise process." they stepped into a grotto so vast as to dwarf anything mark had ever imagined. it extended for miles, sheltering an entire little city! mark saw rows of stone dwellings, stream-lined, ultra-modern. from larger buildings came the sounds of blast furnaces and an occasional flash of ruddy glow. groups of workmen hurried past, glanced curiously at the new arrivals but didn't stop to fraternize. and then mark saw carston. ernest carston! one of the very highest men among the tri-planetary prison bureau officials! the surprise stopped mark denning in his tracks, but fortunately, thanks to his training, he managed to keep his face impassive as they recognized each other simultaneously. carston flashed him a quick look that seemed to say, "later!" then the newcomers were marching in silence to a spacious building, where they were assigned rooms. the furnishings were simple, but comfortable, and luhor led them to the rear of the building where the dining-room was located. they ate with the famished eagerness of men who had long subsisted on compressed synthetic rations. then they were issued cigarettes. to the men who had been doomed on venus only a few hours previously, it was like awakening in heaven from a nightmare in hell. through mark's mind ran an ancient saying: "eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow...." iv standing in the doorway, the girl of the unsmiling blue eyes surveyed the new men silently. her trim, aloof figure instantly commanded their attention, and their respect as well. "i cannot waste words on you," she said abruptly, "for my time is limited. i know all of your names, so you shall know mine as well, although it will mean nothing to you. i am cynthia marnik, but you will address me always as commander. you will obey me implicitly in all things here. second to me, you will obey luhor. "all of you volunteered to come. now that you're here, you are part of our scheme of things and you will work as hard as you did in the swamp. it is dangerous work, but you will have ample remuneration. idlers and grumblers will be done away with, i promise you. your lives were forfeit in the swamp, and that is not altered by your being on vulcan." she paused as if waiting for objections, but every man was silent. "very well; luhor will explain later what you're here for. meanwhile you are free to go anywhere you like within the city, but be ready to work about eight earth-hours from now." as abruptly as she had come, commander cynthia marnik turned and was gone. the men smoked and talked among themselves, speculating what their tasks might be. the memory of the prison swamp was too recent for them to care much. mark rose quietly and stepped out of the dining-room. he'd noticed that aladdo was absent from the meal, and he wondered if his venusian friend was still an 'honored guest.' deciding to inspect the city, mark tried to retrace his steps to those buildings where he had heard the blast furnaces; but at the first cross-corridor ernest carston stepped out and walked beside him. he smiled at mark denning, but held a warning finger to his lips. they walked in silence, while the corridors became rockier and more dimly lighted. at last, far away from the city, carston stopped under an immense jutting rock and quietly gripped mark's hand. there was a world of feeling in his voice as he said barely whispering: "i'd lost hope of ever seeing any of you again!" "how did you get here?" mark asked the question that had been burning in his mind. "did they pick you up at the swamp, too?" "yes. we're both on the same trail--and here the trail ends." "but i had no idea you'd preceded me," mark told him. "it must have been considered a far more important assignment than i was told, to send _you_ to the swamp!" "we didn't know, we weren't certain," carston said thoughtfully. "but we received a bit of information which, if true, was of the greatest importance. it seemed impossible, fantastic, but the hazard was so great, that even what amounted to a vague rumor warranted my going. you were to follow in a few months, without knowing i had gone ahead. well, you already know most of the rest; but earth's government doesn't even suspect the deadly peril it will soon have to face!" "i'm afraid," mark stated frankly, "that there are a lot of gaps in what i do know. i can tell, of course, that something mighty big is going on here. but what was that bit of information you received?" "it goes back nearly a quarter of a century," carston replied slowly, "and concerns a man named george marnik. he, and his young wife, were among the first pioneers to venture out to callisto. those were the ruthless years, when the great earth monopolies stopped at nothing, were very often lawless, and usually got what they wanted." carston paused to light a cigarette. * * * * * "george marnik," he went on, "discovered one of the richest palladium veins on callisto, and was developing it slowly. but--one of the monopolies decided that it wanted marnik's rich vein. in an ensuing struggle with some of the monopoly's hired hoodlums, marnik's wife was burned down brutally with an electro-gun. she left a daughter, about five years old, whom they had named cynthia ... do you follow me?" "go on," mark said in a cold, dry voice. "well, after the tragedy, george marnik disappeared. he was never heard of again--except by the earth monopolies. they heard of him plenty. he terrorized the spacelanes for years, and more than one monopoly went under, bankrupt by the incessant attacks on their ships by an enemy who had achieved a ruthlessness greater even than theirs. it was rumored that marnik had vowed never to set foot on earth again, and that his life was dedicated to the destruction of the monopolies. he almost achieved his task, except that the earth's government finally stepped in and dissolved the monopolies." carston paused and drew in a long breath. "and then?" mark urged, as if fascinated by this saga of another day. "why, then as you know, emperor bedrim of venus achieved his famous alliance with dar vaajo of mars, and together they sought to end earth's domination and exploitation of their planets. you know about the bitter ten years' war--that's history. but when the tri-planetary patrol was formed, during the truce that followed at the death of bedrim, half the solar system was searched for george marnik's base and the rich plunder he was reputed to have there. it was all in vain. you can now see why! the patrol has never been able to land on vulcan." "but if i remember correctly," mark denning said reminiscently, "george marnik was certified as dead, as the years went by and piracy ceased. the records gave no information as to his daughter cynthia, she was merely marked 'missing.'" "precisely!" carston assented. "then that vital bit of information you received must have concerned this base on vulcan!" "no. worse! it concerned that george marnik _was alive and planning to end the inter-planetary truce, to loose bitter war upon three worlds again_!" "good lord!" mark was stunned. "but how? venus and mars were disarmed under earth's dictated peace!" "yes, true. mars is a small and dying race and not to be greatly feared. but venus has never become reconciled. you know their unholy pride and their utter conviction that theirs are the greatest minds in our universe. underneath the apparently peaceful surface, revolt's smoldering." "revolt fanned by marnik?" "yes," carston went on. "if george marnik did have some fantastic plan in mind, venus would be the likeliest place for him to find backing and followers. on the face of it, it seemed absurd, of course. but when the supply of venusian pearls dwindled to a mere trickle, and a criminal from the swamp was found dead millions of miles away, in the vicinity of callisto, we knew then that there was a definite tie-up. it was time to investigate. george marnik, the last space pirate, _is alive_--an ancient, embittered wreck living on hate!" carston fell silent. * * * * * "and commander cynthia, his daughter," mark whispered musingly, "is the one in charge now!" "yes. you wouldn't have believed it possible, eh? but remember, during those reckless years when her father was the most hunted man in the universe, cynthia grew up with him, constantly at his side, learning all the tricks of a master at piracy. she must share her father's hatred for a world that only brought them tragedy and sorrow. marnik's psychopathic, of course, his mind's warped; she must share his views, although at times i wonder ... sometimes when i look at her...." his voice dwindled. "so it all boils down to one thing," mark's analytical mind had already absorbed all the facts. "that spacer that brought us here is a menace to civilization. its speed alone is beyond anything we have at present; a fleet of them could wreak havoc on earth's forces. earth must be warned at all costs, carston!" ernest carston looked at mark pityingly, lines of weariness and anxiety creasing his face. "do you think," he said slowly, "if there were any way out, i would be here? vulcan and the venus swamp both have a thing in common: there's no escape, except through marnik. commander cynthia only carries out his orders." "but she's a woman, carston. if she could be made to realize what another inter-planetary war means--the awful carnage, the destruction--perhaps she could somehow be reached!" "i wish that were possible!" carston exclaimed fervently. "but she's like a being that's hypnotized. george marnik must dominate her completely, old and decrepit as he must be. remember, it's the only life she's ever known. he must be the only being she's ever loved." "have you any concrete knowledge of their plans?" "no. only deductions. dar vaajo, ruler of mars, was here three weeks ago. cynthia brought him. for hours he was with marnik in the latter's palace. that can only mean one thing, of course. and then there's the new metal. that is the real problem and the real menace!" "metal? a new alloy?" mark denning was all interest. "nothing so simple as that," carston explained with tragic calm. "a metal unique in the universe! a new, _allotropic_ form of beryllium which _beyond a certain temperature reacts by hardening in direct ratio to pressure and heat_! once cast, it is literally heat and blast proof, and so light that it triples efficiency in relation to fuel consumption. and george marnik's building, has been building, a fleet of these super-spacers!" "i suppose they're mining that metal here?" mark's face was white. "yes, on the _sunward_ side of vulcan! that's what swamp convicts are brought here for." "and i suppose either the ore, or the smelted metal's being shipped to secret bases on mars and venus?" mark's voice was strained and opaque. "not yet, earthman!" the alien voice was at once like a whiplash and like a fragment of music. both men whirled about. * * * * * out of the shadows, as if emerging from the bizarre scene of tortured rocks and twisted cavern-walls, stepped a slender figure with pendant wings. "aladdo!" mark felt a curious tingling at sight of his venusian friend, as he went forward with hands outstretched. it was nothing compared to the shock mirrored on carston's face. "aladdian!" he too exclaimed, a mixture of despair and impotent rage in his voice. "peace, lower order!" aladdo laughed, but hiding his hands behind his back as he addressed mark. "i shall not trust my hands to you again. _it is enough to have crippled wings!_" the venusian stared full into carston's eyes as he uttered the last words significantly, and the latter's face turned deep red. "are you still a guest? where are they keeping you? i've missed you...." mark turned to carston, his face alight. "aladdo saved my life in the swamp!" "i'm staying with the commander and her father. it is a small universe after all," he added, turning to carston, "eh, colonel?" "you know each other?" mark asked, surprised. carston's face reddened and then paled. "i'm a servant of my government," he answered the venusian stiffly. "my duty is to obey, not to question orders, princess!" "what is all this? what do you mean, 'princess'? will someone explain?" mark was exasperated. "aladdian's the daughter of the late emperor bedrim of venus," carston said, then fell silent. a look at the venusian's smiling face told mark it was true. his own face was ludicrous, his mouth partly open, for the moment speechless. then a dark flush of anger swept up like a tide to the roots of his hair. "a girl ... a defenseless girl that's never committed a crime in her life, condemned to that venus swamp! to the most ghastly, the most cruel living-death in the universe...." words failed him as he shook with rage. "what was earth's government thinking of? the council must have been mad!" mark denning choked. "careful!" ernest carston warned. "remember you're an earthman, denning. to question the council is treason!" "treason be damned, and the council too!" mark raged. "there are limits! there's no reason for that prison swamp except greed. better atom-blast habitual criminals than to condemn them there; _that_ is worse than any crime!" he towered above carston, a formidable engine of destruction, his face a mask of fury. then a tiny, fragile hand was on his arm and the venusian's calm voice rose in the brief silence, "it is too late to remould the past. but we can refashion the immediate future, mark denning." "can we? how? it seems that marnik and commander cynthia hold all the cards!" "not all," aladdian shook her exquisite head. "they have perfected their plans for the immediate future--but we can be _the element of the unpredictable_!" "you mean ... you're not in sympathy with their plans? that you won't serve as a rallying point to sway the masses of venus?" carston looked bewildered. "i thought when i saw you, that was the reason they'd brought you here! we know that your people would revolt at a word from you, princess! that's what our government feared." "i know. and i will not lead my people to an hecatomb in space. but neither will the earth continue to exploit my planet and debauch my people. this time, there will be a peace and it will be equitable." aladdian had drawn herself to a full four feet eleven inches, and there was an imperious note in her voice. carston stood silent and grim. * * * * * mark, looking at his venusian friend anew, thought irrelevantly that, with the spike-heeled sandals of earth, aladdian would be only slightly under the average height of an earth girl. he shook his head irritably. this was no time to ponder inconsequential things. "aladdian," he said, "do you know much of their plans and what is being done with this new metal?" "partly. we have discussed ways and means since my arrival here. george marnik is very impatient; i think he fears he may die before he can see his plans carried through. first he will equip a fleet equal or superior to earth's forces. then he will take over callisto, the new gibraltar, between the inner and outer planets, after which he will complete an alliance with venus and mars. he does not plan to conquer earth, he knows it would take years; but his scheme would bottle your planet, relegate it to the status of a minor power, without inter-planetary colonies, without outer revenues. venus and mars alone would expand in the solar system." "for a while," mark said laconically. "mars would never be content with anything short of complete rule, as long as dar vaajo lives! and the metal?..." "it is smelted here under a secret process, and parts for the space cruisers and special rockets manufactured. then they are stored in one of the asteroids where they will be assembled later into a fleet. that is all the data i have now." "but this luhor," mark asked, "what is his real status? commander cynthia seems to trust him implicitly." "she does," aladdian replied. "he's an old friend of george marnik, one of his trusted lieutenants from the pirate days. but he's a cold devil--combines the worst from both venusian and martian. don't under-estimate him ... he can be deadly!" "i've had occasion to see that," mark said dryly. "they're all deadly in this deadly little planet!" carston said vehemently. he looked far older than his scant thirty years, his face was bleak and haggard. "but this is heaven in comparison with the prison swamp," aladdian told him coldly. she seemed to have a determined animosity toward the high-ranking earth official. "it wasn't i who sent you there!" "no. it was only your relentless pursuit that eventually resulted in my capture," the venusian answered, "and it was only you who cut the tendons of my wings. oh, i know--you were only acting under orders." aladdian was smiling again as she turned back to mark. "we had better all go back to our quarters now, but it would be best if we did not return together." she moved away, then added: "watch luhor, mark; i am not sure, but i think he too is part of the 'unpredictable.'" mark watched her slim figure, with the azure wings and tight-curling, blue-black hair, melt away into the shadows. "i will see you tomorrow," her voice floated back like a golden molten stream. v "only twenty-two men, luhor?" commander cynthia marnik stood very straight and very slim in the center of the air-lock, surveying the new men plus a sprinkling of others, preparatory to the trip outside. "even less than the last trip!" annoyance creased a frown between her blue eyes. "all we can spare, commander. every available man's at the furnaces; your father has ordered it so." turning to the waiting men, luhor began to instruct them in the operation of their metal surface suits. "as you can see, they're two suits in one," he explained tersely, "operating on the vacuum principle. here's the cooling device between each metal sheathing. you'll have to bear more heat than you've ever endured, but don't get panicky. here's where you regulate the oxygen flow into the helmet." he indicated a little dial. each man was assigned to a wide, flat-bottomed sled which he was to pull behind him. they were also equipped with curious, spur-like picks. mark failed to understand the reason for such primitive methods, but remained discreetly silent. "you men who have made the trip before, help the new arrivals," luhor ordered curtly. mark noted that luhor himself was not going to accompany them, but cynthia marnik was already encased in her suit. ernest carston went over to help her adjust the helmet. "i can manage quite all right, thank you," she said. but it did not escape mark that her voice was soft and that she smiled at carston. carston came over to give mark a hand. he smiled reassuringly through his helmet's visiplate, then flicking on mark's radio-phone, said briefly: "stay close to me! i'm one of the veterans." "bring vulc, we're about ready," the commander's voice sounded startlingly inside mark's headpiece. "who's vulc?" mark asked carston in a whisper. before the latter could answer, there was a sudden unearthly rumbling behind them. mark turned, stared, then froze in his tracks. a huge, awesome apparition was lumbering in a straight line for the commander. it was vaguely human in that it possessed a head, torso, four limbs of elephantine proportions, and it waddled upright. but the human resemblance went no further. the creature's skin, if skin it was, gleamed silvery metallic and gave the impression of being fluid! it reminded mark of nothing so much as an immense blob of mercury that might at any moment collapse into a puddle and spread over the floor. but vulc didn't collapse. he approached the commander and stood docilely waiting. she patted the creature's arm and then handed him a package of something. vulc rumbled his appreciation and poured the contents into a gash that appeared in his face. then he waddled contentedly to a large sled and took up the reins. "wow! where did you ever dig up _that_?" mark turned white-faced to carston. "vulc? he's a native of this planet, but more than that, he's our ambassador of peace!" the commander's crisp voice made further conversation impossible. "single file, you men. stay as close to each other as the sleds will permit. carston, you stay in the middle, as usual, and watch out for the blitzees. if you men work hard, we should be back within ten hours." silently the outer door of the lock slid open and the men began to file out, with the gigantic vulc at the head. the brightness was intense, although they were on the planet's "dark side." shimmering waves of heat danced before them over the flat terrain. at the very end of the line commander cynthia kept pace with them. * * * * * "what did you mean by 'ambassador of peace,' carston?" mark had purposefully fallen into line next to him. "adjust your radio-phone to its shortest distance communication," carston directed him, "so it will be inaudible to anyone else." as mark did so, carston continued, "we couldn't get out the metal we're after, without vulc. his home is on the neutral strip where we're going--that part of the planet where the outward and sunward side meet. all of vulc's kin are there, and they resent us. they have attacked us before. we bring vulc as an evidence of friendly intentions; they have a speech of sorts, and vulc's supposed to pacify them." "what was it the commander gave him before we left?" "powdered metal, filings, and tiny scraps from the factories. that's what's in those big sacks up there on vulc's sled--a peace offering for his people." "they subsist on metal!" mark denning was aghast. "everything on this planet does--that is, everything native to it. and they're impervious to heat, of course. if vulc had not been captured by george marnik almost immediately after it was born, it would never have been conditioned to the comparatively cool atmosphere of the base." in silence they trudged mile after mile, following the same line of black hills that housed their base. mark marvelled at how comfortable the vacuum suits were, but he knew the real heat hadn't started yet. it came presently, as they veered further outward from the hills. the heat increased steadily and became more intense than anything mark had ever experienced. perspiration dripped stickily within his suit. he wanted to wipe his face but couldn't; he could only shake his head to keep the sweat from his eyes. but there was no keeping the mirages from his eyes. in every direction the terrain rocked and rolled under huge undulating hazes of heat. horizons leaped at him in wave after wave, and fled away again. the men ahead seemed to do fantastic dances. they no longer trod on rock. the ground beneath was soft, white and leprous looking, powdery almost as dust. mark felt it hot around his metal-clad ankles. now he realized the reason for the flat-bottomed sleds. he knew, too, that a spaceship could never venture over here and get back safely; compasses and magniplates and everything else would go haywire. peering ahead, he discerned vulc's fantastic bulk which now had turned a glowing cherry red! he shuddered at the thought of what would happen to a man suddenly bereft of the protecting vacuum suit. out of the silence, a vast rumbling sound rose like magnified thunder. mark saw carston fumble with his radio-phone then peer all about into the haze. "blitzees coming!" he yelled into his instrument. everyone stopped. mark followed carston's line of sight, but he couldn't see a thing. "swarm coming from the left!" carston yelled again. the commander moved hurriedly along the line. "lie down everyone, face to the left! upend your sleds and if you value your lives, stay behind them!" for a second all was confusion as the men flung themselves to the powdery soil; then a metal barrier sprang up as the sleds came end to end. still nothing could be seen. * * * * * suddenly then they came. the air was blue from crackling sparks as dozens of the blitzees struck the sleds with the impact of bullets. a sound like the humming of millions of hornets was in their ears, as the greater part of the swarm passed overhead. mark had a confused vision of electric blue streaks that writhed and zig-zagged, landed and leaped again, propelling themselves blindly. as suddenly as it had come, the danger was over. the men arose somewhat shakily. the ground about them was strewn with the snake-like blitzees. mark picked one up and found it to be metallic, about five inches in length, transparent blue in color. the head was triangular, eyeless; along its back mark felt a thin, wiry sort of filament! "they're like living bolts of electricity," carston told him. "they seem to short-circuit themselves when they strike the sleds." the caravan continued. hours later they arrived at their destination, a small rise in the terrain before them, covered with glittering crystals in huge, boulder-like lumps. the sides of the little hill was composed of the same ore, apparently in limitless amount. but as if guarding it against them, rows of redly-glowing vulcs stood motionless, elephantine, facing them. mark couldn't tell whether they were friendly or hostile. to him there was no expression to be seen on those fluid heads. but commander cynthia's vulc went over to his henchmen and jabbered in rumbling noises, pointing to the huge sacks on his own sled. presently three of the vulcs came over and snatched at the sacks, opened them and grabbed handfuls of the metallic filings. seemingly satisfied, the trio lumbered off followed by the rest, bearing the sacks. the men began to work then, loading the ore on the sleds and breaking it with their small hand-picks. even to have come here was bad enough, and to breathe was an agony--but to work, in this inferno of unimaginable heat and blinding glare, was a nightmare. more than once mark felt himself sway, and stood quite still until the dizziness passed. one of the men pitched forward and lay still. commander cynthia examined the fallen man. she gestured to vulc who grasped him and stretched him over the ore in his own sled. the commander's face was drawn and white through the visiplate, and her eyes were tragic. mark was seeing evidences today that she was not entirely cold and heartless, as he had at first thought. it seemed an eternity before they were through with their task. at last the sleds were loaded to capacity, and they rested a while before starting the return journey. they could only pull the heavy sleds slowly now, and only the knowledge that every mile brought them nearer to the base, away from this suffocating hell, spurred them on. after a while the commander called a halt, and the men sank down against their sleds like puppets whose strings have been cut. there was a strange absence of curses and rebellion against the appalling experience they were undergoing; there was not enough strength left for that. then mark saw commander cynthia suddenly stand up. through the visiplate her eyes were wide, and they mirrored horror! vi "up on your feet, every man of you! test your oxygen tanks--quickly!" her voice was tense with suppressed emotion. something in her tone seemed to cut a path through the heat-ridden lethargy of their minds, for the men staggered to their feet, hands fumbling for the testing buttons. mark found his, and his eyes darted to the tiny dial inside his helmet. the pointer swung and registered _one hour_. frantically he pressed the button again; once more the pointer inexorably indicated the same period of time. "one hour!" he breathed, stunned. that was barely a third of the time it would take to return to the base! out of the dancing mirage before him the alabaster face of aladdian seemed to float and smile. with infinite, pain-laden regret mark realized that unless a miracle happened he would never see her again, and now for the first time it dawned on him how much he wanted to. around him the men were milling in confusion, panic-stricken. their few hours' stay at the base had been like a brief taste of heaven, and life had become precious once more. "all of us can't get back," the commander was saying. "but there's enough oxygen among us to permit seven, at most eight, to do so. i'm willing to draw lots with the rest of you. but decide quickly! every instant is precious!" "no!" a man screamed hysterically, near the breaking point. "i'd rather take my chances...." his voice ended in a hoarse sob. then a strange thing happened. ernest carston, white-faced and unsteady, stepped forward. "you can take my supply, commander cynthia," he offered. "you need not draw lots; let the men do that." she waved him aside and shook her head, but her eyes softened gratefully. she glanced at the teletimer at her wrist. "i will give you men just thirty seconds to make your decision; otherwise i will be forced to make it." but from the group came no decision, only sullen argument and frantic babbling. some of them measured the distance between them and the girl, eying hungrily the atom-blast guns at either side of her wrist. "what a woman!" carston murmured to himself, lost in admiration. but mark heard him. "yes, she is magnificent," he agreed in a dry croak. "a pity all that courage and...." he checked himself and fell dully silent again. it was then that mark saw something or thought he did, far away, shimmering through the dancing heat. he wiped the sparkling dust from his visiplate and strained his eyes desperately, praying that it was not a mirage. he clutched at carston and pointed. "the hills ... are those the hills? _our hills?_" carston nodded dumbly. at last he managed to croak, "yes, but the entrance is miles away ... at the other end." "but there may be a chance! remember aladdian, the corridors--a honeycomb of caverns? commander!" mark turned up his radio-phone, his voice drowning out the babble of the men. "how far is that range of hills, commander?" she followed his pointing arm. "a little less than an hour, at its closest point." "and the system of caverns--how far does it extend? aren't those hills practically honeycombed their entire length? we might find--" "wait!" the word came explosively, as her mind darted into the past, down the corridor of years. "yes, i remember ... some of the caverns did lead out to this side, and father sealed them to make the base airtight...." she gazed at the distant hills as if trying to recapture a forgotten scene. and a bulky shape hurtled forward, clawing for the weapons at her waist. but carston had been watching. he thrust out a metal-shod foot and the convict went sprawling ludicrously into the swirling white dust. "thank you, again!" the commander said in a whisper. "this trip has been a revelation--in so many ways." her face was as white as the powdery soil underfoot, and she was near collapse; but from some unknown source she still drew from enough strength reserve to maintain her authority. hands on her atom-blast guns, she faced the men. "into line as before. we've got to make the hills in less than one hour. leave the sleds. it's the hills or your lives!" the effect was miraculous. suddenly they were docile, grasping at the slender hope she offered them and content to have her bear the burden. quickly they fell into line, with vulc leading the way again. the men needed no urging; the knowledge that they only had one more hour of oxygen was enough. * * * * * if their trek up to now had been a nightmare, this latter stage surpassed even the most secret refinements of a martian torture-chamber. in an agony of slowness the minutes lengthened and seemed to stand still. the low range of hills seemed to dance mockingly and recede into the distance beyond the horizon's endless rim. in addition now to the heat in their brains and the glare in their eyes, their lungs were tortured as they regulated the oxygen intake-valves to the barest minimum. after an eternity in which even memory seemed to have fled, they were walking on rock and the heat began imperceptibly to abate. directly before them, the hills rose out of the torturing blaze. cries that were little more than miserable croakings echoed through the radio-phones as the men broke ranks; they staggered on, holding to each other for support. mark looked around for the commander, and saw her clutching at carston's shoulder for support, while his arm was about her waist, half-holding her up. the girl disengaged herself and by sheer will-power drove toward the base of the low-lying cliffs before them. "wait!" she ordered. she stopped, and the men halted behind her, weaving on their feet. she stared around us as if desperately trying to recall something deeply imbedded in the matrix of the past; then she veered to the right, waving for vulc and the men to follow. mark tested his oxygen tank and glanced at the dial again. it read "ten minutes." it was a race with time which now, perversely, seemed to be rushing by on flying feet. thirty yards further, the cliffs curved in sharply. rounding it, the commander gave a glad cry. in the center was a gigantic metal door, hermetically sealing what had once been the entrance to a cave. the men staggered forward, some of them clawing feebly at the barrier. others sank wordlessly to the rocky ground. they weren't even sure that beyond that metal wall they would find life-giving air. the commander had drawn both atom-pistols, and stood there surveying the barrier as if paralyzed. "what are you waiting for?" mark pressed forward. "in minutes, the men will be dying! blast an opening!" for the very first time, mark saw her hesitant, indecisive, as if unable to think. "but the air ..." she managed to gasp. "it will escape from the caves, clear back to the base! all those men there ... and father ... their lives are more important than ours!" * * * * * in those brief seconds mark admired her. despite the deadly threat to the earth she embodied, he admired her for her humanity and loyalty to the men at the base. but there was no time to lose. he made her decision superfluous. "we've got to chance it!" with a swift, darting movement he wrested an atom-blast gun from her hand and discharged it steadily at the metal door, at a point just above the ground. a second later she was helping him with the other gun. instantly the metal turned fiery red, then white, and finally a circular section fell outward with a hissing rush of air. "dive in, men!" with the dregs of a strength he didn't know he still possessed, mark grasped the men and pushed them toward the aperture, helped shove them through. "throw your helmets back!" he shouted. "in you go," he told the commander, and despite her protests he lifted her off her feet, almost handing her through the blasted entrance. only vulc and mark were left. as the earthman crawled through, he motioned for vulc to follow. the metallic being dropped to all fours and pushed in his arms, his head, his massive shoulders. his sides scraped the still hot edges of the aperture. and there he stuck. the men inside grasped his arms and pulled, but in vain. vulc gazed ludicrously from side to side and heaved prodigiously, but in vain. the vulcanian seemed molded to the hole. "wait! tell him not to struggle, not to move!" mark was exultant as he turned to the girl. "the air's no longer rushing away; if he'll only remain there until we can get back with equipment to seal that hole, the danger's over!" vulc seemed to be pondering; his limbs sprawled like a distorted swastika, and on his usually blank, fluid face was something like surprise. in the dim recesses of his alien mind he could find no parallel to this. the commander spoke to him slowly, with desperate emphasis; reaching into a pocket of her suit, she brought out another package of powdered metal which vulc promptly stuffed into his mouth. "he understands," she said at last. "but i'll leave one of you here with him, to be certain he does." for a while they rested, lying prone, helmets thrown back, luxuriating in the comparative coolness and the draughts of pure air. all were thirsty, their throats parched and aching. but the nightmare was over. presently the commander rose to her feet and gave the order to march. she was almost her usual self again, detached, impersonal. but she was white to the lips and her eyes were electric as she said: "luhor will pay for this!" she barely breathed it, but mark heard her. and he knew what she meant. it was luhor who had prepared the units of oxygen for the suits. vii under the dim illumination maintained even as far as these outlying caves, the group went grimly on. their passage through the tortuous corridors was dotted by discarded vacuum suits. but no echoes drifted back to them from the activity of the base. twice they lost their way, ending up against blank rock walls and retracing their steps. but at last the inter-connecting tunnel chain became familiar to the commander. "she blames luhor for the oxygen business!" mark murmured to carston walking beside him. "should!" carston exclaimed laconically, grimly. "aladdian warned us against luhor, remember? there'll be hell to pay when we get back! any monkey-wrench thrown into the machinery of their plans, helps the earth. i hope...." he broke off, staring moodily ahead. "she's far more human than you think," mark denning said softly. "yes, i noticed that today." carston's voice sounded glad. "it's only the spartan training she learned while cruising the spacelanes with her piratical father that keeps her up--that, and the old man's insane will, driving her on through a sense of loyalty to him." they were so near to the base now that mark expected momentarily to hear the clang of metal in the factories, the voices of workmen. his heart quickened at the thought of seeing aladdian, and he forgot his weariness in embroidering upon that thought. but the ominous stillness remained unbroken. they entered the final corridor leading to the vast central chamber. the commander ran forward, with the anxious men close behind her. they entered the grotto. the subterranean base extended into the distance before their startled, unbelieving eyes. "what--" cynthia began bewilderedly. it was a dead city, soundless and inert. under the distant cavern roof it had the air of a ghost town drained of all life. mark's heart leaped into his mouth. "aladdian!" he cried involuntarily, and his hands clenched in an agony of anxiety of helpless rage. commander cynthia was already running toward the palace, a deathly fear mirrored in her eyes. the men had stopped uncertainly, too weary and exhausted to understand. then driven by a single thought, they staggered off to their building in search of water and food. scarcely had the echoes of mark's cry stopped reverberating, when from the shadows of a transverse corridor emerged the elfin figure of the venusian. aladdian gazed at mark as if he had returned from the dead. she closed her eyes, swayed a little. mark caught her in his arms. he too was silent. no words would serve. "to the palace!" she finally breathed, gently disengaging herself. followed by carston, they hurried to the imposing building where old george marnik reigned. aladdian led them swiftly through the panelled outer hall, through the magnificent salon where the loot from many years was a fabulous welter of wealth. mark had no eyes for it now. they did not stop until they reached the inner chambers and finally came to george marnik's room, where no one but cynthia was ever permitted. * * * * * lying grotesquely twisted on the priceless martian tapestry that covered the bed, the ancient pirate was dead. cynthia marnik was kneeling beside him, weeping softly. there was no doubt as to the manner of his death. the pencil-thin opening through his temple could only have been done by an atom-blast. "luhor," aladdian said, indicating the wound with a gesture. they withdrew, leaving cynthia alone with her grief. the two men followed the venusian girl to the immense palace dining-room. with her own hands she served them food and drink, asking no questions, uttering no words until their vast hunger and thirst were appeased. then she sat down. "and so," she began without preamble, "the unpredictable has entered." at their rush of questions she held up a hand. "let me explain," she begged. "i can do it briefly if you are silent. after you left, luhor ordered every man here to go aboard the spacer. he blasted down two or three who refused; you will find them in the air-lock. previous to that, i heard him arguing with george marnik. he atom-blasted marnik from behind. i know, because i deliberately contacted his mind, although the effort nearly drove me mad; it is not easy for us to tune to an alien intellect, but luhor being partly venusian helped." "the miracle is that he didn't take you with him," carston ventured. "you were too valuable to leave behind!" "when we came here yesterday," she said simply, "i studied the plans of these caverns. when i learned what was in luhor's mind, i hid in a maze of abandoned corridors. they searched for me a while, but since he plans to return, he gave up the search for the present. he had no time to waste! the patrol has been to the prison swamp; failing to find either of you, and learning of my disappearance, _earth has mobilized its fleet_!" "how--how do you know this?" both men leaned tensely forward. "through the ethero-magnum george marnik has in his laboratory here--the most powerful receiving and transmission instrument i've ever seen, greater even than the ethero-magnum we have on venus!" "so _that's_ how he kept always a step ahead of the patrol," carston mused. "the scientists he used to kidnap from space-liners--he must have forced them to perfect scientific inventions here!" "yes," the venusian girl nodded, "but i haven't told you the most important part, luhor's plan. if he succeeds, there will be no peace. he has taken the men to the asteroid where marnik's new fleet of space vessels are to be assembled. but worse than that--_they are also to fit gigantic rockets to the asteroid itself_! it is very dense, and greatly pitted, which simplifies things. with the rockets of this new metal he can guide the asteroid's course! it will be the terror of space, literally invulnerable, with banks of immense electro-cannon and atom-blasts, and cradling a swarm of the new spacers!" ernest carston could only hold his head in his hands. earth's greatest enemy had died in marnik, but a greater, more ruthless one had arisen in luhor! "go on, aladdian, please," mark's tones were reassuring. "luhor does not suspect that i contacted his mind. he believes all of you have died in the wastes--i got that from his mind, too. since he will return, because vulcan's to be the seat of his empire, and he wants me, we have time to plan how we are going to receive him. he's persuaded that the only living being on vulcan now is a defenseless girl." she smiled enigmatically. "but that asteroid! that hellish threat to earth!" carston was beside himself. "and to venus, and mars," aladdian reminded him gently. "it will take months for those rockets to be installed, earthman. he will be here long before that, i am certain of it--as only a woman can be certain." she raised her eyes and gazed at the doorway. * * * * * framed at the entrance to the dining-room, cynthia marnik stood looking somberly and dry-eyed. aladdian rose swiftly and went over to her. "my dear ..." the venusian said softly, a world of compassion in her voice. cynthia smiled wanly and took the tumbler of water that carston extended to her. she drank dazedly and then sat down with the inexpressible weariness of one whose world has come tumbling down about her head. aladdian darted to the kitchen and upon returning made the earth girl drink a cup of concentrate, then led her away, to her bedroom. "you must sleep," aladdian was saying softly, monotonously, with a hypnotic cadence in her voice. "i wonder if it will be safe to arm the men?" carston questioned thoughtfully, his mind grappling with the problem. "that's a chance we'll have to take," mark denning replied. "a few among them are not really hardened criminals, but are _politicals_, as you know. i think they will all fight for us, provided we can offer them freedom when, and if, we win." "i can make them no promises not sanctioned by the earth council," carston said stiffly. "remember, their lives are forfeit!" "and so will ours be, if you don't snap out of that single-track rut in which you've grooved your brain!" mark exclaimed acidly. "council or no council, the earth, venus, mars and the colonies must be saved! this is no time to quibble about ethics. a hell of a lot will be left of your council if we don't stop luhor!" "you startle me sometimes, mark denning. you do not sound as a true servant of the earth state!" "because to you," mark said slowly, "the state is the few decrepit members calling themselves the council, and the top-heavy government of earth. but to me, the 'state' are the millions and billions of human beings whose destinies are ruled by a self-appointed few, and who are now facing even a worse slavery if we don't succeed in being what aladdian calls 'the unpredictable!'" carston's face flushed with anger. he drew himself to his full height as he said, "i represent the government of earth, which rules the planets--and i am your superior officer!" "you're wrong!" mark denning countered, rising too. "i'm a free agent as of this moment, and recognize no superior. i'll not be hamstrung by rules and regulations which can't serve us now, carston!" "no need to quarrel," aladdian spoke placidly from the doorway where, unnoticed, she had been listening. "because only i and cynthia can make terms with earth, if we survive." "you and commander cynthia?" carston exclaimed. "both of your lives have been forfeit. i doubt if the council will be willing to listen to any terms coming from _you_." mark denning's face was stained by a dull flush, and he took a step forward; but aladdian laid her hand lightly on his arm and stopped him. "the colonel belongs to the old order," she said very softly, "it is difficult for him to adjust himself to a changing universe. but this time it is beyond his control." "why?" carston uttered the word grimly. "because through the ethero-magnum i have already warned venus and mars. my planet is being mobilized. mars will soon take the necessary steps. but the most important reason of all, is that earth has no means of landing a fleet on vulcan, does not know the location of luhor's asteroid, and _does not even suspect the existence of the new allotropic metal_." carston looked baffled as the venusian girl spoke, then turned to mark denning with the expression of a man who for once felt hopelessly lost. "i can promise the men who aid us a fortune to each," aladdian continued, "and the leisure to spend it--on venus. as for the earth," she said thoughtfully--"only commander cynthia and i know the formula for the new metal, and the location of the asteroid!" * * * * * "i will talk to the men!" mark said with a finality that left no doubt. "let them rest for a few hours, then i'll see to it that they're on our side. i know how to rouse them. wait until they learn that luhor short-changed them on oxygen! how much backing can you expect from venus, aladdian?" "to the last man," she said quietly. "they have already seen me through the ethero-magnum, and heard my story. i intercepted the tri-planetary beam as the earth broadcast, and transmitted our beam along their channel. by the time earth's government set out their interceptor to neutralize my beam, it was already too late; the three planets are seething!" "and luhor? wouldn't he have picked up your beam on the spacer and heard you?" aladdian shrugged. "he knows i'm here. the confusion created by my broadcast only served to aid his plans for the moment. he has nothing to fear, as far as he knows. a war between the planets would only make his conquest simpler." "and knowing that," carston spoke bitterly, "you still broadcast your story and let your image be seen! do you suppose venus will ever be content now with anything short of war?" "yes, i do. we are intelligent beings, not martian atavisms, nor do we have your earth's insane will to _power_. we only want peace and with it freedom. but the game is ruthless, carston, the universe is the stake!" aladdian turned to leave. "mark," she said gently from the doorway, "cynthia can show you where the arsenal is located; you'll find every imaginable weapon. also, you had better study the combination that opens the air-locks, and the synchronized degravitators. i suspect that luhor will be back here soon--_very soon_." suddenly the terrific reaction of that day hit mark with sickening impact. he was hardly able to rise to his feet. carston was slumped over the table; mark went over and shook him gently, and somehow aided the older man to his feet. together they went into the fabulously furnished salon, and unable to go any further, threw themselves on couches piled with priceless rugs and embroidered scarves from the various planets. carston instantly was asleep. despite his utter weariness, mark slept fitfully, awakening and dropping back to sleep as the hours passed in their eternal caravan. something clamored at the back of his brain, something he had forgotten because of the major crisis they'd had to confront on their return to the base. and suddenly he sat upright. the overhead lights had automatically dimmed, no one was stirring. with a shock, mark had remembered vulc and the man they had left to watch him! he leaped to his feet, aching in every bone, and ran to the building where the men were quartered. "if vulc gets tired of waiting and wriggles through that hole!..." he tried not to think of the rest. he burst into the building and roused the men. "up, on your feet, there's no time to waste!" his terrible urgency instilled them with a nameless fear, prodding them as nothing else would have done. "your lives are at stake," he told them bluntly, and reminded them of vulc. "at any moment he might decide he's waited long enough. who among you knows how to repair that breach?" three of the men came forward. "all right," mark told them, "hurry to the shops and get what instruments and materials you need--but hurry!" * * * * * the men could not return to sleep now, knowing that at any moment the base's life-giving air might go rushing away. this emergency, following so close upon the other hardships of the day, seemed too much. mark saw that they were all very near the breaking point. now was the psychological moment to speak to them, and by giving them the entire picture, lift them above the present crisis as well as inspire them with hope for the future. calmly he told of luhor's treachery in giving them a short oxygen supply, with the intention of murdering them all. deliberately, with calculated phrases, he aroused their hatred and thirst for revenge. mark paused, letting it sink in, giving time for their dark passions to reach a peak. then he told of luhor's asteroid, and the threat to the planets. he dangled before their eyes the promise of untold wealth, and freedom on venus for the rest of their lives. to give his promises authority and weight, he made no bones about the fact that he was a high operative of the tri-planetary bureau of prisons--but he climaxed it with the guarantee of a blanket pardon from the earth council itself. "you will see and hear the council on the ethero-magnum, but we shall be making the terms," mark denning said forcefully. "there's no trick in this, you have everything to gain and nothing to lose! in the swamp, your lives were forfeit; they were forfeit here on vulcan too. i promise you wealth on venus, and the freedom you'll never have any other way! who's with me?" he need not have asked, for the clamor that answered him was affirmative and unanimous. gone for the moment was their fatigue, as they embroidered upon the possibilities of the days to come. not until the trio returned from repairing the breach, bringing vulc with them, did the men return to their sleep with the first and only hope they had had in years. only mark denning realized the trials to come. these few men had been won over easily. not so easy would be the negotiated terms with earth. the earth government had won its dominance over the system the hard way, only after a bitter ten-years' inter-planetary war, and it would not easily relinquish its position. viii the days that followed were eternities to the little group left stranded on vulcan base. nerves were taut and tempers were short. every man there, as well as the two women, realized that their very lives as well as the fate of the system depended on the day of luhor's return from the asteroid. mark had aroused the men too well. they were impatient and restless. they didn't want their freedom handed to them on a silver platter, they wanted to fight for it. aladdian had said luhor would be back soon--very soon. mark questioned her about it. "even with that fast spacer," aladdian replied, "it will take him several days to get out to that asteroid and back again. cynthia tells me her father sent a crew of men there a month ago, to assemble the new spacers. luhor will undoubtedly win them all to his side, and bring half of them back to continue the work here. cynthia says--" "cynthia seems to have confided a lot in you!" mark exclaimed with a sudden, unexplainable suspicion. aladdian smiled wearily, and slowly shook her head. "you are demoted back to the lower order, mark denning," she said with a hint of the same mockery mark had known in the swamp. "cynthia marnik needs our help now. she only carried out her father's orders, but now that the dynasty is crumbling about her ears, she's bewildered and a little frightened. something else has happened to her too, for the first time in her life." "what's that?" "never mind," aladdian said enigmatically. "ernest carston knows. it will turn out all right. meanwhile you had better put the men here to work, it will help pass the time. goodbye ... mark." like an azure-winged elf she hurried back to the laboratory where she spent most of her time. that was the first instance mark could remember when aladdian had called him by his first name, and he liked it. he called the men together and assigned them to posts at the furnaces, where they continued to turn out the metal that would be fashioned into the super rocket-tubes. earth was massing its fleet and venus was mobilizing. mark realized that if a truce could not be called, they would need every one of the outlaw spacers on the asteroid, and others as well. he took a few of the men with him to the arsenal, where they began to get every available weapon in readiness for the tri-planetary showdown that was sure to come. * * * * * "tell the men to stop work," aladdian said to mark two days later, "then bring them to the laboratory. they have as much right as we to know what is happening. i have been working on the ethero-magnum sender, and i shall try to contact both venus and earth." they gathered in the magnificent laboratory george marnik had erected. here, various machines were arranged in preponderant array, but all were dwarfed by the imposing ethero-magnum in the center of the room. hidden atomomotors hummed a smooth and powerful threnody. the control panel, as tall as aladdian herself, connected to huge coils of radical design which themselves led to the televise, a huge sensitized sheet of metal reaching clear up to the ceiling. carston, an earth patriot to the end, watched these activities with misgivings. but he was silent, curiously so, and mark wondered at it. mark was soon to know the reason for carston's silence, and to realize that the earth official did not give up so easily.... "i want you all to stand back against the walls," aladdian said, "out of range of the televise. luhor may pick this up, and he must not know there is anyone here but me." she operated the dials quickly, surely, with tendril-like fingers. a faint, far away voice was heard droning monotonously. "earth is sending to venus now," aladdian said, never once removing her gaze from the dancing dials before her. "if i can intercept the earth beam, i can get my message to venus through that channel, by drowning them out. i did it once before." the sound of the voice increased, and words became distinguishable. they were haranguing, dictatorial--undoubtedly one of the earth council speaking to venus. at the same time the huge metallic sheet above aladdian's head took on a silvery glow, and a wavering scene began to appear. the scene was a crowded city square, with thousands of faces upturned to a televise screen atop one of the buildings. "that is n'vaarl, capitol city of venus," aladdian murmured. "they are listening to the earth broadcast. now i will let them see me." automatically her hand reached out, and grasped a lever which she threw downward. the atomomotors shrieked as they absorbed the increased power, and soon the sound rose above the audible. at the same time the earth voice was drowned out, and the scene at n'vaarl became very clear to the watchers in the room. on the huge public televise screen at n'vaarl, the image of aladdian, princess of venus and daughter of bedrim the liberator, became visible. the crowd did not cheer, but awaited her message, knowing that at any moment the earth would throw off the beam when it realized what was happening. "greetings, my people!" aladdian spoke quickly. "as i told you before, earth is mobilizing its fleet and i know that you are preparing for any contingency. that is well, but i entreat you not to act in any manner until you have heard further from me! there is a greater danger than that of earth! i am safe and well, i cannot come to you now, but soon--" * * * * * in that moment the earth beam ceased, and the scene on the televise blanked out. aladdian turned with a satisfied smile to mark and cynthia and the others. "it is enough that they saw me. my people will not act now without word from me. i hope i shall never have to give that word." "aladdian," mark spoke worriedly, "isn't it a risk for you to broadcast at all? the earth government doesn't know your present whereabouts, but if they were to send out tracer beams and learn you were operating from vulcan ... well, it's true that no patrol ship is equipped to land on vulcan, but they could bottle us up here--" ernest carston, who had been silent but eternally watchful, became suddenly tense at mark's words. "they _have_ sent out tracer beams," aladdian replied, "but with this instrument i can neutralize them all." fondly she touched the ethero-magnum by her side. "anyway, the immediate danger is not from earth, but from luhor. let us not forget that! and i must warn earth, must make them understand." she turned to the dialed panel again, and even as her fingers made swift connections, she continued to speak. "it may not be easy to establish a direct channel from here to earth, but i think i have completed a new trans-telector beam on which george marnik was working. it should do away with the magnetic disturbance caused by our close proximity to the sun. we shall see." again the atomomotors whined and ascended the scale. this time, there was a new exultant note. minutes passed, then the overhead screen began to take on a hazy, shifting blur. aladdian's fingers moved unerringly on the dials. the blur came suddenly, sharply into focus. carston, standing against the far wall next to mark denning, leaned tensely forward, his eyes aglow. the scene on the televise was the earth council. carston almost leaped forward in his excitement, but mark gripped his arm tightly. aladdian was speaking to the council. in slow, matter-of-fact tones she told of george marnik, of the new metal, of luhor and luhor's plans. she told of the asteroid and the fleet being assembled there, without revealing the asteroid's position. she described the properties of the new metal but was careful not to hint of its source. "i seek to warn you," aladdian's voice came fervent and clear. "you are plunging into disaster. it is not my people i think of now, but the tri-planet federation! if you continue to mobilize your fleet i am not sure i can control the irreconcilables among my people--i certainly cannot control dar vaajo of mars, who is headstrong beyond reason. it will mean an hecatomb in space, with luhor holding his asteroid in readiness for the final blow!" "this luhor and the formidable asteroid of which you speak," came the cold, sneering voice of the earth coordinator. "tell us more of them. give us the location of the asteroid." aladdian hesitated for an instant. "no. that i cannot do." "you cannot, because no such asteroid and no such metal exists! you would try to frighten us with this story of a demon asteroid and a super space fleet! it would not be that you seek to gain time for your people to rally to you, now that they know you have escaped the prison swamp? or perhaps you need time in which to coordinate your resources with those of dar vaajo of mars! let us advise you, aladdian, that within a week the main body of our fleet will be at venus, and it will not go well with your irreconcilables. we shall know how to handle them this time, we shall not be so lenient as before! perhaps, in order to spare them, you will wish to give yourself up to us, daughter of bedrim!" aladdian's slender body grew taut as though struck by a whip lash. with a single sweep of the control lever she cut off the beam. dazedly she crossed the room, oblivious to the murmurs of the others; her usually alabaster face was now chalk white beneath her curling blue-black hair, her lips were pressed tight but they trembled nevertheless. at the laboratory door mark caught her arm, walked beside her. "aladdian," he choked. "i--" she became aware of him then, smiled up at him through her bitterness. "aladdian, i am--i just wanted to say--i'm sorry i'm an earthman!" she stopped suddenly, faced him, took one of his hands in both of hers. "no, mark! do not say that, do not ever say it. for you are more than that ... much more...." ix it was night, and the overhead lights in the corridors were dimmed. ernest carston tossed restlessly in his bed. he could not sleep, he had been unable to sleep since seeing and hearing the earth council on the ethero-magnum. carston arose, and dressed quickly. silently he crossed the room to the outer door, and stepped out into the corridor. he paced slowly, aimlessly, his brow knit in deep thought. finally he made a decision, and turned his footsteps in the direction of the palace and the laboratory. he was still an earth official; he had known all the time that he would have to take matters here into his own hands. before he reached the corridor leading to the laboratory, however, he heard the soft shuffle of footsteps. carston leaped back into the shadows just as a lone figure emerged from one of the transverse corridors. it passed very close to him, and he saw that it was cynthia marnik; her face seemed very white, and her steps were hurried. carston's heart quickened a pace, as he followed her at a safe distance, keeping to the shadows. she continued along the main corridor, past the men's quarters and past the furnaces. with a shock, carston realized she was heading for the outer air-lock. he reached there in time to see the huge door slide open, then cynthia stepped through, and the door closed. carston waited, giving her time to leave the tunnel, before he followed. finally he entered the tunnel himself, having long since learned how to operate the mechanism of these doors. cynthia was gone; the outer doors were closed. carston hurried down the long tunnel. the magnetic degravitizing coils along each side were silent now, would remain so until the spacer's return. carston reached the racks of vacuum suits near the outer door, quickly donned one and was soon outside the base. against the sun-swept horizon, a hundred yards away, he could easily discern cynthia's metal-encased figure. she kept close to the shadows at the foot of the low lying cliffs. not once did she look back. a quarter of a mile further, she turned sharply, entered a narrow, steep-walled canyon. puzzled, carston hurried forward. he reached the canyon and entered it, realizing that this must be one of the few places on vulcan's surface where there was anything simulating night; it wasn't really dark, but sort of a twilight gloom between the rock cliffs sheering upward. and he saw cynthia. she hadn't gone far. her vacuum-suited figure stood very still, and she seemed to be staring up at the immensity of space. carston crept closer, came very near indeed, until he could see the profiled whiteness of her face beneath the helmet. carston stared too, following her gaze. at first he didn't see a thing. then, high on the horizon, out of the sun's glare, right between the canyon walls ... he caught the bright blue glint of a star. he suddenly realized what it was, and with a sharp intake of breath he whispered: "earth!" * * * * * she must have had her helmet phones on. she turned slowly to face him, and carston was startled at the clear-cut radiance of her face. "it's the earth, yes ... it's beautiful. there's no other place on this planet where you can see it like that, and then only when the position is right. sometimes not for months...." carston stepped quickly to her side. cynthia averted her face, but not before he saw the glint of tears in her eyes, and the lengthening glimmer of one that rolled down her cheek beneath the transparent helmet. for an instant, carston was dumbfounded. then a vast exultation surged within him. "i knew it!" he whispered fiercely. "almost from the first moment i saw you, i sensed there was something artificial beneath your mask of hardness. this is it! you don't hate earth at all, cynthia, you've never hated it!" "yes," she spoke softly, her voice deepening. "i've never hated earth. it was only father--" abruptly she stopped, and her gaze strayed to where the blue star shone like an aquamarine ablaze. "i can't remember clearly; it's like a vague dream--but i have a dim vision of green fields and golden light, and clouds in an unreal blue sky; and trees beside a wide lake, with a crisp tang of air, different from the air here. to me, that's earth. i was born there." her voice faded, and as if from a great distance carston heard her say, "oh perhaps it's just a dream." "no, it's not a dream," carston whispered, standing very close to her now. "it's part of you, it belongs to you! all earthians feel that out here, a yearning to get back. cynthia, i've loved you from the very first ... didn't you know? let me take you back with me, out of this madness that can only mean death for us all!" he stopped, at the sight of her upturned face, white and wan. "i guessed. yes, i know. i've been waiting a long time to hear you say this. and i'd go with you, carston, but how is it possible now? my life's forfeit, you yourself said so!" now carston was very sure of himself. "no, my dear," he said softly, trying to filter the triumph from his voice. "your life's not forfeit if you help prevent the carnage and destruction that aladdian's mad dream will bring about. she doesn't know, she _can't_ know the awful power of earth's fleet. luhor's vaunted super-cruisers will be so many leaves scattered in the void. this allotropic metal on which his hope of invincibility is based, can be neutralized and destroyed!" "but how? what can we do?" cynthia's voice held a note of despair, as her hand unconsciously went out to his. "we can give earth the location of luhor's asteroid, and the secret of vulcan!" he said it so softly, so insinuatingly that it was little more than a thought. "i can promise you an absolute pardon, my dear--more! i can promise you honor for aiding earth. the council knows how to reward, as it knows how to punish." "but aladdian and mark? would it not mean death, or worse, for them both?" she shuddered, as a vision of the swamp came before her eyes. "i could never condemn them to that," she thought aloud. "with my influence, i can get amnesty for them--leniency at least," carston said with the glibness of one to whom nothing mattered but the ultimate task that must be accomplished at all costs. "all earth wants is to avoid another war. if we make it possible for earth's fleet to capture luhor and neutralize the asteroid, i'm certain the council will pardon aladdian and mark." he pressed her hand confidently in both of his. she seemed to hesitate, but carston knew she had already made up her mind. "if you're sure you can obtain the pardon--and stop this senseless war--yes--yes, my dear, i'll give the earth council any information you wish--" her voice dwindled and stopped as carston took her into his arms. he, himself, was white and trembling with the reaction of having accomplished his task. over her shoulder he could see the twinkling blue dot of earth. he smiled, and it was a very smug smile. his breath was long and trembling, but his intense emotion at the moment was _not_ akin to love. x "soon, now." carston's murmur echoed eerily against the shrill hum of the atomomotors in the upper scales. the phantasmal glow of the selector screens suffused the chamber. selenic cells poured additional power into the trans-telector beam as cynthia's fingers trembled over the shining dials. carston, standing beside her, was white-faced and tense. slowly a shifting blur materialized on the huge televise of the ethero-magnum. it focused, and the thin-lipped, ascetic features of the earth coordinator materialized in the immense council room of earth. the council in full session surrounded him. all were intent on their receiving screens, on which carston and cynthia were reflected. cynthia stepped nervously aside, and carston came forward. he bowed low. then his voice, hoarse with uncontrollable elation, rose in greeting. "your beneficence, and elders of the council! i am speaking from _vulcan_, the long-sought base of captain george marnik, where i have been a prisoner for many months! but no longer. this," he gestured hesitantly, "is cynthia, george marnik's daughter, for whom i beseech the coordinator's and the council's clemency for the service she is about to do." then in slow and measured words carston told in detail all that had happened, beginning with his own release from the swamp by cynthia, relating luhor's murder of marnik, and finally telling of the asteroid where luhor's space cruisers were being assembled, and of the new allotropic metal being mined on vulcan. then he motioned for cynthia to come forward. the coordinator had listened in silence, his grim face impassive. every eye in the council room was unwaveringly on the screen, and the silence lay heavy between two distant worlds. slowly, cynthia walked toward the ethero-magnum sender, a sheaf of note paper in her hand. she smiled wanly, but confidently at carston. then in a colorless voice she read her mathematical figures giving the position of the asteroid in space, and the formula for the shortest approach from vulcan, as the key for computation of the trajectory from earth. without animation, she gave the formula for the allotropic metal process, and the secret of the entrance to vulcan. then she fell silent. as if she didn't know what to do, she turned to carston and caught for a fleeting instant the smug smile of triumph on his lips; but before she could comprehend its meaning, it was gone. "will ... will i be pardoned?" cynthia questioned aloud, more to carston than to the coordinator on the screen. but the silence in the council room of earth persisted, as busy mathematicians already were furiously computing the mathematical formulae. a thin, contemptuous smile had parted the coordinator's lips. it was the first time carston had ever seen him smile, and the room where he and cynthia stood, although millions of miles distant, seemed colder suddenly as that glacial glimmer came through the screen. carston opened his lips to speak. "your beneficence," he began- * * * * * but suddenly, catapulted from the deepening darkness of the corridors, an azure-winged figure with curved hands outstretched fell like an avenging fury upon carston's back! dainty hands, suddenly transformed into claws, dug like spikes of steel; a supple body too ethereal for strength, now seemed made of metal as the venusian girl attacked him with a savagery that brought every man of earth's distant council room to his feet! close on her heels mark denning had barely time to separate the tangled figures. carston's face dripped blood where aladdian's fingernails had furrowed deep. cynthia seemed rooted to the spot. so incredibly swift had it been, that the battle was over in seconds. aladdian's eyes were pools of fire as she faced the council. her streaming hair seemed to shimmer as she spat her venom into the screen. "very well, send your space fleet, you clumsy fools! let your madness condemn the planets to a bath of blood! yes, you have the formula for the allotropic metal--but what good is it to you without a source of supply? you have the location of the asteroid--but do you suppose your fleet can stand against such a mobile fortress as luhor will make it? but it's a waste of words, i know i can never convince you. only death and destruction can. but this i do tell you! never, _never again_ will you enslave venus! never again will you imprison me in that inhuman swamp, and never will you land on vulcan! for i have one weapon left, one which only we of venus possess. we have used it once on mars, once in our history only, for we are not warlike. but before luhor and the martian hordes overrun my planet and _yours_ as he certainly can, i will use this weapon, earthian!" on the screen, the coordinator's face was livid. "arrest her," he said across the immense distance to carston. "in the name of the supreme council of the tri-planetary federation, arrest her! her life's forfeit!" but carston stood motionless, pale as death, suddenly confronted by the grim figure of mark who gripped an electro-pistol in his hand. at this veritable moment, out of the void, cutting in on the beam like the disembodied cachination of some strange creature, wave upon wave of gigantic mirth poured on two worlds! and as every participant of this drama stood tense, watching their screens, there slowly emerged the half-breed figure of luhor, his gargantuan laughter still roaring in uncontrollable paroxysms. "so that's it!" luhor managed to choke between spasms. "what entertainment you have provided me with--and what information! and to think, aladdian, that i'd planned to make you my empress. why, my little dove has claws!" he exclaimed admiringly. his immense, ugly bulk dominated the entire screen, as his bellowing laughter began again. the earth coordinator, almost beside himself, threw a master switch; the televise screens of two worlds flickered and went blank, the pulsing whine of the atomomotors was like a dirge. cynthia passed a trembling hand across her eyes, and her gaze wavered before aladdian's accusing stare. she glanced briefly at carston with a slowly dawning wonderment, as if an awareness of his aims had begun to awaken within her. "i--i'm afraid i've made a mess of things," she said in a slow, deep voice. "ever since father's death, i seem to have lost my grip. i'm so sorry, aladdian, i thought it was for the best; carston assured me we'd be pardoned...." her voice trailed off as she turned her face away from them all. "i should burn you!" mark denning said to carston in a cold, tight voice, and carston went white. "you've managed to wreck our plans about as completely as possible. if the earth blasts luhor out of space, we face surrender or slow starvation. if luhor wins, he can starve us out or blast his way in here with his allotropic cruisers, now that he's forewarned by you. either way we lose--but i guarantee you, carston, _you_ won't come out of this easily!" each word was like ice, and aladdian nodded slowly at mark's words, a strange light in her brilliant eyes. * * * * * "we haven't lost yet, mark." with a swift motion she crossed to the ethero-magnum again, and turned it on. "remember, i have still a weapon. my people are behind me." "but venus doesn't have a fleet! earth has seen to that." "wait." her unerring precision brought the screen to life in a burst of light. a scene took place, alien, exotic--the imperial palace on venus. a great crowd stood before it in silence, extending into the distance, as if the park-like expanse had become a place of pilgrimage. in eternal vigil all faced the televise screen that rose from the floor level to the top of the palace. fantastic blue-green mountains filled the background, dwarfing the small fragile figure that materialized on the receiving screen. "my people, i speak to you for the third, perhaps for the last time--" there was a world of yearning in the cello-like voice as aladdian opened her arms toward them. a cyclonic roar burst forth in tribute and greeting, but quickly died down as they awaited her message. "when i last spoke, i told you not to act without word from me. i hoped i would never have to give that word, but now i fear i must. the hour is almost here. what i will ask of you, is the supreme sacrifice. you know what that means. i, too, am prepared to make it. there is no other way. many will die, but only that the others may avoid an even worse slavery than they now endure, and that we may attain our rightful inheritance, an equal place in the planetary federation." the voice rose like a stream of music, and tears were in aladdian's eyes. "the choice is yours, my people!" when the thunderous response had died down in waves of overpowering sound, aladdian stood in silence for several moments; in silence, too, the venusian multitude remained with upturned faces. mark had an eerie feeling that a _planet_ was in tune with the fragile, winged figure. when the connection had been broken, and once more the laboratory had reverted to semi-gloom, mark turned to carston and removed his weapons from him. "i can't take any chances with you now," he said coldly, "after what you've done. you wanted to become a hero in the eyes of the earth council. well, from now on you'll dance to my tune." "but not for long!" carston sneered openly, recovering his poise and confidence. "the game's up, denning; you're a renegade to earth and shall be treated as such. it'll be child's play for earth's fleet to burn luhor and his asteroid to a crisp. after that--" he stopped and grinned contemptuously. "after that, we'll be taken care of?" it was aladdian who spoke, and her voice was soft like dark molten gold. "careful, mark," she interposed quickly, placing her hand on mark's arm as his grip tightened on the electro. "_i_ don't deserve any lenience," cynthia said dully. "i've been a fool." aladdian gazed at the earth-girl with a universe of pity in her eyes, and a great understanding. "no, my dear," she said softly, "not a fool. only a girl in love." "but you!" she lashed at carston. "you shall reap the whirlwind; and i assure you, a venusian whirlwind is beyond your ken!" xi "no sign of the asteroid!" mark denning's voice was harsh as he addressed the restless group of men milling in front of the laboratory. "we've picked up earth's fleet, that is all; it's now proceeding beyond the orbit of mars. come in and watch if you wish, but it may be hours yet." the clang and clamor of the furnaces had long ago ceased, as vulcan awaited the outcome of the space struggle that would mean so much to them all. since carston's betrayal had become known, the men had discussed the situation from every angle. paradoxically they hoped for luhor's victory, so that _they_ could deal with the martian half-breed. at the very worst, death was better than paradim, which surely awaited them again if earth won in this crisis. as earth's fleet in awesome array, advanced toward the asteroid's position which cynthia had given, aladdian kept a ceaseless vigil at the televise. in far off n'vaarl, the palace grounds were a sea of upturned venusian faces intent upon their screen. dar vaajo sat brooding on his barbaric throne on mars, his craggy face dark with passion, thinking of the upstart luhor who had wrecked his plans. within the austere council chamber of earth, the coordinator paced to and fro before the screen, while the awed council didn't dare to stir. it hadn't been hard for the ethero-screens of each world to pick out the flaming majesty of earth's fleet, and they had followed its progress for hours. the meteoric speed seemed a snail's pace, across the respective televise panels. "look!" aladdian cried, spilling the cup of hot concentrate cynthia had brought to her. with electrifying suddenness, the scene in the panel had leaped to vivid life. concentric whorls of green, disintegrating light flashed from all units of earth's fleet simultaneously, merging into a single appalling cloud that preceded the fleet itself. to the watchers, the spread of the light seemed slow, but it must have encompassed thousands of miles. "but why?" aladdian breathed, even as she twisted the dials trying to center the scene more perfectly. "they're not within hours of the asteroid belt, and they will only give their position away to luhor!" carston, mark and the others had come crowding into the room to watch the scene. carston whispered, exultantly, "that green light is radio-active disintegrating energy! it merges with whatever it touches, unbalancing the atomic structure of metal. wait'll they envelop luhor's asteroid in that!" "yes, i know it well," aladdian murmured. "they used it in the long war against venus. but there is a neutralizing force now, which even earth does not know. george marnik developed it, right here on vulcan base." carston's lips curled, but he said nothing. the sight of earth's mighty armada sweeping forward on its mission had instilled him with a swaggering confidence. they continued to watch the scene in silence, even as the earth council and the people of venus and dar vaajo on mars were watching. still the fleet swept forward. minutes passed. the greenish half-circle of light preceded it, beating back the darkness, expanding unimaginable distances as though reaching out greedy hands. then suddenly aladdian's words came true. * * * * * from a point in space far in advance of the fleet, a tiny white beam of light became visible. it reached out like a slashing saber, swiftly expanding and closing the gap of darkness. it came from the asteroid itself, now revealed to the watchers for the first time--merely a tiny dark mass that seemed to move forward with infinite caution against the fleet. "there it is!" mark breathed. "luhor's carried his plan through! he's made a rogue asteroid of it, moved it clear out of the belt--" words ceased, as they watched the preliminary maneuvers. the asteroid's slashing saber of white touched the disintegrating power of the green. but it was the green that disintegrated! slowly, almost carressingly, the pale beam moved across the advancing blanket of light. where it touched, the green dissolved magically as though it had never been. "that's what i meant. the etheric inertia ray!" aladdian's murmur was tinged with exultation, as she sensed carston standing beside her taut with surprise. still the earth fleet moved forward in battle formation, in staggered horizontal tiers. impelled by the terrific momentum, it depended upon maneuverability to escape the impending danger. but, inexorably, the asteroid moved forward also, as if hungry to meet its enemy. limned behind its own ghastly light, it was revealed as a leisurely rotating mass of rock and mineral, with jagged pinnacles reaching out and deep black gullies agape. a blinding lance of electric blue lashed from earth's flagship, like a probing finger searching for a weak point. it stabbed luhor's white ray and ended in a corruscating upheaval of incandescent light. the asteroid was very close now; it seemed as if nothing could prevent that sidereal mass, some ten miles in diameter, from plowing through the tiers of earth spacers. but in that veritable moment when disaster seemed certain, earth's massed fleet executed one of the most spectacular feats of navigation the universe had ever witnessed. the units literally _broke apart_ and moved outward into a perfect cone-like formation, with the base, or open end, toward the asteroid. again the green radiance, from all sides now, went out to envelop the asteroid in a glaucous sheath, as the dark mass drifted into the trap. "this is it!" carston gloated hoarsely. "now watch your asteroid crumble!" the others said nothing. all were tense, as the tiny ten-mile world entered the open end of the cone to what seemed certain destruction. now the white etheric inertia ray lashed out savagely again, sweeping in swift arcs, but failed to dispel the concentrated waves of green fire. then from the surface of the dark world, luhor's own space fleet arose--six cruisers only, dwarfed in size by some of earth's larger ships. with blinding speed, the six allotropic cruisers headed for the closing jaws of the trap. * * * * * the earth commander was not prepared for such acceleration. it was unbelievable. he had little time to think, as luhor's cruisers blasted with the raking fire of electro-cannon at close range. three earth ships went hurtling end over end through the void, ripped from stern to bow. impervious to the wild fire of earth's fleet, the allotropic cruisers plowed on. two earth cruisers at the jaws of the trap were unable to maneuver in time. luhor's ships in a straight line hit them head-on, plowed through them and out again, leaving behind a tangled wreck of twisted girders and scattered debris. luhor's six ships were out of the trap now, and they wheeled in a mighty arc, hung chain-poised as though to watch. behind, the now glowing asteroid erupted the real destruction. this had been luhor's plan from the first. the balance of men taken from paradim swamp, left on the bleak little world to fight for their lives, now released hidden rocket tubes that blasted in perfectly spaced rotation. the rocky world began to spin, as it plunged ponderously forward. bank upon bank of electro-cannon lashed out like uncurled blue lightning. atomite bombs burst among earth's fleet which surrounded this deadly pinwheel. in less than a minute earth's vast armada was completely disorganized, space became a shambles of ripped metal plates, twisted rocket tubes and blasted hulls. like a livid, craggy corner of hell running rampant, the rogue asteroid spun faster and faster, spewing annihilation. but this was its death throes. the concentrated disintegrating glow had taken effect, and could not now be stopped. the craggy world began to crumble in great masses of rock and metal like a leprous organism. the few remaining units of the earthian fleet tried desperately to escape the disintegrating lethal mass--but behind them now, at a safe distance from it all, luhor's ships barred the way. pitilessly his electro-cannon raked them, impervious to their erratic salvos. his flagship with its impossible speed darted among them like a cosmic scimitar, until barely half a dozen of earth's former armada were able to flee in scattered disarray. half a dozen, out of more than a hundred. contemptuously, luhor did not even deign to pursue. where an immense battle fleet and a dwarf world had battled for supremacy in space, now only shattered metal fragments and a disintegrated rain of mineral and rock remained veiled by cosmic darkness. xii it had been too much and too sudden for speech. aladdian was on her feet now, even she was still gripped by the awe of the vast debacle. mark watched ernest carston stumble dazedly from the laboratory room, the appalling horror in his eyes betraying how intimately earth's tragedy was his. he'd sent them out there to conquer, and they had remained to die. no one spoke. the crowding men who'd hoped for a victory by luhor, even turned away before the magnitude of his power. the laboratory on vulcan reflected in miniature the shocked silence of four worlds. they'd seen the mightiest armada of all time reduced to nothing in a space of minutes. aladdian was the first to act. with the same beam, through which they'd watched the holocaust, she contacted earth. she tuned the council chamber where gray faces looked to the coordinator in bewilderment and fear. but the coordinator, stricken to the depths of his narrow soul, was incapable of speech. in the oppressive silence aladdian's winged figure materialized on the screen. "i greet you, earthians, for the last time." her molten voice had overtones of sadness. "you have seen your mighty fleet destroyed. earth is defenseless. luhor is on his way to earth." "how--how do you know?" the coordinator was moved to speech now, galvanized into life by a more immediate fear! "how? because i am right now in telepathic contact with luhor's mind." "we shall fight to the end!" "yes, i expected that of you. you would condemn earth to the same fate as your fleet. awaken, earthmen! no weapon that you have can destroy allotropic metal. you have seen luhor's ships slice through your vessels as if they were paper. you're at his mercy now." aladdian allowed her words to sink while she widened the beam to include mars and venus as well as earth, that her voice might carry to the entire federation. "i am not speaking to you only, now, but to three worlds whose fate depends on your decision. agree to what i ask, and the danger from luhor will be eliminated." "what do you ask?" the coordinator's voice came through as a mere whisper. "three things only. absolute liberation of venus and mars, which means equal representation at the tri-planetary federation council. complete abolishment of the inhuman swamp of paradim. and venus to retain vulcan with its allotropic metal as a measure of final safety. agree to these points before the assembled peoples of the inhabited planets who are listening now, and luhor shall never reach earth." on mars and earth and venus her winged figures were reflected, while her voice cadenced in the ears of untold millions. "first," came the coordinator's voice, "how are _you_ to prevent that fiend luhor from pursuing his course? and second, what guarantees will we have that venus will not build more of the allotropic cruisers to attack?" although white and shaken, the coordinator could still snarl. "i will answer your second question first. as you well know, venus has never in all her history resorted to war. rather than kill," her voice became bitter, "we submitted to earth's cruel domination. we saw the inhuman prison swamp spring into being, for greed of the josmian pearls; death and persecution for the sake of power. i even personally suffered this!" she held up her wings whose tendons had been cut. "yet despite it all, history does not record murder by venusians. _that_, earthian, is your guarantee that we shall keep the peace. as to luhor, i and i alone can stop him now. this is an offered chance you may take or leave. remember, luhor's fleet has ten times the speed of earth's fastest vessel, and will be there sooner than you suppose. think fast, earthian!" "think also," mark interposed in a voice of steel, "that here on vulcan we have the allotropic metal, the means to work it, and the men to build our own cruisers if we so desire!" "i accept," the coordinator said sullenly. despite his fear and helpless rage, he could only envisage defeat and destruction should luhor arrive at earth. as for aladdian on vulcan stopping the mad half-breed, he did not see how it was possible; but he had nothing further to lose by agreeing. with a gesture, he ordered the council to draw up a pact. four worlds watched the signatures grow one by one. then, and not until then, did aladdian play her last card as she brought venus into focus. "_now!_" * * * * * the single word was the last she uttered as she opened her arms. her people were ready. they knew the sacrifice. millions of miles away an entire _planet_, as if it had been a single cosmic mind, concentrated on luhor's fleet. a mighty stream of thought flowed out, vast but intangible. wave upon wave, directed by aladdian, the accumulated thought-vibrations beat ceaselessly upon the minds of luhor and his men. and on venus, slowly, here and there a winged figure fell and lay still, its mind sapped by the prodigious effort that knew no bounds. but the knowledge that aladdian, their princess, who directed the combined flow, was under an infinitely greater mental strain than any of them individually, gave them added inspiration. aladdian had long since made all the others, even mark, leave the laboratory. she maintained her vigil and efforts alone. on her magnum screen, which had shifted to cosmic space, the six invulnerable vessels continued their purposeful route toward earth. serenely they sped. but suddenly, with an odd twist, one of the spacers plunged headlong without warning into a sister ship. both exploded into a cataract of flame. another wavered, wheeled, then plunged toward outer space at vertiginous speed, to disappear in a dwindling dot of silver. of the remaining three, one began to fire broadsides against the others, then rotated over and over out of control, while air-locks opened and figures leaped out to instantaneous death in the frigidity of space. it was a scene of silent horror. but while scores died in space, hundreds died on venus at the magnitude of the effort. still the venusian populace of millions concentrated in purposeful silence. a sense of madness unleashed stole into the laboratory room where aladdian stood alone, motionless and white-faced. she scarcely breathed. her blue eyes were dilated. on the screen now only one cruiser remained. not until then did aladdian move, her hand reaching out automatically to the dials. a second later the interior of luhor's cruiser lay revealed. the huge half-breed had held out to the last. he'd realized what was happening, knew that the thought-power of an entire telepathic nation was reaching out across vast distances of space, the ghastly vibration of madness battering against the brains of his men. now even luhor began to succumb, his brutal face contorted by spasms of demoniac evil. his crew of men around him were already insane. a few sobbed monotonously on their knees, rocking from side to side. others were already dead. one crewman was absorbed in daintily flaying another with a bright, keen penknife, while the rest were systematically destroying the ship and each other. in the midst of the scene, luhor's face went suddenly grey and blank. he drew his electro-pistol and like a man possessed, used it methodically about him until only he remained alive. it was then that aladdian used her last remaining strength, directing luhor like an automaton to the controls, where he remained frozen. the vessel heeled in space and changed course, heading away from earth now, speeding directly sunward toward vulcan base. within the laboratory room, aladdian swayed, her face whiter than death; she grasped at the instrument panel for support, but her fingers closed on air, as she crumpled to the floor. xiii she was barely conscious of mark and cynthia and carston seconds later, bursting into the room. and of mark's face mirroring his anxiety as he hurried to her. in the same instant she knew that her people's accumulative vibration had reached an apex of power, and like an avenging fury was turning _their way--centering on one person in that laboratory room_! desperately aladdian tried to stop it, but she was too near exhaustion and too late. like a concentrated, cosmic javelin of death, that stream of madness reached carston alone. he shrieked but once, and leaped wildly, hands clutching at his temples; then he crumpled to the floor. he had been blasted to death as suddenly as if a gigantic atom-blast had drilled him between the eyes. not until then, could aladdian rise wearily to her feet, assisted by mark. sorrowfully she looked at the figure of carston. already on venus, she knew, thousands lay dead, and perhaps hundreds more had died in this final vengeful effort. "they could not forget," she said sadly, "that it was carston who hounded me throughout the system to result in my imprisonment at paradim; and that it was he who cut the tendons of my wings." she still clung to mark's arm, half-supported by him. but despite her utter weariness and all she had gone through, aladdian still had eyes for cynthia, who stood there, a forlorn, shattered figure, staring down at the body of carston. "do not mind too much, my dear." aladdian's voice and heart went out in pity to the earth girl. "in a short time you will forget all that has happened here. come with us to venus, i know you will find happiness there." "with us?" it was mark who spoke, his voice a bare whisper of hope. "yes, mark." aladdian smiled at him, the impish smile he had known in paradim. then from the recesses of her tunic she drew forth a gleaming, iridescent pearl. "the purple josmian!" mark gasped. "the one i found in the swamp. i'd forgotten about it!" "i kept it for you, mark, knowing i would need it for this moment. from lower species to middle order," her smile was impish again, "is not bad for an earthman. take the josmian now, it's yours; with it i elevate you to the highest order and--" but she said no more, for within mark's arms she was deciding he wasn't much taller than the average venusian; no, not a great deal taller, at all. the golden amazons of venus by john murray reynolds [transcriber note: this etext was produced from planet stories winter 1939. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] [sidenote: dakta death, horrible beyond the weirdest fever-dreams of earth-men, faced space ship commander gerry norton. the laconic interplanetary explorer knew too much. he stood in the dynamic path of lansa, lord of the scaly ones, the crafty monster bent on conquering the fair city of larr and all the rich, shadowless lands of the glorious amazons of venus.] the space-ship _viking_--two hundred feet of gleaming metal and polished duralite--lay on the launching platform of new york city's municipal airport. her many portholes gleamed with light. she was still taking on rocket fuel from a tender, but otherwise all the final stores were aboard. her helicopters were turning over slowly, one at a time, as they were tested. in the _viking's_ upper control room gerry norton and steve brent made a final check of the instrument panels. both men wore the blue and gold uniform of the interplanetary fleet. fatigue showed on both their faces, on steve's freckled pan and on gerry norton's lean face. gerry in particular had not slept for thirty-six hours. his responsibility was a heavy one, as commander of this second attempt to reach the planet venus from earth. well--he would have a chance to catch up on sleep during the long days of travel that lay ahead. the two officers finished their inspection, and strolled out onto the open deck atop the vessel. for a while they leaned on the rail, staring down at the dense crowds that had thronged the airport to see the departure of the _viking_. in this warm weather the men wore only light shorts and gayly colored shirts. the women wore the long dresses and metal caps and thin gauze veils that were so popular that year. around the fringes of the airport stood the ramparts of new york's many tall buildings, with the four hundred story bulk of the federal building a giant metal finger against the midnight sky. "when are we going to pull out, chief?" steve brent asked. "as soon as the ship from mars gets in and olga stark can come aboard." "funny thing--i've never been able to like that gal!" steve said. gerry smiled faintly. "that puts you in the minority, from all reports. however--that's aside from the point. she's the most capable space-pilot in the whole fleet, and we need her. what's she like personally?" "tall, dark, and beautiful--with a nasty tongue and the temper of a fiend," steve said. he yawned, and changed the subject. "y'know--i've just been wondering what really did happen to the _stardust_!" gerry shrugged without replying. that was a question that was bound to be in the minds of all members of this expedition, whether or not they put it in words. travel between earth and mars had been commonplace for more than a generation now, but there had not yet been any communication with venus--that cloud-veiled planet whose orbit lay nearer the sun than that of earth. two years ago the exploring ship _stardust_ had started for venus. she had simply vanished into the cold of outer space--and never been heard from again. * * * * * gerry norton thought the _viking_ would get through. science had made some advances in these past two years. his ship would carry better rocket fuel than had the _stardust_, and more efficient gravity plates. the new duralite hull had the strength to withstand a terrific impact. they would probably get through. if not--well--he had been taking chances all his life. you didn't go into the interplanetary service at all if you were afraid of danger. "there comes the ship from mars now!" steve brent said, suddenly pointing upward. a streak of fire like a shooting star had appeared in the sky far above. it was the rocket blast of the incoming space liner. yellow flames played about her bow as she turned on the reverse rockets to reduce the terrific speed. the roar of the discharge came down through the air like a faint rumble of distant surf. then the rockets ceased, and the ship began to drop down as the helicopters were unfolded to take the weight and lower her easily through the atmosphere. "it won't be long now!" steve said in his low, deep, quiet voice. "aye, not long!" boomed a deep voice behind them, "but i'm thinking it will be a long day before we return to this braw planet of ours!" angus mctavish, chief engineer of the _viking_, was a giant of a man with a voice that could be heard above the roar of rocket motors when he chose to raise it. he had a pair of very bright blue eyes--and a luxuriant red beard. there were probably no more than a dozen full sets of whiskers worn in the earth in this day and age, and mctavish laid claim to the most imposing. "fuel all aboard, chief," he said, "the tender's cast off and we're ready to ride whenever you give the word." "just as soon as these people come aboard." "tell me, mac," steve brent interposed, "now that we're all about to jump off into the unknown--just why _do_ you sport that crop of whiskers?" "so i won't have to button my collar, ye feckless loon!" the big engineer replied instantly. "the scots are a queer race." "aye, lad--the salt o' the earth. we remain constant in a changing world. all the rest of you have forgotten race and breed and tradition, till ye've become as alike as peas in the same pod all over the earth. we of scotland take pride in being the exception." "and in talking like some wild and kilted highlander of the twentieth century! you're out of date, angus!" "if you two are going to argue about that all the way to venus," gerry said grimly, "i'll toss you both out and let you drift around in space forever." "speaking of the twentieth century," steve said, "one of the ancient folk who lived in that long ago and primitive time would be surprised if they could see the new york of today. why, they made more fuss about one of their funny old winged air-ships flying the atlantic than we do about a voyage to mars or the moon." the ship from mars settled gently down on the concrete landing platform, and her helicopters ceased to turn. from a hundred nozzles along the edge of the platform came hissing streams of water, playing upon the hull that had been heated by its swift passage through the outer layers of the earth's atmosphere. then, as the hull cooled, the streams of water died away and the doors opened. the passengers began to emerge. a platoon of police, their steel helmets gleaming in the glow of the lights, cleared a path through the crowd for a small group that hurried across to the waiting _viking_. a few minutes later three newcomers came aboard. all wore the blue and gold uniform of the interplanetary fleet. the two men were martians, thin and sharp featured, with the reddish skin of their race. the other was an earth woman. olga stark stood nearly as tall as gerry norton's own six feet. she had a pale skin, and a mass of dark hair that was coiled low on her neck. "pilot-lieutenant stark and flight-ensigns tanda and portok reporting aboard, sir," she said quietly. "you'll find the officers' quarters aft on b-deck. i'm calling a conference in the chart room as soon as we get clear of the stratosphere." * * * * * gerry norton stood on the little platform at the top of the control room, under a curved dome of transparent duralite that gave him a clear view along the whole length of the _viking's_ super-structure. the last member of the expedition was aboard, the airport attendants had all stepped back. the time of departure had come at last! "close all ports!" he snapped. "close ports it is, sir," droned chester sand, the safety officer. warning bells rang throughout the ship. tiny green lights came winking into view on one of the many indicator panels. "all ports closed, sir!" the safety officer sang out a minute later. for a moment gerry bent over the rail of the platform and himself glanced down at the solid bank of green lights on the board. "start helicopters!" he ordered. there was a low humming. the ship began to vibrate gently. from his place in the dome, gerry could see the _viking's_ dozen big helicopters begin to spin. faster and faster they moved as angus mctavish gave his engines full power. then the ship rose straight up into the air. "here we go, boys--venus or bust!" steve brent muttered under his breath, and a low chuckle swept across the control room. the lighted surface of the airport fell swiftly away beneath them. the myriad lights of new york were spread out like a jeweled carpet in the night, dwindling and seeming to slide together as the drive of the _viking's_ powerful motors carried her steadily upward. at the three thousand-foot level they passed a traffic balloon with its circle of blue lights, and the signal blinker spelled out a hasty "good luck!" * * * * * at the thirty thousand-foot level they passed an inbound oriental & western liner, bringing the night mail from china. she hung motionless on her helicopters to let the _viking_ pass, her siren giving a salute of three long blasts while her passengers crowded the decks to cheer the space-ship. after another ten thousand feet they were above ordinary traffic lanes. the glass windows of the control room were beginning to show a film of condensing moisture, and steve brent brought the heavy duralite panes up into place. "stand by rocket motors!" gerry commanded. "stand by to fold helicopters. ready? _contact!_" there was a muffled roar. the _viking's_ nose tilted sharply upward. momentarily the space-ship trembled like a living thing. then she shot ahead, while the helicopters dropped down into recesses within the hull and duralite covers slid into place over them. gerry climbed down from the dome into the main control room. momentarily he glanced at the huge brass and steel speed indicators. "twelve hundred miles an hour," he said. "fast enough for this density of atmosphere. hold her there. summon heads of departments and all deck officers to the chart room." the call was quickly answered. the assembled officers stood leaning against the walls, or perched on the chart-lockers. now that the trip had actually begun, uniform coats were unbuttoned and caps laid aside. angus mctavish had a battered brier pipe clenched in his teeth. the stem was so short that the swirling smoke seemed to filter upward through his whiskers. "better be careful, mac," said portok the martian. "maybe the air filters won't be able to handle that smoke of yours." "never mind the air filters, sonny!" grunted the big scot with imperturbable good humor. "they'll handle the smoke of good 'baccy better than the fumes of that filthy _grricqua_ weed you smoke on mars." a radio loud-speaker had been left on, and they heard the voice of an announcer on some european station: "we now bring you a brief sports résumé. in canton, china, the shantung dragons played a double header with the budapest magyars. the score of the first game was...." "wonder if they ever heard of baseball on venus!" steve brent chuckled. "maybe they'll learn as fast as we of mars," said portok. "i seem to remember that in the last interplanetary championship series we...." "skip it!" steve growled. "i lost a week's salary on that series." mctavish and portok grinned. gerry norton watched them with a smile on his lean, dark face. they were a good crowd! the _viking_ was going on the most dangerous journey mankind had ever attempted, a journey from which no one had ever before returned alive, but he could not have asked for a better group of subordinates. they were people of his own choosing, and all but two were old shipmates. though he had never sailed with chester sand, the safety officer had been highly recommended. neither had he ever sailed with olga stark before, but he knew her by reputation as an excellent navigator and when she applied to go he felt he should accept her. * * * * * for half an hour gerry held them together, while he set the watches and checked assignments and outlined other routine details. then the meeting ended, and only steve brent remained with him. they walked forward into the darkened control room, where the only light was the dim glow from the indicator boards. the quartermaster on watch stood motionless beside the steering levers. gerry noticed that he had a tendency to rise a couple of inches off the floor with each step. the pull of earth was already lessening! he threw the switch that controlled the attraction-gear, and heard a faint hiss of shifting gravity plates beneath their feet. the feeling and impression of normal weight returned. for a moment gerry and steve stood looking out one of the big duralite windows of the control room. at this level the legions of stars gleamed with an unreal brilliance in the dead black of the heavens. the earth was a vast globe behind them, glowing for a quarter of its surface with the familiar outlines of the continents still visible. with the lessening pull, the _viking_ had increased speed to five thousand, but she seemed to be standing still in comparison with the vastness of space. "funny thing, chief," steve brent said meditatively, "olga stark and chester sand are not supposed to have met before they came aboard this ship--but i saw them whispering together in that dark corner off corridor 6 as i came forward." "maybe she's just a fast worker," gerry said. for a moment the incident irritated him, but then he shrugged and forgot it. on a purely scientific and exploratory expedition of this kind, there was no possible motive for any underhand work. * * * * * the days passed in slow progression. the _viking_ had attained her maximum speed of fifty thousand miles an hour as the ceaseless drive of her great rocket motors forced her ahead, a speed possible in the void of outer space where there was no air to create friction. for all her great speed by earthly standards, she was but crawling slowly across the vastness of interplanetary space. life on board had settled down to a smooth routine. now and then alarm bells would suddenly ring a warning of the approach of a small planetesimal or some other vagrant wanderer of outer space, and the ship would change course to avoid a collision. otherwise there was little excitement. astern, the familiar earth had dwindled to a shining disc--like the button on an airman's uniform. ahead, the cloud-veiled planet of venus drew steadily nearer. passing along one of b-deck corridors one day, gerry met olga stark coming out of the recreation rooms. she was off duty at the moment, and instead of her uniform she wore a long gown of green silk. her dark hair was surmounted by a polished metal cap, and a thin gauze veil hung to her chin. gerry stopped her with a gesture. "very decorative, lieutenant," he said with a twitch of his lips, "but this is supposed to be a scientific expedition. i must ask that you wear your uniform outside of your cabin." "i am off duty!" she retorted, her dark eyes suddenly angry and sullen. "it's true that you're not on watch at this moment, but everybody is on duty twenty-four hours a day till this expedition is over. resume your uniform." "and if i refuse?" she asked. "you'll go into double irons. when i'm commanding a ship, i do just that!" for a moment their glances met, the woman's hot and angry, the man's cold and unyielding. then, without another word, she swept away to her cabin. gerry norton sighed, and went on his way. he had never become entirely reconciled to the presence of women in the interplanetary fleet. they made good officers most of the time, but occasionally they had fits of feminine temperament. * * * * * at last there came the day when the yellowish, cloud-veiled mass of venus filled half the sky ahead. watches were doubled up. rocket motors were cut down as the attraction of the planet pulled them onward. then the forward rocket-tubes began to let go for the braking effect, and the flame of the discharges filled the control room with a flickering yellow light. as they entered the outer atmosphere layers of venus, the effect of air on the sun's rays gave them natural sunlight and blue skies again for the first time in over six weeks. something about the effect of yellow sunlight slanting in the portholes raised the spirits of all of them, and men were whistling as they went about their work. gerry brought the ship to a halt a few thousand feet above the endless, tumbled mass of clouds that eternally covered all of venus. they were now near enough to be fully caught in the rotation of the planet's stratosphere, so that they had normal night and day instead of the eternal midnight that had gripped them for weeks. early the next morning, with all hands on duty, the _viking's_ helicopters began to drop her down into the cloud-mass. the cottony billows swept up to meet them--and then they were submerged in a dense and yellowish fog. moisture gathered thickly on the windows of the control room. "this reminds me of a good london fog!" said angus mctavish, who had come up from his engine rooms for a few minutes. "i wonder if they have any good pubs down there!" the soupy, saffron-colored fog enshrouded the _viking_ as she dropped lower and lower. gerry norton checked the altitude personally, watching the slowly moving hand of the indicator. twice he held her motionless while he sent echo-soundings down to make sure they were not too close to land. then they went a little lower--and suddenly came clear of the cloud mass. they were sinking slowly downward through a peculiarly murky, golden light that was the normal day-time condition on the planet of venus. they had arrived! below them stretched the rippling waters of a vast and greenish sea. it was broken by scattered islands, bare bits of rock that were dotted with a blue moss and were utterly bare of life except for a few swooping sea-birds. on a distant shore were lofty mountains whose peaks were capped with snow. in one or two places a narrow shaft of sunlight struck down through a brief gap in the canopy of eternal clouds, but otherwise there was only that subdued and peculiarly golden light. nothing moved but those few oddly shaped birds. "lord--but it's lonely!" gerry muttered. there was no sign of human existence, no trace of the towers and buildings of mankind. not even any sign of life at all, except for those sea-birds. it was like a scene from the long-ago youth of the world, when the only life was that of the teeming shallows or the muddy shores of warm seas. the place was desolate, and forlorn, and inexpressibly lonely. they had opened some of the ports for a breath of fresh air after long weeks of the flat and second-hand product of the air filters, with its faint odor of oil and disinfectant. the breeze that came in the open ports was warm and moist and faintly salty. "rocket motors--minimum power!" gerry commanded quietly. "there's no use landing on one of those bare islets. we'll see what lies beyond the mountains." the subdued blast of only two rocket tubes began to drive the _viking_ forward at a slow speed of about 300 m.p.h., while long fins were thrust out at the sides to carry the weight and free the helicopters. all hands were crowded at the windows and ports. after a moment olga stark turned to gerry. "our magnetic compasses are working again, captain," she said quietly. "i suggest going across the mountains and then turning southwest." "why there--rather than in any other direction?" gerry asked quietly. the girl shrugged. "just a hunch. of course, it's all guesswork." the _viking_ had to go up to a level of 18,000 feet above this lonely venusian sea before she was above the peaks of the mountains. then gerry turned her inland. just before they left the shoreline they passed some sort of a flying _thing_ that swooped down to prey on the sea-birds. it had a reptilian body, and a spread of leathery wings about twelve feet across. "will you look at that!" steve brent muttered. "i'd hate to meet that on a dark night!" gerry said grimly. along the shoreline as they flashed inland he could see monstrous, crawling things that moved sluggishly along the beaches or in the shallows. it began to seem that life on venus was on a different level than that of the outer planets. the _viking_ drove steadily westward across the mountains. from the lower control room windows gerry could see only drifted snow and naked boulders, and the gauntly lonely peaks. the air was thin and cold. the canopy of yellow clouds was only a little way above them. then, across the mountains at last, they dropped down toward a broad table-land covered with patches of forest and alternate stretches of open grass-land. "cut rockets!" gerry snapped. "prepare to land!" a few minutes later the _viking_ settled gently down in a broad clearing, where the coarse grass was knee high. for the first time in over six weeks the sound and vibration of the motors ceased. the expedition had landed on venus! * * * * * the landing party filed out a door that opened in the lower part of the hull. the moist air was a little warmer than that of earth, and it had an unfamiliar smell of growing things, but its density seemed about the same. since the size of venus was similar to that of their own planets, neither earth-man nor martian had much trouble in walking as soon as they became accustomed to a slightly lesser gravity. gerry found he could leap eight feet in the air without any trouble. gerry split the landing party into four groups, sending them spreading out like the spokes of a fan. "don't go more than three miles from the ship without further orders. study the countryside thoroughly, and then report back on board." all the landing party wore light armour of steel coated with duralite, and carried ray-tubes at their belts. every third man had a heavier ray-gun with its cylindrical magazine, not unlike the old-fashioned machine gun. their polished armor took on a golden tinge as they tramped away across the grass-land, while behind them the _viking_ lay motionless in the grass like a great torpedo of steel and blue. gerry took personal command of the southernmost exploring party, leading them into a broad belt of forest. it was very still beneath the giant trees, where strange yellow flowers hung from the branches and their path wound between clusters of ten-foot ferns. huge toad-stools of purple and green rose higher than their heads, and once they saw a giant ant some three feet long who scuttled off through the underbrush with the speed of a galloping horse. gradually gerry became separated from the rest of his party, bearing more to the southward as he caught a glimpse of more open country through the trees. then, on the edge of a small clearing, he abruptly halted as half a dozen men appeared on the far side. that is, gerry thought of them as men for lack of a better term. they were like nothing he had ever seen on either earth or mars or any of the planetoids between. lean bodies were covered with glistening gray scales. though the hands seemed human, the feet were clawed and webbed. short, flat tails hung behind them. the faces were scaleless, low-browed and green-eyed, with a jutting mouth and nose that came together in a sort of snout. they had pointed ears that stood sharply erect. their general appearance was a little more on the animal side than the human, but they had swords slung at their belts and carried short-barreled rifles. in the center of the group was a woman. she was naked except for a scarlet loin-cloth and golden breast-plates. this was no semi-reptilian creature, but a woman straight and clean-limbed and beautiful, with long blonde hair that hung nearly to her waist. she had blue eyes, and her skin was about as white as gerry's own, though it had a faintly tawny tinge so that she appeared all golden. at the moment her hands were tightly tied behind her back and a cloth gag distended her lips, while one of the scaly men led her along by a rope about her neck. gerry stepped out into the clearing with his ray-tubes swinging free in his hand. his wide shoulders were thrown slightly forward, his whole muscular body was tensed and ready beneath his armor. as always when he went into a fight, his lean, and normally somber face was smiling. * * * * * the captive girl saw him first, and her eyes widened in utter surprise. then the half dozen reptilian men caught sight of the lone earth-man standing there in his gleaming armor, and their snout-like mouths sagged open. gerry walked quietly forward. he was half across the clearing before the venusians recovered from their surprise. then one of the patrol flung his short rifle to his shoulder. there was a hiss of escaping gas, and a split-second later an explosive bullet struck him in the chest with a flash and a loud report. it would have instantly killed an unprotected man, but it did no more than slightly dent gerry's armor. the earth-man half crouched, his eyes narrowing and his jaw jutting suddenly forward. he had meant to try and parley, but diplomacy had no place with creatures who shot first and challenged afterward. his ray-tube swung up to the level. there was a sharp crackling sound, and for a second a murky red light played around the open end. the nearest venusian crumpled and went down. he twitched for a second, and then lay still. the gray scales had turned dead black in the area where the death-ray had struck him. at least the scaly men had courage! the remaining five came forward with a shrill and almost canine yelping, advancing at a bent-legged run. their rifles hissed as the compressed gases were released, the explosive bullets crackled all around gerry. twice more his ray-tube let go its deadly blast--and then his weapon was empty. he cursed himself through clenched teeth for having strayed away from the patrol while armed only with a light tube with simply three charges. two more of the reptile men lay twitching in the tall grass, but the other three were almost up to him. after that one volley they had drawn their swords, which probably meant that their compressed-gas rifles were cumbersome things to reload. and then gerry norton suddenly remembered the greater strength of his earthly muscles. as the foremost venusian lunged for him with long blade swinging, gerry bounded high into the air. he went clean over the head of his antagonist, coming down squarely on top of the next behind. they both went sprawling, but gerry recovered first. gripping the fallen venusian by the ankles, the earth-man swung him around his head like a flail and hurled him squarely at the other two. the three of them went down in a tangled heap. by the time the reptile men again scrambled to their feet, gerry had snatched up the sword of one of the men he had killed with the ray-tube. now he had something to fight with! the long sword whistled as he jerked it free from its scabbard. for an instant he tested the blade in both hands. it was forged of some bluish metal that seemed as strong and flexible as well-tempered steel. then, still smiling his thin-lipped smile though his eyes were as cold as the wintry seas, gerry norton waited the onrush of the three venusians. there were a few seconds of clashing steel. the reptile men were good swordsmen, but they were no match for the speed and strength of the man from earth. two of them were stretched on the ground with cloven skulls, and then the last survivor turned and ran. gerry could have caught him easily, for the webbed feet of the venusian did not make for great speed, but he was content to let him go. when the scaly tail of the fleeing creature had vanished in the underbrush, gerry thrust his sword upright in the ground--where it would be handy if he needed it again in a hurry--and freed the golden-haired girl from her bonds. "i wonder where _you_ fit into this picture, bright eyes!" he muttered, knowing she would not understand. there was certainly nothing of the shrinking violet about this girl! when her hands were free she faced gerry without any sign of either fear or even much gratitude, standing erect with her hands on her hips and her eyes nearly on a level with his own. "_jaro quimtar_--who are you?" she asked in martian. * * * * * gerry stared at her in startled surprise. the girl had unquestionably spoken in martian. it was a very old and antique form of the language that she used, a dialect that had not been heard on mars itself for countless generations, but it was possible for gerry to understand it. the last thing he had expected to find on this planet of venus was anyone who spoke one of the tongues common on the outer planets! "i'm gerry norton," he said. "geree!" the girl repeated. "you talk funny." "same to you, sister," gerry grinned. "and just who are you, anyway?" "i am closana, of course, the daughter of rupin-sang!" the girl said haughtily. "don't you see the golden arrow?" she touched a small golden arrow that hung from a light chain about her neck. it seemed to be some kind of an insignia of rank. her deep blue eyes were looking at him thoughtfully. "you wear queer clothes, geree," she said at last. "where do you come from?" "from earth." she frowned. "where is that? is it one of the lands beyond the great sea?" "much farther away than that. it's another planet, far off in outer space." "you lie," she said. "such a thing is not possible." "okay, sister," gerry snapped, "we won't argue about that right now. who were your unpleasant friends here? what do we do next?" closana walked across to take the sword of one of the slain reptilians. she tested its balance, seemed satisfied, and then belted the scabbard about her own waist. she handled the long blade with the experienced ease of a warrior, and for the first time gerry noticed the play of corded muscles beneath the smooth and tawny skin of her arms and shoulders. closana, daughter of rupin-sang, was feminine enough but there was nothing of the clinging vine about her! she threw her long hair back over her shoulders and faced gerry with the sword in her hand. "you should have killed the last of the scaly ones," she said, "instead of letting him get away. now he will bring the whole raiding party down on us." "who are they, those things you call the scaly ones?" "their region lies beyond the frontier of our land of savissa," the girl explained. "we are near the boundaries now. there is constant warfare between ourselves and the scaly ones. now and then their raiding parties break through our ring of barrier forts, and it was a group of five hundred such raiders that captured me this morning. that one who escaped will bring the rest back with him." "then i guess we'll need help!" gerry said grimly. * * * * * there was a two-way, short-wave radio set built into his helmet. he reached up to adjust the switch, then flashed the alarm signal. a few seconds later he heard the answering voice of portok the martian, who was in command of the nearest of the _viking's_ exploring parties. "jumping ray-blasts, chief, we were wondering what had happened to you!" "guide on my transmitter and get here as soon as you can!" gerry snapped. "hurry!" a few minutes later they saw a glint of armor through the trees, and then the half dozen members of the exploring party emerged into the clearing. their eyes were wide with surprise as they saw closana standing beside gerry. "who's your yellow-haired friend, chief?" portok asked with a broad grin. he had spoken in martian, the two tongues being practically interchangeable with the men of the interplanetary fleet. closana's eyes flashed fire. "speak of me with more respect, little red-face!" she snapped. portok's jaw sagged open, but before he could say anything further the underbrush on the far side of the clearing suddenly vomited a yelling horde of the scaly ones. they came in close-packed masses, yelping shrilly. their scaly skins and the blades of their swords gleamed in the subdued yellow light. evidently bent on capture of the small group of strangers, they were not using their gas-guns. "keep together! fall back toward the ship!" gerry roared, drawing the sword he had captured earlier in the day. there was a sharp crackle of ray-blasts as the earth-men fell back before the charging horde of the scaly ones. the short hand-tubes were soon exhausted, but the heavy ray-guns carried by two of the men fired steadily. murky light continually played about their stubby muzzles. dozens of the scaly ones dropped, twitching, in the tall grass before the deadly blast of the rays, but the shouting hordes came on unchecked. and then a bugle sounded somewhere off on the flank! "now, you scaly devils!" closana screamed, facing about and waving the sword high above her head, "the frontier guards have arrived!" long lines of warriors charged out through the bushes to take the reptile men on the flank. the front line of skirmishers carried heavy bows and had quivers of arrows slung on their backs, the ranks behind were armed with shields and spears. rank by rank and company by company they came, nearly a thousand strong, the ringing clamor of brazen trumpets urging them onward. gerry norton stared at them blankly, scarcely able to believe what he saw. all the warriors were women! they were tall and clean-limbed, with long golden hair that streamed behind them as they ran. like closana, they wore bright-colored loin cloths and had round gold plates fastened across their breasts. the might of the golden amazons of venus swept forward like a giant wave, with a spray of tossing spear points above it. then the trumpets sounded again, and the arrow storm began. the front ranks loosed their long shafts swiftly, and the air became full of the twang of bow-strings and hiss of speeding arrows. a shouting officer of the scaly ones went down with a pair of shafts feathered in his chest. his men were dropping all about him as the gold-tipped arrows struck home. * * * * * the reptile men were using their gas-guns now. the sharp hiss of the discharges rose above the twang of the bow-strings, the snap of the exploding bullets was like a crackle of old-fashioned musketry. the projectiles ripped holes in the front ranks of the amazons, but they still came bounding forward. then the sharp reports of the exploding bullets died away, for the gas-guns were cumbersome things to re-charge and there was no time. the two lines met with a clash of steel. gerry norton had thrown his armoured earth-men and martians as a guard around closana when she ran toward the center of the amazon line. on two occasions small parties of the scaly ones cut their way through the guarding spears to reach them, and each time the blast of the heavy ray-guns mowed them down. the clatter of meeting blades was like the noise of a thousand smithies, the shrill yelping of the reptile men was drowned out by the triumphant blast of the amazon trumpets. the scaly ones were giving back all along the line, under pressure of superior numbers and the greater agility of the lithe amazons. gerry fought with the long, blue-bladed sword in his hand and the shield of a fallen amazon on his left arm. with the greater strength of his earthly muscles, he raged through the fighting while his heavy blade wrought deadly execution. and then it was over! the scaly ones broke up into scores of fleeing groups and fresh companies of amazons bounded in pursuit with their long bows twanging. closana leaned on her dripping blade and held out her hand. "it was a good fight, geree. i think i will take you for my husband." "i think," gerry said, "we'll just leave that idea for discussion some other time." * * * * * the fleeing survivors of the scaly ones had gone, with companies of light armed amazons in hot pursuit. the others were tending the wounded and gathering up the dead, picking up fallen weapons, doing all the routine tasks that are the aftermath of battle. closana was now surrounded by a body-guard of tall, blonde amazons whose loin-cloths bore the same design of a golden arrow-head as her own. "i think," she said to gerry, "that you should come to see my father rupin-sang, who is ruler of this land." quite a thinker, decided gerry. "we can take you there in the ship if you show us the way," he said shortly. a horde of amazons thronged around the big blue-and-silver hull of the _viking_ where she lay in the knee-high grass. as the members of the landing party filed on board and turned their ray-tubes in to the ordnance officer to be recharged, the other members of the crew came out to stare at the visitors. angus mctavish stood on the steps of the ladder with his big fists on his hips. "will ye look at all the bonny lassies!" he said, "this may not be such a bad planet after all." the feminine warriors of venus saw mctavish then, and a sudden murmur swept over the throng. an instant later a hundred blades flashed in the air in salute, and then all the amazons dropped down on one knee. "now what the devil...?" muttered steve brent who had come out of the ship just behind mctavish. "just a proper tribute to my outstanding personality, lad!" the big scot muttered aside. closana read the surprise in gerry norton's eyes. "there are few men in this land of savissa," she explained, "and the wearing of a beard is the sign of a noble of the highest rank." "wonder how long it will take me to grow a good crop of whiskers!" steve said. closana and a dozen of her body-guard came aboard, looking curiously about them. as the venusian princess walked into the control room she came face to face with olga stark. for a long moment the two women stood looking at each other, their clashing glances hard and intent. the golden venusian and the dark haired earthling. then closana shrugged and turned away. "i do not like her," she said calmly. a slow flush spread over olga stark's face, and her eyes smoldered, but she did not answer. with helicopters spinning, the _viking_ rose a thousand feet in the air. then she moved ahead at minimum cruising speed. closana stood at one of the control room windows to point the way. * * * * * it was a strange land that they saw moving past below them, though a pleasant one. there were rolling uplands, and patches of forest, and occasional villages surrounded by broad tilled fields. except for the yellowish tinge to the vegetation, and the odd shapes of the trees, it might have been an earthly countryside. then gerry noticed another thing! though it was broad daylight, as bright as it could become on this planet, there were no shadows at all. the diffusing effect of the eternal cloud barrier kept the light equal on all sides. "the land of no shadow!" he said aloud. for the first time in this busy day he thought of the fact that they were forty million miles from home. if anything happened to the _viking_, they would spend the rest of their lives here. they passed some of the barrier forts, square and stone walled buildings reminiscent of medieval castles on earth. in the misty hills beyond, closana told gerry, lay the country of the scaly ones. "what is it like?" he asked. she shrugged, but her eyes were shadowed. "all i know about it is legend, the sort of tales that old women tell in the evenings. many of our people have been taken there as prisoners in raids, but none has ever returned alive." leaving steve brent in command in the control room for the moment, gerry went aft to his quarters where he had a compact tri-dimensional-cinema outfit. he was passing along one of the corridors on b-deck when he abruptly halted. a faint humming was coming from behind the closed door of the radio room! the _viking's_ sending outfit was not strong enough to bridge the vastness of interplanetary space. such outfits existed, of course, but only a small set had been installed on the space-ship because of the extra weight involved. the radio room had been closed and locked weeks ago. no one was supposed to have access to it except steve brent and gerry himself. and yet--the unmistakable hum of a generator was coming from behind the closed door! gerry cautiously tested the knob of the door. it gave under his hand. as he opened the portal a crack, he clearly heard the sharp murmur of the sending apparatus. then he swung the door wide on its noiseless and well oiled hinges. a dim light gleamed across the room! a dark figure was crouched tensely over the table that held the sending set. at the moment gerry could not see who it was. two steps gerry took into the room. three steps. the rubberoid soles of his shoes made no sound. then a crushing weight descended on top of his head! in the half second before he lost consciousness, he realized that there had been a second interloper in the radio room. someone who had been crouching against the wall by the door, and who had slugged him as he passed. * * * * * when consciousness returned to gerry norton, he was lying alone on the floor of the darkened radio room. he sat up, and rubbed his aching head, and swore softly. there was no sign of the interlopers, nor any clue to their identity. the whole incident puzzled him. his assailants must have been from among the _viking's_ crew. that was surprising enough in itself, but there was also the problem of motive. why would anybody be sending a secret message when there was no receiving set within millions of miles? the thing just didn't make sense. closing the radio room behind him gerry went back to the control-room and drew steve brent aside. "look here, steve! i just found someone sending a secret message out over the radio, and got knocked on the head before i could see who it was." "you must have been reading some of those funny old twentieth century gangster yarns of evil deeds!" steve grinned. "i'm serious. that really happened." gerry snapped. the grin faded from brent's freckled face. "then it must have been chester sand," he said promptly. "why do you say that?" brent shrugged. "because he's the only man aboard that i don't know too well to suspect." "interesting logic," gerry grunted, "but we can't lock a man up on such negative grounds. keep your eyes open. i'm going to try to sweat some information out of someone as soon as we get through this ceremony of visiting the king of this place." * * * * * women working in the fields looked up as the _viking_ passed, lifting a hand to shade their eyes as they stared aloft at the soaring space-ship. other women drove small carts along the white roads that wound through the fields. there did not seem to be any men in this land at all. then, along the far horizon ahead, there began to lift the domes and towers and minarets of a mighty city. closana proudly lifted her arm. "the golden city of larr!" she said, "capitol of our land of savissa. none but our own people have ever penetrated those walls except as prisoners of war." the walled city of larr dominated the plain in all its towered splendor. its walls of polished yellow stone were more than a hundred feet high. the serrated battlements at the top were faced with plates of thin gold. domes of blue and scarlet gleamed within the walls. slender minarets lifted their lattices high in the air. in the center was a massive round tower whose top was shaped like the point of a golden arrow. "but surely your people never built this place!" he gasped. closana shook her head. "the city was not built by my people as they are now. larr, the golden city, is very ancient. it was built by the old ones--they who lived here long ago, in the dim dawn of time. i have forgotten most of the tale but my father can tell you." as they passed over the outer walls, gerry saw some long steel tubes mounted on swivels above the battlements. they were protected by gleaming metal shields. he touched closana's arm. "what are those things that look like giant ray-guns?" "those are the defences of the walls," the girl answered, "we also have them at the barrier forts. in some way they send out rays of heat that burn and shrivel all things within reach. i do not know much about them, but my father can tell you." "looks like he's going to tell me a lot of things," gerry said. closana shook back her long hair and looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. "yes, geree. he will also tell you why you had better marry me as i suggested." "i told you we'd have to let that subject wait till later!" he said grimly. steve brent prodded him gently in the ribs. "persistent souls, these golden amazons!" he said in english. * * * * * the appearance of the _viking_ in the air over larr created a mounting excitement among the citizens of the city. through the open windows of the control room gerry could hear the brazen clamor of many trumpets, sounding the alarm. crowds appeared on the roofs. arrows streaked up at the space-ship, futile shafts that fell short of the mark. as they neared the central tower, gun crews swarmed about two of the ray-tubes. knowing the resisting power of the _viking's_ duralite hull, gerry was not greatly worried, but closana seemed to feel that things had gone far enough. hitherto the girl had been quite evidently enjoying the consternation that the _viking's_ arrival had caused among the defenders of the city. now she leaned far out from the open window and waved reassuringly. as she was recognized, defense preparations ceased and the gun crews began to cover their weapons up again. the _viking_ settled gently down on the worn stone pavement of a square plaza directly before the central tower. a ring of amazon spearmen instantly formed to keep back the curious crowds, and other companies were drawn up as a guard of honor. they saluted closana with a shout and a surge of uplifted spears when she and gerry stepped out the opened starboard door. then, when angus mctavish came out with a group of senior officers a few seconds later, all the amazon warriors dropped instantly down on one knee while their spear-points rattled on the stones. the big engineer beamed through his beard, and tilted his uniform cap to a more rakish angle. "i have already stated that these folk are a verra discriminating people!" he said with deep satisfaction. closana turned to gerry. "it would be better to take only a few of your people along when we go into see my father." gerry faced about, his glance running quickly over those of his crew who had emerged from the hull and were standing nearby. "steve brent stays here in command," he said quietly, "you come with me, angus. and portok. and one other...." he hesitated, then named olga stark. later he was to wonder what evil genius had led him to select her as one of the party. he could not quite remember. probably it was just a desire to take as varied and representative a group along with him as possible. closana looked annoyed at his choice, but did not comment. * * * * * they passed through the ranks of the spear-guard, and up to the octagonal main door of the tower where carved golden leaves slid back into the wall on each side. a blue light glowed around the inner frame of the door, and closana held up her arm. "wait till the blue light fades, for it is death," she said quietly. then, as the light died out, they all stepped inside while the golden leaves of the door closed clashing behind them. they were in a winding corridor whose stone walls were faced with polished stone and hung with ancient tapestries. the place was lighted by metal discs set flush in the ceiling, discs of a substance that gave forth a soft and golden glow. even this light, gerry noticed, was so diffused as to be shadowless. "the land of no-shadow!" he muttered under his breath, remembering the phrase that had come to him earlier. somehow the friendly old earth seemed very far away at that moment! in an ante-chamber they met the first man they had seen since they reached venus, aside from the half-animal raiders of the scaly ones. this man was short and slight, with a very high forehead and unusually large eyes. his skin had the same tawny tinge as that of the feminine warriors of his race, but he was more lightly built than they. he wore a loose yellow tunic, and his hair and thin beard were heavily shot with gray. somehow he looked tired, and old even beyond his years, as though the sands of his race were running very low. "rupin-sang awaits your coming," he said to gerry. as portok and the others from the _viking_ came into sight, the venusian stared at them with strangely startled eyes. he said nothing more, but his glance seemed to hold a strange, terrible haunting fear. at the end of the corridor they stepped into a small golden car. a door closed behind them. the floor shot rapidly upward. a few seconds later the door of the lift-car swung open again and they stepped out into a round chamber near the top of the great tower. "enter to his highness rupin-sang, lord of savissa and the mountain lands, ruler of field and forest and castle, hereditary warden of the great sea!" the venusian courtier said sonorously. the room was circular, with glassless windows set in the walls every few feet. a warm breeze blew in to stir the tiny metal discs that hung around near the tops of the walls in a sort of frieze, setting them swinging till they clashed together with a continuous jingling. a small fountain murmured in the center of the room. a peculiarly shaped telescope stood by one wall, and there were other scientific instruments of a type unfamiliar to the earth-men. * * * * * in a big carved chair in the center sat a very old man, a rolled parchment lying across his knees. what remained of his hair and beard were pure white. his face was lined and sunken. he half raised his arm in a ceremonial gesture of welcome, but then a sudden expression of alarm came over his face. he pointed with one shaking hand. "_aie_--woe to the city of larr! the hour of the fulfilment of the prophecy is at hand! woe to larr, with its walls and towers!" closana hurried to her father's side. a moment later the old man had regained his calm. he greeted them with formalized speech of welcome full of old phrases, then added: "forgive my agitation when you first entered, _hiziren_, but it brought to mind the doom-filled phrases of what we of savissa call the prophecy of jeddah-khana." "what is that?" "it is a very old prophecy, carved in an ancient runic script on the stone walls of one of the vaults under this tower. tradition says it was put there by the old ones who built this city, and of whose science we are the unworthy heirs." rupin-sang bowed and touched his forehead as he mentioned the old ones. "the prophecy states that the day will come when a red-skinned man and a dark-haired woman and a ruddy, bearded giant will come together to the city from afar, and that within a month thereafter the golden city of larr will crumble and return to the dust." "but surely you don't take such old legends seriously!" gerry said. the old man smiled. "my head tells me not to, but superstition is strong in we of savissa. however--i can take comfort from the fact that the old legend also prophecies a re-birth for savissa after the great catastrophe. but enough of this talk of portents and legends! i give you welcome to savissa, and to the city of larr. also, i thank you for rescuing my youngest daughter from the scaly raiders. whence come ye?" gerry sketched in hasty phrases the outline of present conditions on earth and mars, and told of their trip through space to venus in the _viking_. rupin-sang nodded without showing any particular surprise. "and so that's the story," gerry concluded. "we're curious about some of your conditions here. the women warriors, for instance...." "it was not always so in the land of savissa," rupin-sang said with a faint smile. "in the days of the old ones there was a natural balance of the sexes. but, as the slow centuries passed, the birth rate gradually changed. now one child in five thousand born in savissa is a male. the few men we do have are needed for certain administrative and scientific work, particularly the supervision of the alta-radium mines in the mountains from which we get the raw material for the alta-ray tubes that are our greatest protection against invasion." "i saw the tubes on the walls," gerry said, "but why is it that your mobile forces are armed only with primitive weapons like bows and arrows?" "because we cannot possibly mine and produce enough of the alta-radium to do more than supply the defences of the city and of the barrier forts. the possession of the secret of that ray has kept our borders free from the scaly ones except for isolated raids like the one you encountered today, but we cannot arm our troops with the ray." "and the gas-guns of the scaly ones?" "they are a good weapon--but we have not the materials to manufacture them on this side of the border." "sounds like what we used to call a 'balance of power' in the days when earth was torn by wars," gerry said with a smile. "but tell me one thing more. i notice that in this land you speak an archaic form of martian." "the tempora-scope can tell you the story better than my words." rupin-sang nodded to his attendant, and a cloth cover was removed from a broad metal disc that was attached to some kind of a machine. he touched a control lever, and the mechanism began to hum. blinds were dropped down over the windows, so that the room was filled with a murky twilight. the humming sound grew steadily louder. now the metal disc glowed with a brilliant light. momentarily its polished surface clouded over, as though obscured by a thin fog, and then the mists drifted aside. * * * * * before them they saw the universe as it was in the youth of the world, when roaring volcanoes were still active on the moon and the rings of saturn were just drifting out from the girth of that spinning sphere. it was as though they were looking out through a circular window somewhere in the sky. the machine gave a perfect illusion of reality, not merely tri-dimensional but touching all the senses as well. they could hear the roar of new-made satellites spinning off into the void, and the rush of burning gases. they could smell the scent of molten rock. then time passed! the planets began to cool. the mud-flats steamed under a cloudy sun, the mountains shouldered their way upward through the tilted and riven fields. on the edges of inland seas, the hot shallows were filled with slimy things that crawled with their bellies dragging. they could hear the ripple of the waters, and the rustle of warm winds blowing through the flowerless and fern-like forests. gerry could smell the rank odors of the steaming and primitive jungles. there was a pungent taste on his lips. once he stretched his hand out toward a trilobite that seemed to be crawling up to his feet--and he felt the coarse surface of the shell before he pulled his hand back again. the picture changed once more, centering on a ruddy planet that swept toward them while portok exclaimed at the sight of mars in the ancient days before the planets were built. men and women walked its smooth fields, among the flaming scarlet flowers. music and laughter and the voices of women drifted on the scented winds. but mars was changing. it was drying up. life could no longer be the same. some of the people were beginning to draft the plans for the great canals that were to conserve the planet's failing supply of water, but others took to space-ships and sailed off into the void. then, for the first time, they saw the planet venus as the martian space-ships dropped down through the veiling clouds. they saw those first pioneers of space land on venus, and subjugate the natives, and build mighty cities in the plains. but something happened to the birth-rate, and most of the science of the old ones was lost when a series of great quakes swept the planet. the holdings of the descendants of those interplanetary travelers of long ago dwindled to only the city of larr and the land of savissa itself. the humming of the tempora-scope died away. the big metal disc again became blank. the machine had ceased to function, and the illusion of the reality of the past was gone. they were simply in a shaded tower room with a tired old man who sat on a carved throne. "and that is the tale of the rise and decline of our people, _hiziren_," he said sadly. "now the sands of our nation run low. i am half inclined to believe that the old prophecy will come true, and that this is the twilight of savissa and its people. but--enough of that. raise the blinds again, rotosa, so that we may have light while we can. and i ask you visitors from afar to dine with me tonight before you go back to your space-ship." * * * * * the banquet table was set on the ground floor of the arrow-tower, in a room where an open colonnade looked out on a walled garden behind the palace of the rulers of savissa. a carved wooden table was set with golden plates. faint music came from some hidden source. in the garden outside, night birds sang softly and there was a constant sound of running water from many fountains. in addition to rupin-sang, there were three of his male attendants and about twenty women. on this ceremonial occasion they supplemented their usual scanty garb with long and graceful robes that gleamed like silk. thin veils were attached to jeweled circlets. catching a glimpse of the sullen discontent on olga stark's face, gerry suddenly realized that the earth woman was jealous of her own appearance. "probably hating my guts right now for making her wear her uniform!" he thought. "women are queer!" to gerry norton, that meal was a peaceful interlude between the monotonous strain of the long interplanetary voyage and the uncertainty of what lay ahead. though some of the native dishes tasted strange to his earthly palate, the food was generally good. fragrant, heady wines from the hill country bordering savissa were served in colored glass goblets. a sound of distant singing drifted across the garden. gerry was wondering what disaster had overtaken the first expedition that had set out to reach this planet, the space-ship _stardust_ that had left earth over two years ago under command of major walter lansing. perhaps it had landed in some less friendly part of the planet and been overwhelmed by the natives before it could get away again. perhaps it had met some swift disaster in outer space and was now spinning endlessly in the void--a lifeless and man-made planetoid. in any case, he would make a thorough search for some trace of the _stardust_ before he started back to earth again. * * * * * when the meal was over and they all arose from the table, gerry noticed that angus and olga stark walked out into the garden together. it struck him as an odd combination, for olga was the one person on board with whom the genial scot was not friendly. then he forgot about it. a few minutes later closana took gerry's arm and led him out into the garden. colored lanterns hung here and there along the paths, but most of the light came from globes of glowing metal that were concealed near the tops of the trees. the effect was much like earthly moonlight, except that the moon was golden instead of silver. angus and olga should have been a few yards ahead of them, but both had disappeared. gerry wondered about it--and then a dim figure rose up in the shadows immediately before him. a cloud of choking gas, hurled squarely in his face from some sort of flask, filled his lungs with the pain of many fiery needles. gerry crumpled soundlessly to the ground. he could see and hear what went on, but otherwise he was paralyzed and incapable of sound or movement. for a moment he thought that closana was behind some form of treachery. then dark figures swarmed around him, lifting him from the ground, and he saw the dim light gleaming on gray scales. the scaly ones had penetrated to the innermost sanctuary of the city of larr! gerry's head fell back as they lifted him, and he could see that closana was equally helpless in the grip of more of the raiders. a section of grass and bushes was swung back on a hidden trap door, revealing a flight of moss-covered stone steps leading downward. the two prisoners were carried down, and the door dropped hollowly into place above them. * * * * * they were in a narrow and very ancient stone passage. moss and lichens covered the walls, moisture dripped from the ceiling. on the floor in the midst of another group of the scaly ones lay angus mctavish, evidently also a victim of the paralyzing gas. olga stark stood nearby, her long dark hair loose about her shoulders and an expression of savage triumph in her eyes. "tie them securely!" she snapped to the officer in command of the scaly men. his long-nosed, brutish face creased in a grim smile. "it shall be done, mistress!" closana was stripped to her loin-cloth. a cloth gag was twisted into her mouth, her arms were tied behind her back. gerry and angus were treated in the same way. control of his muscles was returning swiftly to gerry norton now, as the effects of the gas wore off, but he was already secured and helpless. grim rage filled gerry then, but even greater than that emotion was his utter amazement. the thing was completely beyond his understanding. this was no routine raid of the scaly ones against the people of larr, but a definite attempt to capture _him_! strangest of all was the part played by olga stark, who acted as though she was in command of the scaly men. it just wasn't possible--but it was happening. the three prisoners were pulled to their feet. guards gripped their elbows. at the first bend in the passage a small waterfall came down from above and formed a gurgling stream that ran in a deep gutter at one side. the air was hot, and moist, and heavy with the scent of running water and fungus growths. other jets of water came down from above to add to the trickle of water until, as the passage widened, a gurgling torrent ran along beside them. suddenly gerry realized where they were. this was the sewerage system that carried away the waste of the city's many flowing fountains! at last they came to the main drain, a vaulted stone passage where a twenty-foot stream of black water flowed along beside the narrow foot-path. tied up there, looking like a sea-monster in the dim light of the lanterns carried by the scaly men, was a metal boat that had only a narrow deck and a round dome above the water. a crude submarine! the three prisoners were forced aboard. their gags were removed, now that silence no longer mattered, but their arms remained bound and they were chained by the necks to a steel bar as they sat in a row at one side of the narrow hull. the raiders cast off, came aboard, and closed the dome behind them. motors hummed softly, and then the submarine moved sluggishly down the stream. at the moment the three of them were alone. they could see the scaly skins of some of their captors busied at various tasks in adjoining compartments, but there was no one within hearing. after twisting futilely at his bonds for a moment, gerry leaned back against the steel bulkhead behind him and looked over at angus. "well--here we are!" he said. "aye--so it seems!" the scot's broad face was grim. "i should have known that black-haired witch had some deviltry in mind when she asked me to walk in the garden with her!" "but where does she fit into the picture? how does she get her control over these scaly devils?" "how do i know?" snorted mctavish angrily. "ask me some more riddles! what's more to the point is where they're taking us in this queer craft." "i can guess that," closana said quietly. the girl was very pale, but she smiled faintly as she met gerry's eyes. "this drain empties into the giri river, and a few miles farther along that river forms the boundary between savissa and the lands of the scaly ones. we have never known they could travel beneath the water this way." "what will happen after they get us there?" "torture and death. once any of our people are taken across into the land of giri-vaaka, they never return alive." "nice little trip we're taking, gerry lad!" mctavish growled. "too bad you didn't bring your cinema camera along!" * * * * * the submarine moved sluggishly ahead, silent except for the hum of its motors. as gerry looked around he could see that it was a crudely constructed and makeshift craft. even so, it was more than he would have expected from men of the apparent mentality of the scaly ones. "this is a funny sort of submarine!" he said to angus. the big engineer, who had twisted around to peer at the bulkhead directly behind them, growled deep in his throat. "it's funnier than ye think, lad! look at this!" mctavish nodded toward one of the sheets of thin steel from which the bulkhead had been built. on the edge there were stamped a few words. the letters were small, and in the dim light gerry had to narrow his eyes for a moment before he could read them. u. s. gov't steel works atlanta, ga. "how in heaven's name did they get that...?" gerry's voice trailed off without finishing the sentence. mctavish shrugged. "ye don't need more than one guess. the _stardust_ must have been wrecked somewhere near here, and these devils took some of her parts to build this outlandish craft." at last, long hours later, the submarine came to a stop. as his captors led him up on deck, gerry saw that the ungainly craft had grounded in the shallows on the shore of a broad river. it was just daylight. a pale yellow light filtered down through the canopy of clouds, and a flight of marsh-fowl was winging by just overhead. "where are we?" asked gerry. "this is the giri river," closana said. "savissa lies on the far shore. this is the land of the scaly ones." some of the reptile men hauled the submarine into a cove and began to cover it over with piles of reeds. some twenty others formed up in a column with the three prisoners in the center. then the officer in command barked an order and they all moved out along a dirt road that led away from the river. olga stark was walking beside the first rank of scaly warriors. she had not looked at the prisoners at all. they tramped steadily onward through the dust in silence except for the dull slap of the webbed feet of the reptile men and the jingle of their equipment. after a while the officer in command came back to look at the prisoners. he was a grizzled veteran with shaggy ridges above his eyes and the long-healed scars of half a dozen old wounds on his scaly body. mctavish glared at him for a moment. "take a good look, sonny boy!" the big scot growled. "what's your name--if you have one?" "i should tear out your tongue for speaking in that tone to an officer of giri-vaaka," the officer said. his voice had the high pitched and metallic quality typical of his race, and he bared his pointed teeth in a not unfriendly grin, "but the torturers of the lord lansa will take care of you soon enough. i am toll, commander of a _strikka_ in the border guards." "where are you taking us?" toll grinned wickedly. "to the palace of lansa, overlord of all venus." * * * * * gerry noticed that this countryside of giri-vaaka was very different from the pleasant and cultivated fields of savissa over which he had passed the day before. the roads were dirt and half over-grown. not much of the country was under cultivation. strange purple bushes with thorns a foot long covered much of the land, crowding close on the patches of forest where ten-foot ferns towered high overhead. sometimes they came upon a grazing herd of the yard-long giant ants, who would go galloping away with their antennæ waving in the air and their hard-shelled leg-joints clicking loudly. depression hung on gerry norton's chest like a physical weight. it was not alone the fact that every stride carried them deeper into a grim and hostile land--prisoners whose doom was probably already sealed--that set him biting his lower lip till he tasted the salt blood on his tongue. nor even the fact that closana shared the same fate because she happened to have been with him at the time of the raid. it was also the utter strangeness of everything. yesterday, in savissa, the people and the mode of life had been nearly enough to normal so that he was not deeply conscious of the strange vegetation and the other things in which venus differed from earth and mars. now everything seemed different, and alien. the lowering yellow skies of venus were ominous. the hot winds brought strange smells and seemed to carry a hint of doom. the one thought that gave him any real hope was the fact that portok the martian had not been captured with the rest of them. he must have missed them soon after the abduction. there might be a chance that he and steve brent would bring the _viking_ to look for them. * * * * * they had begun to pass occasional small farms. these were scanty fields carved out of the creeping masses of purple thorns, usually with a roughly thatched hut in the center. on one such occasion the farmer and his family stood apathetically at the roadside to watch the patrol of reptile men go by. "but they're not scaly!" gerry exclaimed. closana shook her head. "no. they are of the green men of giri. once they held this land while the scaly ones dwelt in the marshes of vaaka farther west, but the scaly ones have now been masters of this place for many generations." the green men, gerry noticed, looked like ordinary earthlings except for a slight greenish cast to their skin. probably, like the golden amazons, they were also descended from the old ones who had come from mars so long ago. the ragged and mud-stained farmer gave toll a perfunctory salute, and then leaned on his hoe to watch the column pass by. the warriors of toll swaggered along the road with the insolent assurance of men who know themselves masters of all around them. the farmer's green face was carefully expressionless, but there was a gleam in his eyes that spoke of no great liking for his scaly masters. when his glance lingered on gerry's for an instant, the earth-man read a definite sympathy in it. they camped that night in a clearing beside a small stream. one of the guards shot a giant ant with his gas-gun, then cracked open the horny shell with his sword. they cut long strips of the meat and roasted it over a fire. though the taste was peculiar the stuff was edible, and the three prisoners managed to swallow it. "the condemned man ate a hearty meal!" angus mctavish said with grim humor, wiping his fingers on the coarse yellow grass beside him. olga had gone on with a faster-moving detachment, and only a dozen scaly ones remained with toll to guard the three prisoners. gerry and closana sat side by side before the fire, their bare shoulders touching. the ruddy and flickering glow of the firelight touched angus' giant frame a little farther around the circle, and then the scaly skins and long snouts of the reptile men watching them. gerry clasped his arms around his knees. "y'know angus, at the moment we're living as our ancestors must have lived long generations ago. no ray-tubes or dura-steel armor. no portable electro-phones. not even a low-speed rocket car to carry us along. it must have been this way back in the days when they built that little old building that's now used for a museum in new york. the empire state building." "you've got your dates mixed, laddie," mctavish yawned. "the empire state was built in the twentieth century, and even the people of those queer old days were more advanced than most of what we've seen of life on this planet of venus." "i don't suppose those ancients knew what they were missing." "maybe they were better off! at least they only got into trouble on their own earth instead of wandering off to other planets like a pack of fools as we have!" toll and two of his men came toward them, carrying the ropes with which they had earlier been bound. "sorry, but i must tie you up for the night," he said. for an instant gerry thought of making a break. if he could get away he might find some way of rescuing the others. then he decided against it. one of the reptile men would be almost sure to bring him down with a gas-gun before he got out of the circle of firelight, in spite of the greater strength of his earthly muscles. so he shrugged, and allowed the guards to tie him up again. for quite a while he lay awake, hoping to hear the hum of the _viking's_ motors, but at last he fell asleep. * * * * * on the third day of their journey, the trail led upward, into a range of bleak and rocky hills. a few mean huts were the only signs of human habitation. then, as they rounded a bend in the trail which at this point clung to the face of a cliff, they saw the answer to a mystery that had puzzled the civilized world for two years. it was the wreck of the space-ship _stardust_. she lay at the foot of a cliff across the valley, her steel and duralite hull still gleaming brightly through the thick green creepers that had grown up around it. even from this distance gerry could see the hopelessly crumpled rocket-tubes at the stern, and the gaping holes where plates had been ripped away to make the submarine that had brought them out of the city of larr. "so that was the end of the _stardust_!" gerry muttered. "i wonder what happened to her crew!" "we'll probably find out soon enough!" mctavish replied grimly. "i'll bet all the gold in savissa against an empty rocket-oil tin that we're headed for the same fate right now." "poor devils--i suppose the scaly ones did get them. i never liked walter lansing, as you know, but i could have wished him better luck than this!" at last they crossed the hills and saw a broad valley before them. dim and snow-capped mountains notched the yellow sky on the far side of the valley. a river wound through the plain, and on the shore of the saffron waters of a mighty lake they saw the gray walls of a city. toll, the reptilian captain, pointed across the valley. "yonder lies the city of vaaka-hausen. soon you will stand before the lord lansa, and then," he added with a grim and ghoulish humor, "neither i nor anybody else will be bothered with you any more." the countryside immediately around the city of the scaly ones was better kept and more cultivated than what they had seen of the rest of giri-vaaka. there were a number of small villages. then they passed in through the walls, gray stone ramparts that seemed to be very old and were in poor repair. the muzzles of heavy caliber gas-guns peered over the battlements here and there. the crowds in the streets stared curiously as toll led his prisoners toward the center of the city. tall reptile men swaggered through the crowds with their swords slung on their hips, but the shorter green men were in the great majority. most of them, men and women alike, stared at the captives without any particular sign of emotion. this gray and crowded city of vaaka-hausen had none of the atmosphere of pleasant friendliness that gerry had noticed in larr. it seemed a place of fear and oppression. * * * * * the palace of the ruler of the scaly ones was a squat gray building in the center of the city. an arm of the river swept along beneath one wall, with the muddy waters lapping at the aged gray stones. an iron gate swung aside to let the newcomers into the courtyard. men who wore black metal breast-plates over their scales took over the prisoners from toll, leading them down a long flight of stairs into the dungeons beneath the palace. they waited in a vaulted chamber where the only light was a shaft of yellow radiance that came from a narrow slit high up near the ceiling. "it won't be long now!" gerry muttered. then a gong sounded somewhere nearby. it was a very resonant and deep-throated gong, and instantly the rock-walled chamber became filled with a green light. it had no visible source, seeming to come from the walls or from the very air itself. again the gong rolled. "the lord lansa comes!" barked the captain of the guards, "the overlord of venus is at hand. down on your knees, captives and slaves." closana went to her knees, though otherwise holding herself proudly erect with her hands tied behind her back. in the greenish light her long blonde hair looked like molten gold. angus mctavish muttered savagely in his beard and stayed on his feet. instantly one of the reptile guards drew his sword and held the blade horizontally behind the scot's knees. "kneel--or i cut the tendons!" he snapped. "come down, you stiff-necked idiot!" gerry growled. with a muttered oath angus dropped to his knees, and the guard stepped back into line. then the door opened, and three men came slowly into the room. two were gray-scaled guards who carried their gas-guns cocked and ready. the third was a tall man in a loose green robe. his head was hooded, so that nothing of his face could be seen at all, his hands were tucked in the sleeves of his robe. there was something deadly and almost grotesque about that silent figure. gerry knew that at last he was in the presence of lansa, lord of the scaly ones and ruler of giri-vaaka, self-styled overlord of all venus! * * * * * the seconds passed in silence. the guards were frozen motionless at attention. at last lansa spoke, his voice coming hollowly from the shadows of his hood. "take them to the cells. their doom shall be decided when the serpent gods have spoken. i have ordered it!" the tyrant of venus gestured sharply, and the guards closed in about the prisoners. for a fleeting instant gerry had a glimpse of a thin green hand, a hand where the finger was missing at the second joint. then lansa went out and the door closed behind him. the deeply resonant gong sounded again, and the pulsating green light instantly vanished so that there was again no light except for the thin trickle of yellow radiance that came in the single high window. the prisoners were pulled to their feet. there was no chance to speak to angus or closana again. gerry's guards led him down a narrow corridor, past the steel doors of cells. it was very dim and silent. from some of the cells he heard a faint rattle of chains, from others a low groaning. otherwise there was no sound but their own footfalls. at last the guards opened the door of a cell, pushed gerry inside, and cut the ropes that bound his arms. as they slammed the heavy steel door behind them he heard the rasp of bolts. then the slapping tread of the guards' webbed feet died away and he was left alone. dim as the light in the corridor had been, that in the cell was so much less that gerry had to wait half a minute before he could see at all. then he made out the outlines of a small, bare cell with a bunk made of a light and flexible metal at one side. there was nothing else in the place. gerry rubbed his wrists a moment to restore circulation, then sat down on the edge of the bunk and dropped his head in his hands. he seemed to be about at the end of his trail. well--that was fate. he did not mind so much for himself and angus. you knew you were taking risks when you signed up for interplanetary travel in the first place! but he was sorry that closana had been dragged into it. gerry had now lost all hope of rescue by the _viking_. he did not doubt that her duralite hull could withstand the explosive bullets of even the heaviest caliber gas-guns, nor that her three-inch ray-tubes could blast a way into these underground dungeons in a few minutes. if only steve brent knew where to come! that was the rub. there was now no way for brent to learn where the prisoners were being held, and he could not search all the land of giri-vaaka. something small and furtive was moving about on the floor a few feet away. gerry scuffed his feet on the stones, and the creature scampered quickly away. probably a rat! it seemed that he was going to have pleasant company during his stay in this place. restless and gloomy, gerry stood up again. he started to walk up and down the few feet that the length of his cell allowed him. then he froze motionless! a faint tapping was sounding from somewhere to his left. someone was knocking lightly on the wall of the adjoining cell. then a voice spoke softly in martian. "you there! you in the next cell! can you hear me?" * * * * * gerry knelt down on the damp floor and put his head close to the base of the wall. now he could hear the man more clearly, could even hear his heavy breathing. gerry's groping fingers found a place between two of the stones where the mortar had been picked away to leave a small air space. "yes, i hear you!" he called softly. he heard a dry chuckle. "good! i have been waiting a long time for them to put someone in the next cell. some of the stones are loose. i will come in." there was a soft rattle of falling mortar, and a scrape of sliding stones. gerry saw the head and shoulders of a man thrust through the opening, and then the man crawled laboriously into the cell. "who are you?" he whispered. "your accent is not like that of the green men of giri. wait, i have a light here." a small flashlight clicked on. its beam pointed up into gerry's face. then the man gasped. "good lord!" he whispered. "it ... it's gerry norton!" then the man swung the light so that it swung on himself. gerry saw a tall, gaunt man in the tattered remains of a blue and silver uniform. it was major walter lansing, once of the interplanetary fleet, who had commanded the ill-fated _stardust_ when she set out on her voyage into space! "norton!" he gasped in a hoarse whisper. "man, i never expected to see anyone from earth again!" "we thought you were dead." "i might as well be!" lansing said grimly. "but tell me how you come to be here." as they squatted there in the darkened cell, gerry whispered the story of the _viking's_ expedition and of his own capture. lansing told him how the _stardust_ had been wrecked on the rim of the mountains when landing, and how the scaly ones had captured all the crew. "they have kept me alive because the signs pointed that way when they cast the omens before the serpent gods," lansing said, "but all the rest of the crew were used as bait for hunting the giant dakta. they died. you and your companions will probably meet the same fate." "pleasant prospect!" gerry said grimly. lansing gripped his arm. "there's a chance, norton! listen! i've been able to get these scaly devils to bring me a good many things from the wreck. i couldn't get a ray-tube, they were too wise for that, but i did get a portable radio by telling them it was my tribal god. i have it in my cell. we'll go over and you can phone your ship to come after us." he eyed gerry eagerly. "let's go!" they both crawled through the gap in the wall. it was like gerry's own, but it was piled with an assortment of junk from the wrecked space-ship. in one corner stood a compact two-way radio telephone set with its tubes still intact. "think you can tell them how to come?" lansing whispered. "i'm not sure. they marched us along the roads, and the route was winding, and...." "i'll draw you a map!" lansing interrupted. "you hold the light." while gerry held the flash, the other man spread out a piece of crumpled paper on the floor and began to draw on it with the stub of a graphite stylus. he talked as he wrote, in a shrilly, excited whisper. gerry had never liked the man in the old days, considering him excitable and undependable, and it was evident that the long captivity had not improved walter lansing's self-control. that did not matter. the main thing was to get out of this place. and then gerry saw something that stiffened every muscle and made the short hair prickle all down the back of his neck. the ring finger of lansing's left hand was missing at the second joint! * * * * * the suspicion that had come to gerry norton seemed impossible. walter lansing ... the lord lansa. it couldn't be. and yet--he was sure he had seen that same mutilated hand thrust out from the sleeve of a green robe an hour before! lansing was still talking as he bent over the improvised map. "here's the line of the giri river. tell them to cross by the bald gray hill, then bear west-six-north, using venusian magnetic bearings. after that...." he suddenly stopped and looked up, catching gerry's grim glance fixed on his left hand. hastily he jerked it aside into the shadows. he must have read in gerry's eyes that his move had been too late, for his own gaunt face hardened. "_you rat!_" gerry hissed between his teeth. his right hand shot out, clutching for the other man's throat, but lansing twisted aside and jerked a dark object from his pocket. an instant later a stinging cloud of the paralysis gas took gerry in the face, and he fell limply to the floor. lansing straightened up and tossed aside the flask that had held the gas. there was a savage gleam in his narrow eyes. "all right, norton," he said, "we'll do it the other way. ho--guards!" a gong sounded in the corridor, the pulsating green light immediately flooded the cell. scaly-skinned guards swarmed in and saluted. lansing ripped off the torn uniform, revealing a tight-fitting green garment beneath it, and one of the guards helped him on with the cowled robe he had worn before. he glanced down at gerry for a moment. "bring him and the others up to me when he recovers the use of his muscles," he said. * * * * * by the time gerry norton recovered from the effects of the gas he had been securely bound again. two guards led him to the end of a corridor and up a flight of stairs to the level above. this was also part of the prison zone of the castle, but built in an entirely different manner. walls and floor were of a polished green metal. super-charged electronic locks fastened each door, holding death for anyone who attempted to tamper with them. metal globes gave a steady light. mirrors above each cell door gave the guards who lounged in the corridors a complete view of the inside of every cell. this, gerry realized, was actually the prison used by the lords of giri-vaaka. he had been placed in the old and abandoned dungeons beneath as part of the scheme to lure him into calling the _viking_ to her doom. glancing in the door-mirrors of the cells as he went by, gerry saw that most of the occupants were men and women of the green race of giri, with a fair number of golden amazons and a few reptile men who had been guilty of some crime or infraction of discipline. then he saw closana! the girl was tightly spread-eagled against one of the polished metal walls of her cell, her outstretched wrists and ankles held by steel cuffs. gerry's jaw jutted stubbornly forward, and for a moment he twisted helplessly against the cords that held his arms behind him. the guards halted before a door deep in the interior of the palace, where a pair of scaly warriors stood on guard with gas-guns cocked and ready. the opening itself was not closed by any door, but by what looked like a tightly stretched curtain of some transparent green material. on closer inspection he saw that it glowed with a steady pulsation, while occasional specks of green fire ran through it. when one of the guards moved incautiously back so that the tip of his scabbard touched the green glow filling the door, there was a crackling hiss. the tip of the scabbard simply vanished. it was as though it had been cleanly cut off by a very sharp knife. a challenge came from within, and one of gerry's guards shouted a reply. the green glow suddenly vanished from the doorway. whatever elemental force it was that blocked the passage had been withdrawn, and they walked freely in through the opening. * * * * * the wide room before them was walled with slabs of polished black marble. the figures of writhing snakes and rearing reptiles were inlaid into the black walls with some iridescent green stone. their eyes were inlaid jewels. thin trails of pungent smoke drifted upward from their nostrils. a low and throbbing music, full of the thunder of muted drums, came from unseen source. at regular intervals around the walls stood tall golden standards with glowing globes atop them. this was the throne room of lansa, lord of giri-vaaka, who had once been an officer in the flying forces of earth. the man himself sat on a black marble throne with a dozen of the higher officers of his scaly warriors grouped around him. these inner guards wore breast-plates and helmets of a bright green metal, and their pointed ears protruded upward through twin openings in the sides of the helmets. lansa's swarthy face was gloatingly triumphant. it had always been gerry norton's private opinion that walter lansing was slightly mad. brilliant in many ways, but definitely unstable. at last he appeared to have slipped over that shadowy border that divides the rational from the insane. "it is unfortunate that my little scheme to have you summon your space-ship here did not work," lansa said in english. "but we will find some other way of persuading you to do it." "you think you're quite the little tin god, don't you?" gerry sneered. "i _am_ a god--to these people," lansa replied quietly. "though the _stardust_ was damaged too badly to return to earth, little of her equipment was harmed except for the rocket tubes themselves. within six months after landing i had made myself master of these primitive but obedient people. the submarine that brought you from the city of larr shows what can be done with them. in the meantime i had communicated with friends on earth by means of a secret radio frequency, and waited for the sending of the next space-ship...." he broke off as a door behind the throne opened and a woman came into the room. it was olga stark, now wearing a long gown of shimmering green. metal strands of the same color were braided into her dark hair, which was crowned by a circlet bearing the design of a rearing serpent. all the officers and courtiers lifted their arms in salute. the woman walked over and stood beside lansa's throne, looking down at gerry with a cold and impersonal scorn. it had not taken olga stark very long to fit herself into the role of the queen of giri-vaaka! * * * * * a number of things were clear to gerry norton now! it had been olga stark with whom lansing had secretly communicated after he made himself master of the scaly ones, and that explained her insistent requests to join the expedition. again, it had been olga who had been surreptitiously using the radio to talk to lansing that day when gerry had stepped into the radio room on hearing the hum of the generator. they had been arranging the details of his abduction. only--who was olga's confederate who had knocked him over the head when he had walked in on them that time? there was still some traitor on board the _viking_. "i have now developed the resources of this country to the point where the final campaign is ready," lansa boasted, "all these reptile men needed was a man of sufficient brains and initiative to lead them. we are making ray-tubes, modeled on those aboard the _stardust_, and will soon be able to blast down the guardian forts of savissa and to conquer those few other portions of this planet that still stand against me. then i will return to the earth in your _viking_, taking with me enough gold to buy a vast fleet of ships. there is more gold available here on venus than all your banks on earth have ever imagined! i could make myself ruler of earth with all that gold, but i will choose another method. i will bring back the space-ships, and load them up with my scaly warriors--and then sail to conquer the outer planets and whatever else may lie beyond the solar system!" gerry norton stared at lansa in a grim silence. the man was undoubtedly mad. stark, raving mad! no one but a maniac would cherish such a wild dream of universal conquest. he had that dangerous combination of natural cleverness and distorted values that has often distinguished leaders who have taken nations into the shadowy valleys of ruin. for a moment lansa hesitated, his narrow eyes blazing and one arm flung up in a dramatic gesture. then some of the fire went out of him, and he returned to more prosaic and immediate things. "but all that lies in the future. at the moment i must ask you to radio-phone the _viking_ to come to this city and land in the plain just below the walls." "i'll see you in hell first!" gerry snapped. lansa shrugged. "i expected you to indulge in some such heroics! your type always does. i have not forgotten your attacks on my reputation back on earth some years ago, norton, nor your charges that i was unfit to command the _stardust_. it will give me considerable pleasure to watch what is about to happen to you. ho--guards! bring him down to the torture chamber." * * * * * the place of torture was a circular and low vaulted chamber. gerry was led across to one of the walls, and his bound hands fastened behind him to a metal ring. the place was lit by a dim green light that had no visible source, though in one spot there was a ruddy glow where irons were heating in a brazier of burning charcoal. a bench was placed for lansa and olga to sit on, and four of their guards stood beside them. the torturers themselves had been selected from among the green men of giri, instead of the scaly skinned warrior race of vaaka. they were squat and heavy men, those torturers, evidently of the most brutal and debased type that lansa had been able to find. one in particular, whose wide green face was made hideous by an old scar that had put out one of his eyes, licked his thick lips in ghoulish anticipation as his fingers prodded the flesh about gerry's ribs and felt the earth-man's muscles. "bring in the other two," lansa commanded. all about the room were the tools of the torturer's art. some were familiar things that have been used since men first began to mistreat his fellow creatures--leaded whips and stretching-racks and cradles lined with pointed spikes. others were strange looking and probably even more horrible mechanisms of coils and wires and electrodes. gerry licked his lips. the place had the hushed stillness of a chamber that has been thoroughly sound-proofed. probably no screams of agonized victims ever penetrated beyond those smooth walls of polished green metal. they brought angus mctavish in first. he looked like some shaggy red giant, wearing only a loin-cloth with his hair and beard all awry. then came closana. her crossed wrists were tied together before her by a cord that was held by one of the guards, and she was very pale. lansa nodded quickly. "let them begin," said lansa tonelessly. "a suggestion, sir!" olga leaned forward on the bench. the glance of her brooding eyes was fixed on the young amazon princess. "let them work on the girl first. it will probably succeed more quickly. i think the man norton has fallen in love with that empty headed young savage, and you know how men are." "you are right. let it be done that way." closana was spread-eagled in mid-air, her upstretched arms fastened to ropes that led to the ceiling and her ankles lashed to metal rings in the floor below. she could move nothing but her head as olga stark walked up to stand before her. "this will repay for the condescension with which i was treated in savissa!" the earth-woman said venomously. closana looked at her in silence for a moment, and then suddenly spat squarely in the other woman's face. "_atta girl!_" roared angus with all the power of his big lungs. olga struck the helpless girl twice in the mouth with her clenched fist, then returned to her seat. "begin!" she commanded. one of the torturers tossed closana's long hair forward on either side of her neck, to leave her back entirely bare for the lash. the girl's eyes were closed again, and there was a thin trickle of blood at one corner of her mouth. the torturer shook out the lash, whirled it once through the air and then brought it smashing across the middle of closana's back. * * * * * the girl's whole body writhed convulsively for a moment. there was an instant red welt where the whip had struck. a low moan escaped between her clenched teeth. then gerry norton leaned forward where he stood bound against the wall. "you win, lansing!" he said hoarsely, "stop it! make them leave her alone and i'll do as you say." "i thought you would," the renegade officer said softly. there seemed to be a definite disappointment in his cruel eyes. "i will have the radio set brought here and you can call the ship right now." "have them lower the girl down." "she stays where she is until you have finished." the portable radio-phone from the wrecked _stardust_ was brought in and set up on a stand immediately in front of gerry. olga set up the sigmoid antenna on its duralite frame, and twisted the dials to the space-ship's wave length. then she took the transmitter. "calling steve brent on the _viking_! calling steve brent on the _viking_! please come in!" she repeated over and over. at last the answering signal lit up, and steve's familiar voice came from the receiver. "this is steve brent. who is calling?" olga held the transmitter before gerry's mouth. lansa nodded to one of the torturers, who drew a white hot iron from one of the braziers and held it a little way from closana's face. "one false word and that iron goes into the girl's eyes," the lord of giri-vaaka warned in a low hiss. "after that, all of you will live in agony for weeks before we have finished. tell him to land near the city and bring all but a single watch-man to the east gate where they will be well received." "hello steve. this is gerry norton!" gerry said. brent's voice shook with excitement. "jumping ray-blasts, chief, we all thought you were done for! where did you go? what happened? where are you now?" "i'm being well entertained in the city of vaaka-havson. these scaly men are very pleasant and friendly when you get to know them. cross the giri river by a bald hill...." gerry finished the directions for the coming of the _viking_ and the landing of its crew as ordered by lansa. as the radio was turned off, the lord of the scaly ones stood up with his thin lipped smile. "good! our plans progress. now you three will go back to a cell. and, since you are no longer of any value to us, you will be used when we hunt the giant dakta on the shore tomorrow." * * * * * the three prisoners were placed in the same cell, all spread-eagled against the wall with their outstretched arms held by metal cuffs. angus mctavish's face was sour and glowering as he turned to gerry. "that was an ill thing that ye did, gerry norton," he growled. "i could not see them whip her any more." "the three of us will probably meet as bad a fate soon anyway, from what that thin faced devil said at the end, and, meanwhile, ye've lured our comrades to destruction." "it couldn't be helped," gerry said, and closed his eyes. he had taken what was probably the longest chance of his career, and he was not in a mood to talk about it. particularly when every faintest syllable uttered in one of these metal cells could be heard by the guards in the corridor outside! there was little rest for any of them, chained in that awkward position and with the cell always filled with that pitiless green light. gerry dozed fitfully from time to time. closana seemed to have fallen asleep, drooping forward in her bonds with her head hanging low, but her long hair covered her face and it was hard to tell. angus made no attempt to sleep at all, and for most of the intervening time he was muttering many tongued curses into his beard. at last they were freed from their chains. they were given water in metal cups, and a bowl of some kind of stew to eat. for perhaps an hour they rested and eased their stiffened muscles. then more guards came and bound their hands behind them and took them away. it was again broad daylight when they were taken out into the streets of the city, the peculiarly yellow daylight that filtered through the cloudy canopy overhead. the three prisoners were surrounded by a heavy guard of reptile men who marched them across the city and out through a gate in the far wall. here a broad plain swept down to the waters of a saffron colored lake, a sheet of water so vast that its far shore was no more than a dun line along the horizon. a sort of grandstand had been erected along one side of the plain. "i think i begin to understand the point of this little game!" mctavish muttered, squinting as he peered ahead, "and i don't fancy the idea at all." "i don't get what you mean?" mctavish snorted. "did ye never see a piece of cheese in a mouse-trap?" then gerry himself began to understand. on a broad platform before the grandstand stood a line of men armed with gas-guns. some were gray scaled officers of the fighting forces, and others were dandified green men of the decadent minority that had fawned upon and mingled with their conquerers. in the flat and marshy expanse of the plain before them there had been driven a number of short but heavy stakes like tent pegs, each with a metal ring set in the top. there were long rows of them. gray scaled guards were busy fettering prisoners to the pegs, making them fast by tying to the metal ring the other end of the long cord with which their hands were tied behind them. the hunters and the audience were ready, the bait was being prepared. closana was a few feet away from gerry, fastened to the next stake. she stood erect, her shoulders drawn back by the strain of her bonds and her long hair blowing in the wind. "this is the end, geree," she said, "if not today, then tomorrow or the next day. this was the tale told in larr of what happens to the prisoners of the scaly ones, but i never believed it till now." * * * * * there were sixty or eighty prisoners fastened in the field to serve as bait for the giant dakta. about half were golden amazons captured in various raids. the remainder were men and women of the green people of giri, prisoners condemned to death by the grim and ruthless tribunals of the scaly ones. now a dozen attendants carrying leather buckets ran up and down the lines of the captives, splashing each victim with a dipper full of a purple colored and very pungent oil. "now what's the game?" gerry muttered. angus bent his head to sniff at the heavy liquid trickling down his hairy chest. "it smells like a harlot's dream!" he muttered sourly, "probably intended to make us more attractive to whatever kind of creature it is that's coming after us!" the attendants had hurried away with their buckets of oil, and now the crowds in the grandstand and on the plain settled down to wait. they were in holiday mood, laughing and talking in their shrill voices. then a black dot appeared high up in the sky. a murmur of anticipation ran over the crowd. the dakta came plummeting earthward as its super-keen senses saw and smelled the attractive bait waiting below. the thing, as it came near, was like some figment from a nightmare. it had a reptilian body between a twenty-foot spread of leathery wings, and a long beak with a double row of pointed teeth. one of the things that gerry had seen flying over that lonely sea when he first brought the _viking_ down through the canopy of clouds that covered the planet of venus! "so _that_ is a dakta!" angus muttered, "bonny little creature!" the winged lizard checked its flight momentarily some ten feet off the ground, directly above one of the captive amazons. then he dove down. the girl screamed and twisted away to the length of her tether, and the toothed beak just missed her. the first of the hunters fired as the dakta whirled and lashed out again, but the bullet exploded off to one side. gripping the writhing amazon with his beak and his clawed feet, the dakta flapped his great wings and soared upward again. two more of the hunters fired together. one of the explosive bullets missed entirely, the other blew one of the girl's legs to pieces but did not harm the monster that held her. then lansa tossed aside his green robe and stood up. gerry saw that he held a ray-tube, either one from the _stardust_ or one of the new ones he now claimed to be able to make in giri-vaaka. the tube slanted upward. murky light played around its muzzle. the dakta gave a shrill and almost human scream. then it dropped its mangled victim and fell twitching to the ground. its leathery skin was turned black where the ray-blast had struck it. along the edge of the field, the close packed crowds broke into wild cheering and lansa acknowledged it with a condescending gesture of one upraised arm. the hunt went on. sometimes the dakta came singly, sometimes in pairs. the hunters had the range better now, and dropped them consistently. on several occasions the flying lizards were brought down before they had time to seize a victim at all, but most of the time one of the prisoners was killed or mortally wounded before the dakta was slain. a green man tethered to the stake next beyond closana had been ripped about the throat by the raking teeth of a dakta's bill, and was breathing with a sort of gurgling moan as he bled to death. so far, that was the nearest that one of the flying lizards had come to gerry or his two companions. and then gerry saw the thing for which he had been watching. there was a streak of fire along the eastern horizon. the blast of speeding rocket tubes! a cigar shaped hull of gleaming blue and silver came streaking across the saffron sky with a trail of smoke behind it. _the viking_ had come! * * * * * a swelling uproar came from the crowds which began to mill about in confusion. lansa had risen to his feet and was peering upward with one hand raised to shade his eyes. yellow flames played about the _viking's_ bow as the reverse rockets checked her momentum. a pair of swooping dakta veered away from her, then dropped down toward the bait tethered below. one of them was headed straight for angus mctavish. instantly one of the forward ray-guns on the space-ship glowed into life, and the winged lizard crumpled in mid-flight. gerry knew then that someone on board had been looking down through the powerful viewing glasses, and had recognized him and angus. he shouted hoarsely, knowing he would not be heard but unable to keep silent. drums were throbbing a swift alarm, and the milling crowds were in wild confusion. companies of the scaly warriors were firing by volley, but the explosive bullets only flashed harmlessly against the _viking's_ duralite hull. some of the heavier gas-guns set on the battlements above hissed into life then, but even the larger caliber explosives could make no impression on tempered duralite. with her ray-guns flashing and ripping black swathes in the scaly ranks below, with her helicopters spinning to take the strain as the blast of the rockets died away, the _viking_ settled rapidly groundward. "by lord, steve came a-fightin'!" mctavish roared. "of course, you old goat!" gerry shouted back, "did you really think i'd call the ship into a trap? you're as bad as that maniac who calls himself lansa. i knew that if i spoke _too_ strongly of what nice fellows these scaly devils are, steve would have the sense to know that i was under pressure and in a trap." and then came swift disaster! over the edge of the nearest black and battlemented wall of lansa's palace thrust the muzzle of a large caliber ray-gun. steve brent saw it, too, and tried to lift the nose of his ship to bring his own guns to bear on this new menace, but he was too late. the muzzle of the ray-gun on the battlements glowed dully, the blast of the supode-rays struck the row of spinning helicopters on top of the _viking's_ hull. the blades of the big propellors went spinning into space, their shafts bent and crumpled like straws in a gale. robbed of their support, essential when lacking rocket power of at least 300 miles per hour, the space-ship plunged downward like a falling star. she struck the waters of the lake with a mighty splash. spray dashed as high as the walls of lansa's castle, and when it was gone the space-ship had vanished. * * * * * gerry norton stood motionless. he was staring at the muddy and foam flecked waters of the lake, and at the spreading ripples that still beat on the shore as the effect of that mighty splash subsided. at the moment he felt old and tired and defeated, his brain numbed. the _viking_ was gone! freckled steve brent, and the cheerful portok, and all the rest of them were gone. buried deep in the muddy bottom of a venusian lake. the second expedition from earth to this cloud-veiled and ill-fated planet had also ended in disaster. in the future the _viking_ would be classed with the _stardust_--simply another luckless space-ship that sailed away into the void and vanished. the men of her crew and what they tried to accomplish would be forgotten, their names would only remain on some yellowing record buried in the maze of government files. so deep was gerry norton's bitter brooding that he scarcely heard the words angus mctavish was shouting in his ear. "come on, gerry lad! let's get away while there's all this confusion." * * * * * ever since they had been brought to this field beside the lake, angus had been working at his bonds. he was a very strong man anyway, and the swell of his earthly muscles was far greater than the strength of any of the races that the scaly ones were accustomed to making prisoners. while the attention of all the guards was absorbed in the appearance and subsequent wreck of the _viking_, angus had managed to snap his own bonds and was now unhurriedly freeing gerry's wrists. gerry ran to closana and untied her hands, while angus freed the nearest other prisoner who was a stocky and broad shouldered green man with a heavily lined face. as soon as his hands were free, the latter wheeled to face them. "my thanks, _hiziren_!" he panted, "now go while you can. you are more easily spotted in a crowd than i. hurry! i will free as many of these others as possible. get into the city, and try to reach the place men call 'the square of the dragon.' say that sarnak sent you. hurry!" even though he was carrying closana in his arms, gerry's earthly muscles allowed him to run in mighty six-foot bounds. angus went leaping along before him. so great was the confusion that they were half way across the plain to the city before anyone noticed them at all. then a shouting officer of the scaly ones threw himself in front of them with his drawn sword in his hand. the big engineer roared like an angry bull, and leaped clean over the man. before the scaly warrior could turn the scot had him from behind. an instant later angus had the sword and was racing ahead, while the venusian lay sprawled in the mud with his neck broken and his long head twisted grotesquely awry. the half dozen guards posted in the arch of the gate stared indecisively at the white skinned trio racing toward them. angus had a sword in each hand by this time, and he leaped at the guards with a shout. the fugitive broke through the line of swordsmen by sheer momentum and dashed into the city. there was no pursuit. the first of the panic stricken throng rushing back for the shelter of the city reached the gate a moment later, and the guards were swamped by a jostling mob of mingled scaly ones and green men. gerry and his two companions darted into the nearest of the many narrow alleys that twisted about this part of the city. they dodged from one dingy thoroughfare to the next. when they met a woman of the green people, gerry unceremoniously tore off her robe and shielding veil and flung them to closana to hide her own tawny skin and golden hair. later, when he and angus had also disguised themselves in the rough garments worn by the poorer folk of this city of vaaka-hausen, they were able to walk quietly down the streets without fear of detection unless they met a patrol at close range. at last they came to a dingy plaza that was surrounded by ramshackle buildings of great age. it had probably once been a prosperous and fashionable part of the city, centuries ago, before the scaly ones overran the land of giri. now grass grew up between the paving stones, and the roofs of the dingy buildings sagged close to the breaking point, and piles of festering rubbish lay along the gutters. the place was a slum of the sort that had not existed on the more enlightened planets of earth and mars for many generations. a canal flowed along one side of the square, and in the center of the plaza stood the eroded and ancient black marble statue of a rearing dragon. "this must be the place!" angus muttered from the shadows of the hood that he had drawn up over his head. * * * * * as they hesitated, a few people peered furtively out at them from the broken windows and sagging doors of the houses around the square. then a man came toward them. he was bent and crippled, a beggar wearing filthy rags. his matted hair hung down over his eyes, and his whole body seemed covered with the caked filth of one who had never thought of washing. as the man came forward with a sort of limping shuffle, gerry instinctively laid his hand on the hilt of the sword he carried concealed under his cloak, while closana drew the concealing veil more closely over her face. "alms, _hiziren_! a little charity of your generosity!" the beggar whined as he came closer. "what place is this?" gerry asked, trying to give his voice the soft tone and lisping accent characteristic of the green men. the beggar limped a little closer and peered up into the shadows of gerry's hood. what he saw seemed to satisfy him. "take your hand from your sword hilt, friend!" he said in a low voice quite unlike his previous whine, "what place do you seek?" "the place of the dragon." "this is it. who sent you?" "sarnak sent us." "it is good." the beggar pointed down a flight of worn stone steps that led to the canal whose surface was some eight or ten feet below the level of the plaza. "go down there, below the bridge, and tap on the stone that bears a rusted iron ring. you will find friends. go quickly, while there are no strangers to observe you." "do you trust that man?" angus whispered in english as they turned away. gerry shrugged. "we've got to. it's our only chance, we're too easy to recognize, in spite of these clothes, to stay free in this city for long." the black waters of the canal flowed sluggishly along between slimy stone walls. refuse drifted on the surface. the water itself had a foul and penetrating odor. gerry walked down the steps, and then along the walk that stretched beside the water at one edge of the canal until he was under an arch that served as a bridge to support the street above. the arch was wide enough so that they were now completely hidden from the view of anyone in the plaza above. on one of the stones of the arch, at about the height of his shoulder, gerry saw a rusted iron ring. he tapped on that stone with the hilt of his sword. he heard a faint click, and though there was no visible change in the surface of the pitted stone wall before him he heard a whispered question: "_who knocks?_" "friends," gerry replied. "who sent you?" "sarnak sent us." there was a low, metallic jingle. a section of the wall about the height of a man and some three feet wide swung quietly inward. as soon as the three of them had stepped through the opening into a small room that was built in the interior of the arch, the door swung shut behind them. * * * * * there were half a dozen men in this low roofed and stone walled chamber. all were of the green people, dressed as ragged beggars but with the bearing and appearance of warriors. drawn steel gleamed in their hands. their faces were heavy with suspicion. one of the men had gone to stand with his back against the closed door behind them. "who are you, that come using the name of sarnak?" snapped the leader. suspicion became blended with puzzled surprise as gerry and angus threw back their hoods and the outlaws saw their white skins. hastily gerry told the tale of the dakta hunt and of their subsequent escape. "so sarnak got away!" the leader of the green men exulted. "ho! that is the best news that we of the dragon's teeth have heard in many weeks! all right, slag, take these strangers through to the inner places." one of the green men beckoned to gerry to follow him down a narrow flight of steps at the back of the room. it ended in a circular pool of water like a large well, the steps going on down below the surface. their guide opened a cupboard built into the wall and took out four glass helmets. the helmets were attached to leather pads that fitted tightly about the shoulders and chest, with straps to hold them in place. a cylindrical metal tank was attached to the back of each helmet, with a tube that led to a valve at the side. the guide also took out some heavily leaded sandals. "put on these helmets and then open the valves," he explained, "then follow me down the steps. be careful not to fall in the darkness. after we get around the first bend in the corridor below there will be light." gerry put the globular glass helmet over his head, opening the valve as soon as he had adjusted the straps. the air in the helmet immediately took on a faintly chemical odor, but it was pleasant and in no way oppressive. as soon as all of them were ready, the man called slag beckoned and then started down the steps. warm black water rose to gerry's knees, then to his waist. as it came up to his shoulders he saw the top of slag's helmet disappear below the surface ahead of him. for a moment the smooth surface of the water was level with gerry's eyes as it rose around his own helmet. then he stepped down into a darkness as black and impenetrable as though he were immersed in ink. gerry guided himself with his left hand on the slime covered stones of the wall beside him. he reached back with his other hand to steady closana who was just behind. all together he counted thirty steps, feeling carefully with his feet each time, before the floor leveled off. the wall curved around to the right. gerry followed it, rounded a bend, and was no longer in darkness. they stood in a straight passage that was lined with blocks of polished stone. metal plates, set in the ceiling at regular intervals, glowed with a greenish-yellow light that was nearly as bright as the cloudy venusian daylight. the place was completely filled with water. it was an eerie sensation! slag was standing a few feet ahead, grinning at them through the glass of his helmet, but now he turned and walked slowly down the corridor. gerry followed him, bent well forward as he walked, forcing himself ahead against the resistance of the water. all their movements were sluggish and slow, but the heavily leaded sandals held them down and gave their feet purchase. * * * * * small fishes swam past them along the passage, their round eyes peering in through the helmet glasses as they passed. clumps of colored sea-weed grew out from the walls and ceiling, their long streamers waving gently in the slow currents set up by the passage of the men. in spite of the brightness of the light from the ceiling plates, the effect of the water made it difficult to see far down the passage ahead. the outlines of slag were clear enough as he plodded along directly ahead of gerry, but everything beyond him was a little blurred and uncertain. it was like living in a mirage. at last they came to a point where the passage branched. here they passed a sentry who wore a glass helmet and a tight fitting green rubber uniform. on his chest was the insignia of a rampant black dragon. he was armed with a very thin, almost needle-like sword whose point was razor keen. gerry realized the reason for that peculiarly designed weapon when the sentry swung his sword upward to salute their guide. the blade was so thin that it offered little resistance to the water, and its power of being quickly wielded made it a far more effective weapon under water than a heavier sword would have been. they passed more branching passages, and more rubber-clad sentries who stared at them curiously as they went by. there was a whole network of corridors in this underwater world! at last slag opened a metal door at the end of the particular passage he had followed, and they all crowded into a small room. slag closed the door and dogged it, then tapped on a glass panel across the room. a silvery flood of air bubbles came pouring out the end of a pipe that protruded through the wall. at the same time gerry heard the thud of heavy pumps starting to suck water through gratings at the base of the wall. the water level dropped rapidly. when it was down to their waists, slag took off his helmet and slipped the leaded sandals from his feet. he motioned to the others to do the same. "we are about to enter the hidden realm of luralla, the home of the dragon's teeth!" he said. "if you can prove your right to be here you will be welcome. otherwise you will go back into one of these waterlocks--without any helmets on." he grinned cheerfully. * * * * * the water dropped below the level of the door sills. the pumps sucked noisily on the last few foaming inches for a moment, and then they ceased. the inner door was opened by a sentry whose tight fitting green uniform with its black dragon was made of dry cloth instead of dripping rubber. he wore a plumed metal helmet, and carried a heavy sword instead of one of the thin water blades. "come in, slag," he said, "who are these strangers?" they were in a sort of guardroom, a square chamber where glass water helmets stood in long rows on metal shelves and many weapons hung in racks on the walls. the control levers of the pumps were just to the left of the door. there were half a dozen uniformed men standing about the room, one of them bearing the silver insignia of an officer on his chest. when slag had given a hasty account of the coming of gerry and the others, the officer nodded toward an inner door. "prince sarnak has just returned. you will find him in the great hall. take these strangers there." the sound of music and laughter, and the confused babel of many voices, came to gerry's ears as soon as the far door was opened. they entered a vast hall. it was low ceiled, as were all the water-locked chambers of this strange place, but it was broad and spacious. heavy stone columns carved like giant sea-horses supported the roof. patterns of sea-weed and star fish and other denizens of the deep were inter-mingled with rearing dragons in the painted designs along the walls. the room was filled with wide tables flanked by long benches. the men and women who sat at the tables, or stood gossiping in noisy groups in corners of the hall, were nearly all of the green people of giri, but there were a few escaped golden amazons who came flocking eagerly around closana. in outward appearance these green skinned men and women were similar to the folk who lived in the city overhead with their scaly masters, but there was a subtle difference. these people had none of the cowed and subjugated air of the citizens who lived above ground. there was a different look in their eyes, a more confident note in their voices, a firmer set to their shoulders. these folk had the air of free men and warriors, not slaves. a stocky and merry eyed man caught sight of them and came striding across the hall. it was sarnak, the man who had been tethered next to them in the field of the dakta hunt. "welcome to the halls of luralla!" he boomed, "we are glad to have you come to the hidden realm of the dragon's teeth. _hiziren_ and comrades, these are the outlanders from afar who freed me this afternoon so that i and a dozen more of our people escaped death at the hands of the scaly ones!" "thrice hail!" roared the crowd, while a hundred blades flashed in the golden light. angus mctavish wrung the water out of his dripping beard. "these look like men of spirit," he rumbled cheerfully, "i think i'm going to enjoy myself again." * * * * * a little later, wearing dry clothes, the three of them sat down with sarnak and his officers at a table in the corner of the hall. young girls brought them dishes of fried sea-urchins, and broiled steaks of the grappa fish, and other savory dishes. "we who call ourselves the dragon's teeth are outlaws descended from outlaws," sarnak explained. "our ancestors were men and women who never acknowledged the rule of the scaly ones when they overran this once pleasant land of giri. i was born in this hidden place, as was my father before me and his father before him. we live here in the water-locked halls of luralla, and harass the tyrants in what ways we can, and try to keep alive the traditions and glory of the old days when the dragon kings ruled in this city and the scaly ones were still lurking in their vaaka marshes to the westward." "does lansa know of this place?" "he knows that the dragon's teeth exist, as all rulers of the scaly ones have known it, but the location of our hiding place has never been betrayed." "then," roared angus, pounding his big fist on the table till the dishes rattled, "why don't you revolt? i'll go with you myself to strike a blow against those reptile skinned devils up above!" "count me in, too!" gerry said quietly. angus' voice had boomed out through the big hall. it was answered by a lilting shout as men sprang to their feet. hundreds of sword blades flashed clear of their scabbards. only sarnak himself remained seated, slowly shaking his head. there was a twisted smile on his broad and heavily lined face. his eyes held bitterness. "it would only be pointless suicide, _hiziren_!" he said grimly. "we number only about a thousand all together, we hunted men of the dragon's teeth, against the countless thousands of lansa's scaly hordes. it would be different if our countrymen up above could be inspired to a mass uprising, but the time is not yet. too long have they lived under the rule of the tyrants. they are cowed. they have lost their spirit, and some of the younger ones have even become fawning satellites of the conquerors! if there comes a day when the forces of the scaly ones are engaged in some major war along the frontier, as in this suggested assault upon the barrier forts of savissa that lansa is said to be planning, then we may be able to do something. for the present we must continue to lie hidden and bide our time." gerry norton was uncertain about his own course. now that the _viking_ and her crew had been lost, with all hope of a return to earth cut off, he felt hopelessly adrift. sarnak urged his visitors to stay in luralla. the place was a remarkable engineering feat, completely under water and with its air constantly re-conditioned and preserved, but gerry felt restless and cramped there. though the outlaws carried on a constant guerilla warfare with the scaly ones, it was all on a small scale. gerry felt that he would rather return to savissa, where at least the people were free and the amazon warriors kept ceaseless watch on their frontiers. closana, of course, was very anxious to return home. "suits me, too," angus rumbled, "in that country they at least show a proper respect for a man of my attainments." "meaning your whiskers?" gerry asked. "look out, angus," closana warned with a smile, idly running her slender fingers along the keen edge of her dagger. "some savissan princess will choose you for her husband as i have chosen geree here." "i told you we wouldn't talk about that for the present...." gerry began. closana's hand moved swiftly as a striking dakta. the keen blade bit through the cloth of gerry's sleeve and pinned it to the table top. "you'll never get away from me, geree," the girl said quietly. angus mctavish burst out in a great roar of laughter. "might as well admit you're licked now, lad! these venusian women seem to be verra strong minded lassies!" * * * * * they started two days later. there was, of course, neither night nor day in the sub-aqueous halls of luralla but the outlaws ran their lives on a normal schedule. sarnak supplied gerry and the others with rubber uniforms and complete equipment including the thin bladed water-swords in the long feathery scabbards. "i will have you guided out to one of our exits that is a quarter mile off shore from the place where the dakta hunt was held," sarnak offered. "i thought that water was a lake," gerry said. sarnak shook his head. "no. it is an estuary, an arm of the great sea. the chemical tanks on your water helmets will keep the air pure for several days travel, and the sentries at the last outpost will give you trained saddle-dolphins so that you will make better time toward the coastal regions of savissa." sarnak went with them to the guardroom at the edge of the water filled passages, and personally checked over their equipment. "these are our new type of helmet with the audiphones that let the wearers talk to each other under water," he said, touching the tiny microphones set into the curved glass. "well--you had better start. may the dragon gods be with you!" they strapped on their helmets and adjusted the valves. a uniformed guide stepped into the water-lock with them. sarnak shook hands, saluted, and then stepped back through the door which closed behind him. the guide lifted his hand in a signal, and a second later a torrent of water rushed out of the gratings to foam about their feet. they were ready to leave luralla! again they went through the maze of water-filled passages, passing occasional sentries. after a while the character of the corridor changed. it was wider, and was arched instead of square, and there was a carpet of soft natural sand beneath their feet instead of a stone floor. "we come to the last outpost of luralla, _hiziren_!" the guide said. they stepped out of the end of the passage and found themselves in the open sea, many fathoms down. a broad and slightly sloping floor of smooth sand studded with lumps of coral and clusters of sea-weed stretched before them. some were giant ferns stretching twelve and fifteen feet high, others were low and sponge-like growths. a school of tiny red fishes shot swiftly past them. larger fish sailed majestically by overhead. the top of the water was a gleaming golden ceiling far above them, the greenish yellow light lessening in intensity as it came down to the depths. the end of the passage was surrounded by a barrier of piled coral. outlaw swordsmen stood on guard, also armed with a sort of compressed air cross-bow that shot a heavy metal needle with great force. from a corral at one side an orderly brought three saddle-dolphins. the big fish were equipped with rubber saddles strapped around the body, and short stirrups. they were guided by a bridle similar to that used on earthly horses. as gerry swung up to the saddle his dolphin bucked once or twice with quick flips of his tail, then steadied down as he felt the tight pressure of his master's knees. when the other two were mounted, the officer commanding the outpost lifted his arm in salute. "the dragon gods be with you!" he said. at a distance of fifteen or twenty feet the sound of his voice was slightly muted, but the words were perfectly clear in the ear-pieces of gerry's helmet. he lifted his own rubber gloved hand to his globular helmet and returned the salute. * * * * * they rode off at an easy pace, the dolphins rising above the tops of the tallest vegetation. gerry found that it was easy to sit the saddle as long as he bent a little forward to overcome the resistance of the water against his chest. they were about thirty or forty feet down. on earth such a depth would have been uncomfortable, but the lighter gravity of venus made it easily bearable. gerry glanced back. closana was riding a few feet behind him, slender and erect, controlling her restless dolphin as easily as though she had been accustomed to such steeds all her life. angus was grinning broadly through his globular glass helmet as he sat astride a particularly big dolphin and swung his light bladed water-sword from side to side. "if any of our friends back on earth could see us now in some sort of an astral spectroscope," the big scot cried, "they'd think themselves crazy. maybe this is only a nightmare at that! do you think we'll wake up soon and find ourselves safe back on board the _viking_?" "i'm afraid not," gerry answered. he wondered in what part of this vast sea the twisted hulk of the _viking_ was now lying. all day they rode, roughly following the shoreline to the northward. whenever it got so deep that nothing was visible below but a vast green shadow gerry headed inland until the tops of the sea gardens again came into view. sarnak had told them that by the middle of the next day it should be safe for them to come above water and check their maps and put fresh chemical cartridges in the cylinders of their helmets. the scaly ones patrolled their coast line in shallow open boats, but they did not go beyond their own borders. once gerry checked his dolphin and then headed downward as he caught sight of something big and dark lying on the sand. the others followed him. it was the broken and rusting hulk of a space-ship, a vessel of a strange type with a name in an unknown tongue still visible on the shattered stern. the wreck must have been there for a very long time, for the sand was heaped high about it and sea-weeds grew up through the open hatches. "leaping ray-blasts!" mctavish said softly. "yon craft never came from either earth or mars." "probably from some far distant planet in outer space that we've never heard of," gerry said. "some adventurous wanderer of the interstellar regions who came to grief in this lonely spot." * * * * * it was desolate and forlorn, the sight of that wrecked vessel from so long ago. it made gerry think of his own lost command. there were clean picked white bones of strange shape lying about on the sand. gerry saluted, a tribute to those strange and forgotten wanderers of space, and then urged his dolphin to a higher level again. when the dimming light showed that it was dusk above the water they rode in to the four-fathom shallows and halted in a smooth patch of yellow sand. gerry unsaddled the dolphins and tethered them to lumps of coral where they browsed contentedly on the short vegetation. then the three exiles sat down in a circle on the sand. mctavish stretched his long legs, bouncing a few feet off the ground as he did so and then floating slowly down again. "i'll never forget this journey if i live to be older than the whole solar system itself!" he said. "also--i'm hungry." "there's nothing we can do about that until noon tomorrow," gerry grunted. "maybe the fasting will make you lose some of that surplus bulk of yours. but i'll admit i could do with some of that special coffee portok used to brew in the ward room on the _viking_ in the evenings." "i'd give a lot for a drink of plain water," closana said wistfully. "acres of water around us and nothing to drink!" when the last of the light was gone they lit a small lamp that sarnak had given them. it illumined a circle some twenty feet across, a little patch of light in the midst of the utter blackness of the depths of the sea. they sat there talking for a while, then gerry stretched out on the sand with one arm hooked around a lump of coral to hold himself in place. he was thankful that the waters of venus were always warm. it would scarcely have been possible to sleep at the bottom of one of earth's oceans in this manner, even with the equipment with which sarnak had supplied them. for a while gerry drowsed. the audiphones of his helmet picked up all the faint sounds of this watery world. a muffled splash as angus mctavish stirred restlessly ... the steady movement as their drowsing but apparently sleepless dolphins fed on the fields of sea-weed ... an occasional steady churning as some larger denizen of the deep swam past above them. then he slept. * * * * * it was well past midnight by the illuminated dial of the waterproof chronometer that sarnak had given gerry when he awoke. angus was shaking his shoulder. the light had been put out hours before, and there was no illumination at all except for an occasional flash of green phosphoresence where some fish sped by. "either i'm an over-grown sponge," the big engineer muttered, "or there's a light shining through the water off to the west." gerry yawned and sat up, instinctively starting to rub his eyes before his hands bumped against the hard glass surface of his curving helmet. some of the bits of coral around them glowed with an eerie green radiance, and a tall frond of sea-weed had tiny specks of light on the tips of its constantly waving leaves. then, far off to the left, gerry caught a faint glow. it was hard to tell what kind of a light it was, so great was the refraction of the water, but there was something there. it was little more than a lessening of the deep gloom that otherwise surrounded them on all sides. gerry got to his feet and picked up his rubber saddle which he had been using as a pillow under his helmet. "we'd better investigate," he said. "wake closana." they saddled their dolphins and rode out at an easy pace, holding the big fish down with a tight rein. as they rode the glow ahead of them became more definite. it seemed to come from a long row of twenty or more lights. then they were near enough to see each other in the reflected glow. "it's some kind of a ship," gerry said. "those lights are her port holes!" "it's more than that!" snapped angus. "it's the _viking_! i know the lines of her stern anywhere, even in this sunken and god forsaken spot!" the space-ship lay quietly in the soft mud of this part of the ocean bottom. all her port holes of transparent duralite were glowing with the reflected light from inside. the twisted wrecks of her helicopters were still visible on top of the hull, but otherwise she did not appear to be damaged. gerry was in the middle as the three of them rode their dolphins up close to one of the big windows of the control room. the ship had evidently survived the fall into the water, for they could see dim figures moving about inside. "i told you that duralite hull could stand a little thing like a fall into the ocean!" mctavish exulted. as they crowded their finny steeds close to the glass of the control room window, portok the martian came to peer out. his red-skinned face went pale as he saw them, and even through the ship's hull their audiphones picked up his agonized cry. "steve! tanda! i just saw the ghosts of norton and mctavish looking in the window!" steve brent came into the control room. he looked haggard and unshaven, and he was stained with oily grease. "what are you raving about, portok?" he snapped. "it's no raving, steve!" the little martian chattered, "i tell you i saw the three of them. the chief, and angus, and the amazon girl--all riding on some kind of big fish and peering in that window!" "you're going crazy!" steve brent snapped, but he walked to the window. his own eyes widened as he saw the strangely clad trio sitting their mounts outside. gerry waved violently to him. "let us in, you idiot!" he shouted, forgetting that the _viking_ did not carry any audiphones that could pick up his words. he heard steve's unsteady voice. "maybe we're both crazy, portok, but i think they're really out there. open the outer door to the starboard space-lock." * * * * * a small door swung open on the starboard side of the _viking's_ blue and silver hull. that small compartment had really been designed for dropping objects into the void of outer space, or for testing the quality of the atmosphere on any stray planetoids the _viking_ might have visited on her journey across the vastness of interplanetary space, but it would do for a water-lock in this instance. gerry and the others dismounted from their dolphins and let the reins hang. angus gave his mount a slap on the flank. with a flip of its tail the big fish wheeled and swam off, and after a second the others followed it. gerry led the way into the space-lock and closed the door behind him. it only took a few seconds for the blast of the _viking's_ powerful compressed air tanks to blow out the water. then, as gerry unstrapped his helmet and lifted the big glass globe off his head, steve brent opened the inner door and stepped into the space-lock. "i don't know if i'm crazy or dreaming or what, chief," he said, "but i'm damn glad to see you back." "you're sane enough," gerry snapped, "it's a long story, so skip it for the moment. i thought _you_ were done for!" "not the _viking_!" larry affectionately slapped the laminated duralite shell of the space-ship. "she can stand more than being dropped in the drink from a few hundred feet up. our problem is how to get going again. we've been able to crawl along the bottom by using minimum power of one rocket tube and scaring hell out of all the fish, but that's the best we've been able to do. now that angus is back he can take over. what do you think about the helicopters?" "i could forge new ones in a week out of that blue metal they have in giri-vaaka," mctavish muttered. "but god knows how we'll ever get hold of a supply. anyway, i think i can reverse enough of the gravity plates to give this craft reserve buoyancy so she'll navigate on the surface instead of hugging the bottom." "i never thought of that!" steve said admiringly. angus grunted, and began to strip off his green rubber uniform. "it takes a scotsman to show the rest of the universe how to get out of a tough spot!" * * * * * it was afternoon on the following day when the _viking's_ long hull finally broke the surface. she lay in the water like a half submerged cigar, the yellowish ripples lapping on the curved blue duralite of her super-structure. the twisted remains of the shattered helicopters were ugly stumps along the space-ship's sleek back. a single rocket tube flamed and smoked astern, its blast driving the vessel through the water at a good pace while her wake smoked and bubbled. gerry norton opened the duralite dome of the upper control room and stepped out on the wet deck with a few of the others. they were well out on the great sea, with the green hills of the giri-savissa border a low smear along the horizon to starboard. this was the same lonely sea they had seen when they first dropped down through the clouds to venus. the vast and greenish-yellow waters were broken by scattered islands, bare bits of rock that were dotted with blue moss. sea birds swooped about them. lofty mountains on a distant shore were capped with snow. in one or two places a narrow shaft of sunlight struck down through a brief gap in the canopy of eternal clouds, but otherwise there was only that subdued and peculiarly golden light in which there moved only a few oddly shaped birds. so much had happened since they first saw that lonely sea! it seemed as though much more than a week had elapsed. savissa and its golden amazons ... the arrow tipped tower of rupin-sang ... the scaly hordes of vaaka and the dread palace of the insane lansa who had once been an earthly officer ... the secret and water-locked halls of luralla where the outlaws of giri dwelt--many scenes went through gerry norton's mind. he seemed to have aged ten years since the day he brought the _viking_ down through the cloud screen. well--the immediate problem was to get some suitable metal to repair the smashed helicopters. the _viking_ might possibly get up into the air with the power of her rockets alone if they beached her on a sloping shore with her nose upward, but she could never come down safely without helicopters. "i'll hold her on this course a while," gerry said. "in the morning we can strike over and try to pick up the frontiers of savissa." it was just at dusk that they saw white towers against the sky. they rose out of the sea as gerry turned the _viking's_ blunt nose toward them--the mighty battlements of a vast city. closana, who was standing on deck beside him at the time, rested her hands on the rail and stared in utter amazement. "but it isn't possible, geree!" she gasped, "there isn't any civilization out there on the islands of the great sea!" "could it be a mirage?" he suggested. "a reflection of some savissan city on the mainland?" "no." the girl shook her head. "there are no cities of that sort in any of these lands. geree--there is something strange here. i do not like it. there _cannot_ be any city ahead of us there!" "but there it is!" gerry said grimly. "we can't all be seeing things. we'll go closer and get a better look." it was sunset, the unspectacular venusian sunset which was simply a swift lessening of the golden glow from the cloud veiled sky above. lights were gleaming from most of the tall buildings of the towering city as the _viking_ drove toward it through a quiet sea. sea birds swooped low about the ship's wake. the watchers on deck could see the low shore line of the island on which the city was built. then they heard distant bells, pleasant bells that seemed to be chiming a farewell to the day and a welcome to the night. and then a red light flashed on top of the tallest building and in an instant the entire city vanished. * * * * * one minute the strange city had been clearly visible before them, its graceful towers agleam with lights as they notched the sky. the next instant the whole place was gone. there was nothing in sight at all but a low shoreline. it was as though a thick veil of concealing mist had been suddenly drawn across between the ship and the city. only--the air was clear and without a trace of mist. gerry walked across to the open dome of the upper control room. "cut rockets!" he snapped. "get some kind of an anchor overboard. we'll just stay right here off shore until morning. there's something queer going on." gerry and steve brent leaned on the rail together, peering through the darkness toward the island. nothing was visible in the faint phorphor-glow that marked the venusian night, but they could just hear a distant singing as of many voices lifted in chorus. "what do you think happened to the city so suddenly?" steve asked. gerry shrugged. "i suppose some mist hid it." "there wasn't any mist," steve said flatly, "anyway--we could see the low hills on shore just as clearly after the city disappeared as before. anyway...." "listen!" gerry interrupted. now they could again hear the sound of bells coming across the water. half the time the sound was swept away by the night breeze, half the time they could just hear it. the bells were of many blended tones and notes, an immense carillon. they were singing some outland melody that was full of the surge of ocean breezes and the cries of the sea birds. it rose, and swelled, and died away again. "the city's there, all right," gerry said slowly. "though i can't imagine why we don't see any lights with the sound of the bells that close. but we'll see in the morning." "i tell you there is no city," closana said, her voice troubled. "we have often sailed ships into these waters from the savissan coast, and we know that none of these outer isles are inhabited. what you have heard must be the ghosts of the old ones, ancient phantoms speeding through the skies. there is a legend that the bells of their phantom ships can sometimes be heard off the coast at night." "ghosts or no ghosts, we're going ashore there in the morning!" gerry said stubbornly. * * * * * all night the _viking_ rode to a crude anchor that angus had improvised from some spare parts on board. the space-ship's designers had never expected her to lie in water. most of the crew were on deck as soon as it grew light enough to see. ahead of them, less than half a mile away, stretched a sandy shore backed by a line of low hills. the island had a wealth of the yellow vegetation typical of the mainland of venus, so that it had a more friendly appearance than the other specks of land which dotted the great sea and were only bare rock, but there was no sign of life. certainly there was no trace of any city! there was not even an indication of human habitation at all. as the dawn-mists cleared away they could see that another range of hills stretched along the horizon some miles behind. their greenish-yellow slopes were clear and sharp against the cloudy sky beyond, and they were located well in the rear of where the city had appeared to be in that hasty glimpse the night before. "ready the landing party!" gerry commanded. "full armor and equipment!" they gently beached the space-ship on the sloping expanse of sand, running her nose a little way up above the water level while the light surf lapped her dripping sides. some giant crabs scurried away across the beach in startled surprise. "want to go ashore, angus?" gerry asked as mctavish's red bearded face came up through an escape hatch. the big engineer shook his head. "i'll just stay aboard here and brood over my broken helicopters, thanks. my last trip ashore took care of all my wanderlust for the present." gerry took half the vessel's crew with him, leaving the other half on guard. closana went with the landing party. with their armor gleaming in the golden light, ray-guns and other weapons ready, they tramped up across the loose sand of the beach. beyond the shore line was firmer ground, a field of some low plants that grew in orderly yellow rows. "i'll swallow my ray-tube if this isn't a field cultivated by man! nature was never that orderly," steve brent muttered. gerry shrugged. "lord knows! if we ever get those helicopters fixed, i'm all for a quick return to earth. this planet is certainly no peaceful garden of eden, and i've had pretty near all i want of it. savissa was the only place i really liked. i wonder what's happening there now!" "we'll know if anything very exciting turns up," steve said. "when we started out on our search after you disappeared that night, i left tanda behind with a portable radio to keep us posted. sort of figured it was our base on venus, and anyway there was always the chance you might wander back there." "great planetoids--i just thought of something! as soon as we get back to the ship, remind me to radio tanda to tell rupin-sang that the scaly ones had learned to use the old sewers, and that he must either block them off or place a heavy guard there." for a mile they walked inland, across those odd fields. the orderly rows of plants stretched off to the horizon on both sides. and then they came to a kind of level plain. the ground before them was strange looking, so strange that gerry called a halt while he stared down the slight slope at it. * * * * * most of the plain was of bare rock, rock that was absolutely smooth and level without any sign of weathering at all. along the outer edge it was pitted at regular intervals by what looked like shallow wells a foot in diameter. beyond that zone were many excavations of many sizes and shapes, all cut down into the solid rock with the sides perfectly straight and smooth. gerry took off his helmet and scratched his head. "now what do you make of that?" "i know what it looks like to me," steve said. "it looks just like the foundations of a city--without the city. those round pits are the anchorages of the outer wall. those square holes are the basements of tall buildings. only--somebody has lifted the whole city away." "you're crazy!" gerry growled. steve shrugged. "maybe we all are! anyway, i'm going to take a look into one of those holes." steve walked quickly forward toward the nearest of the round pits. suddenly, just as he reached the very edge of the zone of bare rock, there was a dull clash of steel. something had seemed to pick steve up bodily and hurl him backward. he landed flat on his back on the ground, his helmet bouncing off and rolling a few feet away. "it hit me," he shouted. "what did?" "i don't know." steve sat up and rubbed his head. "y' know, chief, it really felt more as though i'd just walked squarely into a solid stone wall." "it has just occurred to me," gerry said slowly, "that maybe that's exactly what you _did_ do!" gerry walked forward cautiously, a foot at a time, one hand stretched out before him. when he reached a spot on line with the place where steve had been stopped, his hand encountered something cool and firm and smooth. it was like the surface of a highly polished stone wall. or a sheet of heavy and invisible glass. he ran both his hands over it. the thing was continuous and solid. there was nothing visible to the eye, and he could see far ahead of him across the strangely surfaced rocky plain, but there was an impenetrable barrier blocking the path. stepping back a few feet, gerry picked up a pebble and tossed it upward. the stone bounced sharply back as soon as it came in line with the invisible barrier. he threw the pebble higher and the same thing happened. there was something mysterious and disquieting about the way the stone would soar up into the clear air--and then sharply bounce back from a point in space where nothing at all was visible. "magic!" closana said nervously. even the earth-men of the landing party had drawn together in a compact group, ray-tubes ready and eyes alert. gerry moved back a few feet farther, then hurled the stone forward and upward as high as he could. this time the pebble did not bounce back. it simply vanished in thin air. and then, from somewhere off in the emptiness of space above them, there came the sound of a deep and mocking laughter! * * * * * as though that first laugh had somehow eased the necessity for a carefully enforced silence, there came a whole burst of unseen and eerie merriment. there was a murmur of many voices. then it died away again. there was still nothing visible, and the silence was once more unbroken. "for lord's sake, let's get out of here!" portok gasped. "this place is ghost ridden!" "there are no ghosts here, little red-faced man!" boomed a voice. the sound had seemed to come from somewhere overhead. from the empty void above, where there was nothing at all until the cloud canopy was reached many thousands of feet up. one of the _viking's_ crew bared his teeth in a sudden panic and lifted his ray-gun to fire blindly upward. before he could pull the trigger there was a blinding blue flash and a crash like summer thunder. captive lightning! the ray-gun flew from the man's hands and landed a few feet away, its wooden stock badly charred and its barrel a glowing mass of fused metal. "let your weapons rest, for they are useless here!" commanded that same booming voice from above. "whence came ye, strangers in odd clothing who have traveled in a ship like a blue whale? what do ye seek here in the outer isles?" gerry stepped forward, a few feet ahead of the group. he shouted that they were a scientific exploring party who had come from earth in a space-ship. there was a brief period of silence, as though men consulted in whispers. then the voice called him again. "you there--the leader! the council of elders will talk with you. go fifty paces to your right, to where there are two white stones, and then come forward between them. do not be afraid. you will not be harmed." "are you going to take the chance, chief?" steve whispered. gerry nodded. "i'll have to." about fifty yards to his right gerry saw two white stones. they were set some twelve or fifteen feet apart, on the very edge of the invisible barrier. gerry walked over, turned left, and then walked squarely in between the stones. he held one arm protectingly in front of him, but this time his hand did not encounter any barrier. instead--he found himself standing under the arch-way of a gate with a mighty city spread before him! * * * * * the city had simply appeared in a flash, with its mighty towers soaring up to the sky, as soon as he stepped over the outer line of the arch. whatever it was that held the place invisible from outside, it had ceased to function for him as soon as he came within the limits of the outer surface of the walls. glancing back, he saw that his companions were still staring blankly at the spot he had just quitted. they were evidently unable to see either him or any part of the city. "it's all right, steve!" he shouted. "just hold everybody there till i come back." doors of heavily carved glass slid noiselessly out of recesses within the wall to close the gate through which gerry had just entered. the arch in which he stood was inside the thickness of the wall, faced with white marble, inlaid with designs in gold. ahead, he could see a broad avenue that ran from the gateway down through the center of the city. it was tree lined and pleasant, thronged with people. flowers grew in little plots in front of the gold and white houses. small furry animals, dogs, were evidently kept as pets. they drowsed on the doorsteps or scampered about the neat gardens. half a dozen men were standing around gerry, within the arch of the gate. they were slight in stature though wiry, with heads a little larger than normal and exceptionally high foreheads. their skin bore a tawny tinge, similar to that of the amazons of savissa. two of them, who immediately took up posts just inside the glass portals of the gate, wore a semi-military uniform that included a gilded helmet. the others wore white cotton tunics and high leather shoes. it suddenly struck gerry that this was the first place on venus that he had visited where the majority of the citizens did not go heavily armed at all times. perhaps it was a good omen. one of the men stepped forward, a bearded and gray-haired man who bore a gold-tipped staff. "i am gool, chairman of the council of elders of moorn," he said in the deep voice that gerry had heard outside. "the council has decided to see you at once. you are the first outsider who has been permitted to enter the city of moorn--white queen of the outer isles--in countless generations. it would not have been permitted even now if you had been a man of this planet. come with me." * * * * * they went up a flight of steps and climbed into a metal car that hung from an overhead rail supported by columns along the street. gool touched a button, and the car shot ahead at high speed along the overhead mono-rail. the old man, who had settled comfortably back on one of the upholstered seats, was faintly smiling as he watched gerry's face. "you are puzzled, stranger?" he asked at last. "yes. there seemed to be nothing on the plain but a lot of holes bored in the rock, and now...." "and now you find yourself in the city of moorn," gool said. "a knowledge of dimensional control is one of the reasons why we of this city have lived in peace and safety for so many centuries while the rest of the planet is torn by constant wars." "dimensional control?" gerry said slowly. gool nodded. "yes. it is hard to put it into language that will be clear to one who has no knowledge of our science. perhaps i can explain it by saying that the human eye is a three-dimensional organism, and therefore capable of perceiving only things that fall into that same category. there are a great many things in the universe, some of the greatest importance, that the ordinary man's senses are incapable of perceiving. we have learned how to cast a protective screen of fourth-dimension rays about our city, and the effect is that it becomes completely invisible to the human eye. do i make myself clear?" "not entirely," gerry grinned. "but i do know that your screen works! but, since your science is so far ahead of the other people of venus, why don't you rule the entire planet?" "the other races are all barbarians," gool said with a sort of disdainful gravity. "we prefer to live here in our peaceful isolation and not bother with them. that is an essential part of our philosophy." the speeding mono-rail car mounted higher as it neared the center of the city. the track seemed to end on the blank wall halfway up the tallest of the buildings, but as the car came near a circular doorway suddenly opened just in time to let it through. they halted in a circular chamber where heavy springs caught and allayed the last of the car's momentum, and a pair of gold-helmeted guards saluted gool as they helped him to alight. "the council is ready and waiting, my lord," said one. gool nodded over his shoulder to gerry. "follow me," he commanded. the council of elders of moorn sat at a u-shaped table in a high-ceilinged room whose walls were hung with heavy and very ancient tapestries. the dozen members of the council were all old men, gray-beards who seemed dwarfed by the high-backed chairs in which they sat. they listened with grave attention to gerry's account of what he had seen of conditions on venus, but their austere faces showed no sign of animation when he again suggested that they should intervene in the planet's affairs. "we are not interested," gool said listlessly. suddenly the short-wave alarm in gerry's helmet buzzed loudly. he pressed the receiving switch. "listen, chief!" steve brent's voice was tense and excited as it came from the ear-phones, "i just got a message from tanda back in larr. there's hell to pay back there! the scaly ones have in some way managed to storm one of the barrier forts, and now they're pouring over the borders of savissa in great hordes. they're armed with supode rays, too!" gerry switched off the radio, and leaned forward with his hands on the carved table. "now is the time for you to act!" he snapped. "lansa is a mad-man. he plans to overrun all venus. if you come to the aid of the amazons at this time, it will...." "our isolation of centuries is not to be broken," gool interrupted. watching the emotionless faces of the council of elders, he felt as though he were wading through mud. he was getting nowhere! the inertia of these gray-beards was a leaden and tangible thing. "but if lansa wins he may come after you!" he urged. "your walls are invisible, but they're there. i could feel them with my hands. now that lansa has the equipment to project the supode ray, he may bring them down and...." "we take no part in what goes on outside our walls," gool repeated firmly. "we will give you the metal to repair your own ship. if you and some of your men wish to return quickly to the mainland in the meantime, we will send you across in our flying cars. that is the most that we can do." * * * * * half a dozen flying cars rested on a broad platform on top of one of the walls of the city of moorn. many bells were tolling the noonday chimes as gerry norton led his armored men from the _viking_ aboard the compact little flying machines. there was room for six men in each car, the pilot and five passengers. only angus and the necessary assistants had remained behind to repair the space-ship with the materials supplied by the men of moorn. gerry leaned from his car to shake hands with gool, who was leaning on his gold-tipped staff. "thanks for this much help," gerry said. "next time we meet i'll tell you...." "we shall not meet again, my friend," gool said with a half smile. the words seemed definitely ominous to gerry, but before he could say anything more the old man had bowed ceremonially and then stepped back off the landing platform. the flying cars of moorn were shallow bowls of some gleaming blue metal, oval in shape and with three comfortably upholstered seats. they had no visible means of propulsion. curved windshields of heavy glass protected the passengers from the air-blast of swift motion. gerry got in beside the pilot of the leading car, who was a slight and taciturn moornian with the big head and high forehead of his race. a complicated control board was fixed in place before him. closana and portok were in the seat next behind, while two more members of the _viking's_ crew occupied the rear seat. "ready?" the pilot asked. gerry nodded. the pilot touched a switch on the control board before him, and three globular dials glowed with an iridescent light. the space-car rose easily from the landing platform, moving upward and outward at a steep angle. there was neither noise nor vibration. the city vanished as soon as they passed outside the zone of dimensional-control on its outer walls. looking back and down, gerry saw only the pitted rock of the foundations far below. a cart was moving toward the beach with some bars of metal for the _viking_. then the next flying car came into sight as it sped out beyond the walls. its nose came into sight first, then the middle section, finally the whole car. one after another, the rest of the flotilla took off till they were flying in a v-shaped formation like a flock of wild geese. "what kind of power makes these cars go?" gerry asked. "iso-electronic rays," the pilot replied shortly, not taking his eyes from the indicator board. "and can they be made invisible like the city?" "yes. the dimensional-control lever is here." the pilot pointed at many of the controls, then again lapsed into silence. it was evident that gerry was not going to be able to have any extended conversation with the driver of the car. that might be due to instructions the man had received from his superiors, or simply to his own nature. probably a combination of both! these men of moorn were a cold and self-centered race. probably they were an isolated off-shoot of the original old ones who had first settled this planet, a group who had managed to retain the scientific knowledge of their ancestors but had lost the vigor and fire that are found in active and vital nations. * * * * * below them lay the greenish yellow expanse of the great sea. though these electronic flying cars of moorn traveled with a noiseless smoothness that was the last word in flying comfort, their speed was much less than that of the _viking_ at even minimum rocket power. the pilots were holding the flotilla down to a level of only a few hundred feet. the sight of the vast expanse of rippling waters sliding past so close below them was a strange experience to gerry norton, who had spent his life in space-ships that always traveled at the upper levels where everything below looks like a gigantic patch-work quilt. scattered islands shouldered their way upward through the sea ahead, and then sailed past below. so utterly smooth and noiseless was the movement of the electronic flying cars that they seemed to be standing motionless, while a strong wind blew against their glass shields and the surface of the planet unrolled beneath them. it was well into the afternoon before the familiar mountain ranges bordering savissa came into view ahead. closana was leaning forward on her seat, her eyes eager and youthful in the shadows of the steel helmet with which she had been fitted out from the _viking's_ stores. then, as the coast line became clearer with every passing mile, she suddenly pointed ahead and down to two black dots on the surface of the sea. the pilot took one glance at them, and then his hand moved to the dimensional control lever. when they first entered the flying cars, gerry had noticed that each one bore a very realistic appearing metal bird at the end of a sort of flag-staff that protruded upward at the bow. at the time he had thought it was simply a form of decoration. now he realized that the metal bird fulfilled a much more useful purpose. it was outside the zone of invisibility, and gave all the pilots something to indicate the locations of the other cars and avoid collisions. when he glanced back, all he could see was a flock of birds following them in a wide v. the flotilla was keeping formation. * * * * * as they soared closer to shore, the two black dots gradually took shape as a pair of good-sized surface craft. a black-hulled raider, manned by a crew of the scaly ones, was hotly engaged with a wooden savissan patrol boat. companies of amazons crouched behind the high bulwarks of their warship, loosing their arrows in stinging flights. explosive bullets crackled around them as the scaly ones replied with their gas-guns. the boat was equipped with a big charging-tank, for reloading the gas-guns, equipment too heavy to be carried by land raiders but possible here. the tide of battle was definitely setting against the amazons. the bodies of many of the golden-haired feminine warriors lay sprawled in the scuppers or scattered on the riven decks. closana's fists were clenched as she peered down at the battle on the seas below. the decks of the savissan craft were beginning to smolder, and her arrow fire was weakening. closana threw gerry an agonized glance, and he turned to the pilot beside him. "is there any way we can strike at that raider below?" he asked. the moornian pilot smiled faintly, and then handed gerry a long metal rod that was equipped with gun-sights and had a sort of rubber stock. a wire trailed away from it and was attached to the car's power plant beneath the control boar. it looked like an odd form of rifle, but the metal rod was solid instead of hollow. "aim--then press the button!" the taciturn moornian said. gerry brought the strange-looking weapon to his shoulder and sighted through a line of rings set in the top. he centered the cross-hairs amidships on the black-hulled reptilian craft, then gently pressed the switch button set in the stock. there was a blinding flash of lightning. an instant later came the crashing roar of thunder. momentarily the flying car rocked under the buffeting of the disturbed air masses, then it steadied down again. on the sea below, the battle had come to an abrupt end. that single blow was enough. the lightning bolt struck the sea raider amidships, with a blinding flash. the metal hull glowed red hot. water steamed about it. the dark shapes of scaly warriors went spinning off into the sea. then the tank of gas amidships exploded, sending a sheet of blue flame high into the air. the savissan war-craft rocked violently on the waves created by the lightning bolt and the explosion. the surviving amazons clung frantically to bullwarks and rigging to avoid being washed overboard by the sheet of foam-flecked water that spread over the decks. then as their craft steadied down again, they looked up into the sky. all they could see was a flock of small birds speeding rapidly inland. they lifted their weapons to the sky in salute, a tribute to whatever dark gods had sped the deadly bolt that wrecked the enemy craft. gerry gingerly handed the deadly lightning caster back to the pilot. "that's an effective weapon," he said. "if these flying cars can only stay with us for a few hours after we arrive at the city of larr, we can probably break up the attack of the scaly ones and...." "we return to moorn immediately, as soon as we have landed you in larr," the pilot said with cold finality. "those are the orders of the council of elders." * * * * * dusk caught them just as they passed over the savissan coast line. they saw the gleaming lights of various scattered towns and hamlets below them. an hour later the lights of larr itself came into view. at first they were only a glow along the horizon. then, as the flotilla of flying cars swept nearer, the lights of the city began to take on definite form and shape. closana was again leaning eagerly forward. "the lights look strange!" she said, "so many of them are unsteady and flickering!" gerry norton peered ahead through the night. his own eyes were narrowed and thoughtful. "those flickering lights you see are ray-guns," he said at last. "the city is already under siege." before attempting a landing as they came to the golden city of larr, the flotilla of flying cars swept in a wide circle over the city and its surrounding suburbs. great fires burned in braziers along the walls. other fires had been kindled by the besiegers. dozens of cottages outside the circuit of the city walls were also aflame, blazing furiously. the whole place was suffused with a ruddy and uneven light, and the observers in the flying cars had a clear view of the scene below. behind the battlements and bastions atop the city's walls crouched the golden amazons of the garrison, loosing their storms of arrows at the swarming besiegers below them. other tawny-skinned crews worked the alta-ray tubes that belched blasts of blue flame at regular intervals. wherever the blue beams struck, the ground was blackened while the twisted and charred shapes of scaly ones writhed in brief agony. the myriad brazen trumpets of larr sounded hasty rallying calls, or else tossed staccato signals from one part of the defences to another. the hordes of lansa had invested the city on three sides, the marsh-land on the far border of the city protecting that side from direct assault. groups of scaly ones took shelter behind tree trunks and mounds of earth and any other possible cover, firing their gas-guns up at the battlements in an effort to lessen the arrow fire. others crept forward behind movable metal shields. heavy-caliber gas-guns inched slowly forward behind wooden mantlets that bristled with arrows, and hurled their larger explosive bullets up at the walls. wherever they struck there was a puff of yellow dust and a scarred place on the stones. reptilian trumpets beat with a staccato thunder as lansa kept in touch with his various divisions. not all the advantage was with the besiegers, however. even as gerry watched, a blue heat-ray struck full on one of the big gas-guns and blew it up with a shattering crash. in all but one particular the battle was a large-scale edition of the type of assault that the scaly ones had often tried against various barrier forts in the past. the difference was that they now possessed the supode ray, which lansa had been able to prepare for his forces. long beams of the familiar murky, reddish light were continually playing upon the walls of larr. the effect of the supode rays seemed to be less serious than gerry would have expected. perhaps lansa's ray-guns were lacking in power because inefficiently made. perhaps the yellow stones that formed the walls of larr contained some radioactive substance that partially neutralized the rays. the walls were crumbling into powder in dozens of small spots as the searching beams of the rays found a weak point or flaw in the stone, but there was none of the wholesale collapse that lansa had probably hoped to achieve. the whole scene below was like a macabre nightmare. the fires flashed and crackled, and the explosive bullets of the scaly ones twinkled like fire-flies through the drifting smoke. red light glinted on the points of flying arrows. savissan trumpets blared defiance to the thunder of reptilian drums. most dramatic of all, silent but terribly deadly, was the duel of the ray-casters as the red beams of the attackers and the blue rays of the defenders darted back and forth through the night like the rapiers of fencing giants. * * * * * the flotilla of flying cars darted down to the plaza in front of the tower of the arrow. the pilots kept them invisible until they had landed, lest the nervous crew of a defending ray-machine blast them before their identity was known. as soon as the dimensional-control was switched off there were cries of alarm, and a few hasty arrows glanced harmlessly off the earthmen's armor. then closana shouted reassuringly and they were recognized. a little later gerry and a few of his officers stood with rupin-sang on one of the balconies of the great tower. the aged king of savissa wore full armor though in the shadows of his gilded helmet his face looked old and gray and tired. beside them, a squad of the golden amazons worked a long-range ray-tube that was firing at the rear areas of the reptilian position. the muscles of the feminine warriors rippled beneath their tawny skins as they swung the heavy controls of the big ray-machine. "they came against one of our barrier forts from the rear, in great numbers," rupin-sang said wearily. "i cannot imagine how they had managed to get so many men in behind our lines...." "probably brought them under water in that submarine they used when they took me captive," gerry said. "brought them through in relays. i should have sent you warning to block the river channel against that craft, but i never thought lansa would strike so quickly." "at least we had enough warning to prepare for the defense of the city after they broke through the frontier," rupin-sang said. "we called in all the surrounding troops. we sent the very young and the very old, the ill and the crippled back to comparative safety in the hills by way of secret trails through the swamps. if the walls will stand against the new rays the scaly ones are using, we should be able to hold out for a long time." "the armor of my men is proof against either rays or explosive bullets," gerry told him, "and our ray-guns are superior to those that lansa has been able to make. we'll use my men as shock troops to beat back any particularly pressing attack. between us, we can hang on until lansa gets tired of the siege." "i hope you're right," rupin-sang said gloomily, "but i recall the old prophecy. it is in my mind that the end of the golden city of larr is at hand, and that the sands of my nation run very low. however--we will fight to the end." "no bunch of half-lizards led by a white renegade is going to lick me!" gerry rasped. * * * * * a week later gerry norton was less confident. haggard and unshaven, he stalked into an inner room and tossed his helmet clattering on the table. his armor was badly dented by the impact of many explosive bullets, and one forearm was burned where a supode ray had momentarily pierced between the chinks of the armor. "all right, steve," gerry said wearily, "it's your watch. go up on the walls and take over." "anything new?" steve brent asked, sitting up on the cot where he had been sleeping and running both hands through his tousled crop of sandy hair. his freckled face was as lined and drawn as gerry's own. "another of the bastions on the west wall came down under the rays, but we're holding the breach all right with archers and a portable ray-caster. hurry and get up there, like a good fellow! i left portok in charge, and he's dead on his feet." "i am not so damn much alive myself!" steve muttered, but he put on his helmet and went clanking off up the corridor. gerry sat down heavily on a bench, at the moment too tired even to take off his armor. the city of larr still held out--but that was all that could be said. the scaly ones still pressed the assault day and night without ceasing. the once mighty walls of yellow stone were crumbling under the constant attack of the walls while the defense of the steadily widening breaches put an added strain on the dwindling numbers of the garrison. if only the _viking_ would come! her duralite hull would withstand either rays or explosives, and her own powerful ray-tubes should be able to blast the attacking artillery out of existence and thereby raise the siege. but he could not raise the space-ship on the radio! that was the thing that worried gerry most of all. tanda had been trying at hourly intervals for days, but he could not get any answer from mctavish. at last gerry stretched out on the cot that steve had quitted, and almost instantly went to sleep. it seemed only a moment later that he awoke to find portok the martian shaking him by the shoulder. gerry laboriously raised himself up on one elbow shaking his head to clear his brain. so strong were the bonds of sleep that several seconds passed before his brain grasped the meaning of the words that portok was shouting in his ear. "chief! can't you hear me? the whole western wall has come down, carrying all the ray-tubes with it. the scaly ones are in the city!" * * * * * gerry seized his helmet and weapons from the table where he had thrown them, and dashed out of the room. from one of the balconies of the arrow tower he could see the swift disaster that had come upon the city of larr. the ceaseless, unrelenting play of lansa's supode ray machines had finally weakened the city's western wall until the whole rampart had collapsed. the once towering wall was now only a long mound of rubble. the companies of scaly ones nearest the wall had been buried in the debris when it fell, but fresh hordes were pouring forward with a shrill yelping. the amazon archers defending the wall from above had been mainly crushed in the wreckage. reserve regiments were hurrying into place at the double, bow strings twanging and long golden hair streaming out behind them but there was one loss that could not be replaced. all the alta-ray machines on that wall were shattered and broken. the despairing courage of larr's feminine defenders was not enough to hold that mile-long pile of rubbish whose sloping sides could be easily climbed by the swarming hordes from giri-vaaka. the amazons were falling back all along the line. the retreat was a slow and stubborn one, but it was steady. such of the alta-ray machines as could be brought to bear upon the shattered wall from other portions of the fortifications swept the advancing scaly ones with blue blasts that tore gaping holes in their ranks, but there were not enough of them. the firelight gleamed on the armor of a few of the _viking's_ men who were fighting with the rear-guard, their ray-guns stabbing viciously into the reptilian ranks as they fell back. the drums of the scaly ones took on a deep-mouthed bellow of triumph, and the brazen trumpets of larr were the voice of a forlorn and fading hope. rupin-sang appeared on the balcony beside gerry, leaning his gnarled old hands on the rail. he was smiling, as though final disaster had at least brought a relief from strain. "this is the end of the city of larr," he said. "the ancient prophecy of jeddah-khana comes true after all. save yourself and your men while you can, my friend." "can't we all escape through the swamps and put up a better fight in the hills?" gerry asked. rupin-sang shook his head. "no, my friend. the last survivors will do that when all is over, but we will defend larr to the end--street by street and house by house--as is the tradition of savissa. we are the last descendants of the old ones. we may die, but we will do it with honor." the swift advance of lansa's men bit deeply into the city, halfway from the shattered wall to the central plaza surrounding the great tower, before it was checked at a line of hasty barricades. there was bitter house-to-house fighting all across the city. gerry knew that the stand at the barricades could not be sustained for very long. the advance of the scaly ones had at the moment outdistanced their supode ray casters and their heavy caliber gas-guns. for the present the amazon arrows held them checked. the advance was sure to resume as soon as lansa's heavy weapons could be brought up again. * * * * * it was a hopeless fight--and yet gerry could not bring himself to leave. partly it was his affection for the grief-stricken but indomitable closana that held him there. partly it was the sheer courage of the amazon's gallant fight against such heavy odds that kept him in the battle line. by some standards the affair was none of his business but he could not quit now. however--he had not the right to hold his men in the stricken city if they wished to leave. as he located the various members of the _viking's_ crew in the disorganized amazon ranks, he gave each one permission to escape from the city through the eastern marshes. portok's reaction was typical. "run from these snake-skinned devils?" the little martian panted hoarsely, his ruddy face gaunt and his eyes sunken deep in their sockets. "not while i can still stand. i'm staying with the rear guard--as long as there is one!" new fires had been started by the victory-drunk reptilians, fires within the walls. the lurid glow of burning houses made the night hideous. fully a third of the city was in flames by now, and only the easterly wind kept the flames from driving the defenders away from those portions of the city that they still held. by noon the next day the tale was nearly all told. the savissans now held less than a third of their city, a v-shaped sector with the arrow tower at its apex. the murky beams of supode rays were now continually playing against the walls of the great tower itself, and small cascades of pulverized rock kept sliding off the face of the stone work as the weaker parts began to decompose under the steady impact of the rays. and still the fight went on! gerry had forgotten what it was like to lie down and rest. he was leaning in an angle of the wall, actually asleep on his feet, when chester sand from the _viking_ hurried across to him. "rupin-sang wants to see you down in the garden right away, chief!" sand panted. "you and steve brent both." "all right. get steve," gerry growled. he sighed, and tightened his belt, and went wearily down the steps to the lower floor of the tower. * * * * * the pleasant walled garden behind the tower was a very different place from the stop gerry had seen when he first came to savissa. the explosive bullets of the scaly ones had ripped up many of the trees, and shattered the marble statues. a heap of debris fallen from above lay along the base of the tower wall, while more was constantly trickling down as the murky beams of the supode rays criss-crossed overhead. the bodies of dead amazons were scattered here and there on the trampled grass. dense clouds of acrid smoke from the burning city swirled down over the garden wall. closana was waiting in the garden, her armor dim and battered. her left arm was heavily bandaged, but she still carried a naked sword in her right hand. "i was told that you wanted me," she said. gerry shook his head. "no, it was your father who sent for _me_." just then steve and chester sand came across the garden. a faint suspicion began to stir in gerry's mind. "where is rupin-sang?" he demanded. sand hesitated, and cleared his throat. his eyes were shifty. then gerry heard a slight sound behind him. he spun around--and looked squarely into the muzzle of a ray-tube held by lansa himself! they had been neatly trapped! lansa and a dozen of his men had come up through the sewers and slain the amazon guards posted there. "drop your weapons!" lansa snapped. gerry shrugged and obeyed, and the others followed his example. there was a triumphant smile on the renegade's saturnine face. "i am glad you were not killed in the fighting, norton," he said, "because you and brent and the girl will make very valuable hostages for me when your space-ship eventually returns." gerry turned and stared at chester sand. the _viking's_ safety officer was pale, but he met the other man's glance with a sort of weak defiance. gerry's lip curled. "so _you_ are the rat who slugged me that time i caught olga in the radio room!" he said. "i should have known it. i seem to have left several loose ends i should have watched, but i'll fix you for this some day and...." "you won't be fixing anybody any more, norton," lansa said grimly. "after i've used you to get possession of the _viking_ you'll die in the torture chambers at vaaka-hausen. thanks to my good friend sands, i also know the location of the invisible city. that, too, i will attend to. but all in good time. guards! bind and gag the prisoners...." he never finished the sentence. there was a sharp hiss, and a thud. a narrow steel point stood a hand's breadth out beyond his throat. a wondering expression came into his eyes. then his knees buckled, and he went down on the trampled grass. across the garden, still holding the air-gun from which he had shot the long steel slug, stood sarnak of luralla! * * * * * the scaly ones went for their weapons, but a vengeful throng of the outlaw brood of the dragon came pouring up from below on the heels of their leaders. there was no thought of quarter between these hereditary foes. there was a short, sharp fight--and then the last of lansa's raiding party died in the shadow of the wall. sarnak came striding forward, his hand outstretched and a cheerful smile on his broad face. "it seems that i came in very good time, my friends!" he said. "perfect," gerry grinned. "but what does your coming mean?" "it means that the hour of deliverance is at hand. when lansa brought his full force eastward against savissa, it gave us the opportunity we have been needing for generations. we of the dragon's teeth rose against the scanty garrisons he left behind, and put them to the sword. the mass of the people joined us then, when the chances of victory looked so strong that hope overcame the despair born of generations of oppression. now the green folk of giri have thrown off the yoke of the invader at last, and thousands of them are marching this way to take the army of the scaly ones in the rear." "but how did you come to arrive in the garden at this particular moment?" gerry asked. "the forces of giri have forded the river and are marching overland, but i came ahead with a hundred picked cavalry mounted on swift saddle-dolphins. we saw a crude type of underwater craft moving in this direction, and followed it at a distance. you know the rest. after bringing down the sentries that lansa had posted below, we left our dolphins and our water helmets down at the main drain and crept up through the passages to this place." "when do you think the rest of the green folk will come?" closana asked. "within a few more hours, princess. they will not be in time to save your city, but they will be in time to protect the survivors." "if there are any of us left by then!" the girl said bitterly. gerry suddenly pointed upward. "look there! the worst is over now!" he shouted. the _viking_ was streaking across the sky in a burst of yellow rocket flame. the big space-ship dropped down over the beleaguered city, her powerful ray-tubes flashing. other murky beams stabbed up to meet her, but her duralite hull was impervious to the rays and angus kept her high enough so that the helicopters were protected by the curve of the hull. one after another the ray casters and heavy gas-guns of the scaly ones went out of action. when the ship's beams had silenced the artillery and commenced to rip black holes in the ranks of the reptilian warriors themselves, they suddenly broke and fled. * * * * * the war drums of the scaly ones were silent at last, while the trumpets of savissa raised a long-drawn paean of vengeance. out of the ruined and flaming city fled the reptilian men, while troops of swift-footed amazons hung on their flanks and rear with twanging bows. back across the plains toward the border they fled--and ran squarely into the grim thousands of the green people who tore them apart with the savagery of an oppressed race just finding their souls again. the few that survived, out of the powerful army that lansa the mad earth-man had brought eastward to attack savissa, were a handful who fled back across the land of giri and vanished into the desolate vaaka marshes from which their people had first emerged generations before. the golden city was hopelessly afire, past saving, and the survivors gathered on a level field outside the northern wall. gerry and sarnak and rupin-sang were standing together as the _viking_ dropped down to land on the edge of the field. mctavish stepped out, red bearded and jovial but showing the effects of sleepless nights himself. "sorry we couldn't get here sooner," he said, "but we've been working night and day to make proper repairs with that queer metal the people of moorn gave us. we got your radio messages, but couldn't reply because the ship's sending set is broken and i figured the helicopters were more important repairs." in a few brief words gerry told mctavish of the fight in the garden. the big scot beamed his pleasure. "an' did they get that slinking she-devil of an olga along with the rest of the carrion?" he asked. gerry shook his head. "no, she wasn't there. at least, we didn't see her. it wasn't likely though that she would come. she probably remained back in vaaka-hausen." mctavish frowned his disappointment. "ah, weel," he shrugged, "ye canna' have ever'thing." "don't worry, mctavish," sarnak grinned, "we'll probably have her in a few hours. a force of savissans and green men have already left to clean up vaaka-hausen." gerry grinned. "good. there's one thing i would like to suggest. i loathed lansing as much as any of you, but he is a white man, and i dislike thinking that he may be hauled off and tossed into a common grave with the rest of the scaly ones. let's go to the garden, and see that his body has at least a half-way decent interment." the rest of the party agreed to this, and they made their way back to the garden. they went down the steps leading to it, then all stopped in surprise. the bodies of the slain scaly men and lansa were gone! mctavish rubbed his eyes unbelievingly. "what kind of devilment is this?" he whispered. sarnak shook his head slowly. "i don't understand. unless the retreating forces found them, and carried them along with them. they were all dead, of that i'm sure." "lansing, too?" inquired mctavish suspiciously. gerry laughed. "lansing never walked away from here, unless as a ghost. i saw him go down. and men with an arrow transfixing their throats don't do much walking." but the big scot didn't seem entirely convinced, and as they walked away, he was still shaking his great, shaggy head in doubt. with the strain of the siege over at last, many of the garrison had simply dropped to the ground and gone to sleep where they fell. gerry was watching the flames sweep over the last of the city. for a long time the arrow tower remained standing above the sea of fire, but then it began to tip. faster and faster it fell, till it came down in a shower of sparks. closana dropped her head in her hands, but old rupin-sang touched his daughter on the shoulder. "save your grief girl," he said. "it is true that the golden city of our fathers no longer exists, but there was a second part to the prophesy. that, after the great disaster, the people of savissa would have a re-birth. a message that just came through from those of our people who are hidden in the hills tells me that--of ten children who have been born since we sent all the non-combatants out of the city--seven have been boys! the curse has been lifted from our race." * * * * * two days later, even before the ashes of larr were cool, working parties of amazons began to clear away the ruins to prepare for the building of a new city. sarnak of luralla had already returned across the river giri to supervise the rebuilding of his own land. angus mctavish came up to where rupin-sang and gerry stood in front of the king's tent. "tests all complete, chief," he said. "that material we got in moorn is all right." "i don't suppose there's any way of thanking them for it." the big scot shook his head slowly, tugging at his beard. "the city isn't there any more." "what do you mean?" "just that it's gone. we heard the bells a few hours after you left, and then we never heard them again. you can walk clean across the plain where the city stood. sand from the beach is drifting into the holes that held the wall foundations, and grass is already beginning over the rest of the place.... it's gone, that's all." "they were queer folk, the people of moorn," gerry said moodily. "i suppose they were afraid they might get dragged into the affairs of the planet in spite of themselves, and simply moved the whole city off to some distant and unknown planet." "but how could they do that?" mctavish said. gerry shrugged. "ask me another! how could they make the place invisible? we know they did that, we don't know how much further their science went. anyway--i'm going to be glad to get back to earth for a while. i guess we're ready to start." he turned to look at closana for a moment. the girl had laid aside her battered armor for her customary bright loin cloth and golden breast plates. she shook back her long golden hair and faced him with a smile. "want to come back to earth with me, closana?" he asked. "either that--or the ship goes back without its captain," she said quietly. gerry laughed. "darling, i feel sorry for any earth-woman who ever concludes you're some shy little stranger she can patronize. well--the trails of interplanetary space are long and we'd better get going. all aboard!" venus boy by lee sutton illustrated by richard floethe lothrop, lee & shepard co., inc. new york copyright, 1955, by lothrop, lee & shepard co., inc. library of congress catalog card number: 54-7882 printed in the u.s.a. all rights reserved [transcriber's note: extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] to mildred and blake "everything that lives is holy." --old marva saying. _a hero of venus_ if you ever make a trip to the green planet of venus, the first thing you'll see will be the fifty-foot high statue of venus' greatest hero. it stands on the very top of towering new plymouth rock at the edge of the old colony of new plymouth. even from the rocket cradle, anyone can tell that the statue is of a twelve-year-old boy smiling up at the venusian jewel bear perched on his shoulder. cut into the huge rock below the statue are the words, "virgil dare (johnny) watson and the marva, baba. may their friendship endure!" virgil dare watson, called johnny by his friends, was the first human being born on venus. he was named after virginia dare, the first pioneer child born in north america, and for a long time he was the only child on all venus. and that would have been a lonely thing to be if it had not been for baba. baba, the bear, was not only johnny's pet, but his best friend, too, and the only one who knew about his three secrets. because of these secrets, johnny got himself, his jewel bear, baba, and the whole colony of new plymouth into desperate trouble. and because of these secrets, he also became a hero worthy of a statue--venus' greatest hero. contents i the first two secrets 1 ii the treasure of venus 9 iii a dangerous target 18 iv the third secret 25 v a mystery indeed! 34 vi inside new plymouth 45 vii the rhinosaur stampede 54 viii one secret is revealed! 66 ix the price of a brother 71 x alone in the jungle 81 xi the friends are separated 97 xii the price of a boy 107 xiii outwitting the outlaws 116 xiv captured! 129 xv a city in the trees 140 xvi the thunder of rhinosaur hooves 155 xvii teachers can't play hookey 172 facts about venus 178 chapter one _the first two secrets_ it was rocket day on venus!--the day the yearly rocket from earth arrived, and it was like christmas, fourth of july and your birthday all rolled into one! in the windowless, one-room new plymouth school, johnny watson, a stocky twelve-year-old, sat toward the back of the room, a big venus geography propped up in front of him. johnny was supposed to be studying. every time mrs. hadley, the teacher, glanced his way, a page of the book slowly turned. the teacher was much too busy with the half dozen squirming, excited first graders to notice that a small black paw fastened to a furry blue arm was really turning the pages. on johnny's lap sat baba, a perky-faced little blue bear with stand-up ears and bright blue eyes. to fool the teacher, the little bear, his eyes twinkling, flipped the pages one by one. "we gotta do something quick, baba!" johnny whispered to his bouncing, jewel bear cub in a tight worried voice. "it's only two hours till school's out." the little bear peered over at the clock on the wall. he lay a tiny black paw on his blue button nose and cocked his head as if he were trying to tell the time. when school was out everyone would go to the rocket field. johnny knew that above all, he and his bouncing bear must not be there! why johnny and baba dared not go was one of johnny's three secrets. there was only one thing to do, johnny thought. he would have to behave so badly that as punishment he would be forbidden to go. "nudge me when mrs. hadley turns around," johnny whispered. "we're gonna get out of here!" the little bear shoved his furry blue snout around the geography and peered from behind it. his bright eyes followed every move the teacher made. the instant mrs. hadley turned to write on the blackboard baba gave the boy a kick. johnny slipped down on to his hands and knees in the aisle and baba hopped upon his back. rapidly and silently johnny crawled toward the armor room. behind him a little girl kindergartner began to giggle. "look at the horsie!" she yelled. johnny heard the teacher call, "quiet, children!" the little girl giggled louder. but he hadn't been seen! he scurried into the armor room. as johnny jumped to his feet and grabbed for his suit of rhinosaur-hide armor, baba leaped toward the wall and hooked his claws into the concrete. then he scurried straight up the wall like a fly and snatched up johnny's headglobe in his tiny black paws. while johnny wriggled into the armor baba fitted the headglobe over the boy's tow head. without waiting to zip up, johnny started toward the door. baba jumped from the headglobe shelf and landed on his shoulder with a smack. the boy's hand was scarcely on the latch when the teacher turned around, her mouth making an o of surprise. quickly, johnny jerked open the door and dashed through, slamming it closed. there was a space of a few feet and then another door. holding the second door open, johnny snapped tight his headglobe, while baba's small fingers pushed and pulled at the zippers fastening the armor. both of them scanned the sky. no arrow-birds. johnny grabbed a stone from beside the step and wedged it in the outer door so it could not close. to keep out these murderous flying lizards, all buildings were windowless and had double doors. when one door was open the other automatically locked. "johnny, johnny! you come right back in here!" a muffled voice called. johnny sighed regretfully as he slipped out of the schoolhouse into the pearly green light of venus. baba on his shoulder, he started out at a dead run through the collection of windowless buildings that made up colony headquarters. the two had barely made it to the foot of a tall heavily leafed tree when the door of the main headquarters building began to open. "up the meat tree!" johnny yelled. baba leaped from johnny's shoulder and rolled himself into a furry blue ball as he fell. the little bear smacked the ground with the sound of a bouncing basketball and bounced high into the air! at the top of his bounce his arms and legs shot out; he hooked his claws into the trunk half way up the meat tree. baba wasn't called a bouncing bear for nothing! johnny jumped for the nearest branch. weighed down by his arrow-bird armor, he was slow pulling himself up--too slow. baba scurried down the trunk like a squirrel, his claws scattering bits of bark on johnny. hanging on with three paws he reached out and hooked his claws into johnny's armor. one pull from that tiny but powerful arm and johnny was sitting on the branch. from there up it was easy. the branches made a perfect ladder. soon they were entirely surrounded by green shadowy leaves. johnny carefully pushed aside a green fruit the size of a cantaloup and looked out. striding across the dusty road came a tall man in headglobe and black armor--captain thompson of the colony guard. the teacher must have phoned for help. the man's square face was set in anger as he kicked the rock away from the schoolhouse door. the teacher stepped out and johnny could hear their angry voices. after a moment mrs. hadley went back inside and the guard captain strode purposefully away toward mayor watson's office. sitting on a branch swinging his legs, baba winked a shiny blue eye. he reached over and patted johnny on the spot where the boy was likely to pay for his pranks. "i think we've done it this time," johnny whispered. "i hope it's not just another spanking." johnny spoke with deep feeling. he had had three spankings in three days. the little bear looked sadly down his blue muzzle and made an odd deep clicking noise in the back of his throat. "sure," johnny said, as if answering the bear's clicks, "i want to go to the planet-fall, but we just can't." the bear clicked again. "i know," johnny went on, "i know the earthies would give you chocolate. besides i was going to have a job." johnny's eyes began to shine with tears he wouldn't let come. for the first time he would have been working on the rocket field with the men instead of being on the sidelines watching with the women and little kids. the little bear patted him on the shoulder and clicked in low tones. "all right, i won't be sad if you won't." johnny shook the tears away and tried to make a joke. "gosh, baba, you talk funny since _you know what_." johnny screwed up his face. "you're such a mushmouth now i can hardly understand what you say." baba stuck out his long blue tongue. this was johnny's first secret. his little bear could talk! baba's clicks were really the words of his own language. although he couldn't make the sounds of the human voice, he could understand people perfectly. johnny could both understand what the bear said and speak in the same clicking language. this hadn't started out to be a secret at all. as a little boy, johnny thought everyone knew that those clicks were baba's words. when baba came to live with him, the little bear cub already knew his own language, but johnny was just learning to talk. he learned human words and click words at the same time, and thought everyone understood them. when he was almost five, johnny discovered to his amazement that no one understood baba but him. he then went proudly spreading the news that he and his bear could talk together. when the first person laughed, johnny didn't mind. but when everybody laughed at him he began to get a little mad. the crowning insult was being spanked for lying. after that, johnny decided if telling grownups that baba could talk only got him licked and laughed at, it might as well be a secret. besides, it was fun keeping it secret. after a few minutes of waiting, baba scurried along a branch and hung by his black claws while he thrust his blue button nose through the twigs and leaves. johnny followed along another branch. "looks clear," baba clicked. "let's go!" "wait a minute." a quick movement in the distance caught johnny's eye. four men came out of a long grey building marked hunters hotel. johnny was instantly alert. colonists always kept a sharp eye on such men. these were the dangerous marva hunters, whose only law was an ato-tube gun. johnny swung to a branch where he could see better. "what's up?" baba clicked. "hunters!" clicked johnny. "they're watching the guard change at the old stockade." "oh." the two looked at each other. both knew what was in the stockade, locked away in the big safe. marva teeth and claws. jewel claws and teeth from grown-up bears just like the cub baba! "come on, baba." johnny shinnied back to a place where branches forked from the trunk of the meat tree. "we'd better check your nails 'fore we go down." after making sure no arrow-birds were feeding on the meat fruit, he undid one of his armor zippers and pulled a bottle of black liquid and a small brush from an inside pocket. baba plopped down on his lap. "smile," johnny commanded. baba pulled back his lips, showing black teeth. johnny looked at them carefully, grunted, and then picked up one of the little bear's paws. all the nails seemed perfectly black, but on the tip of one of them there sparkled a point of bright blue. "dang it, we gotta find something better than this nail polish. a little climbing and it's all scraped off." johnny scowled and dipped the little brush in the bottle of black liquid. carefully he painted the tip of the claw. looking over the little bear's paws he found four more claws that showed blue. he painted them, too. "now don't climb down when we go, baba! when the polish is dry, jump." the little bear nodded. this was johnny's second secret. everyone thought baba still had his valueless black baby claws and teeth. but, under the coating of black nail polish, each of baba's claws was really a precious blue jewel. johnny watson owned a million dollar pet! chapter two _the treasure of venus_ yes, a million dollars, maybe even more, and all for one little bear! johnny sighed shakily at the thought and hugged his bear to him. "what's the matter, johnny?" baba clicked, waving his claws to dry them, like a lady getting ready for a party. "you know," johnny said, "i was just wishing for the good old days when you had your baby black nails and your pretty squeaky voice, and we didn't have to be afraid of anything." "i'm sorry," baba clicked. "i couldn't help it. i just grew." baba looked so sorrowfully down his nose that johnny laughed, swung the little bear up above his head and sat him down on a branch. "you're a silly," johnny said. "i know you couldn't help it. i was just wishing." most of all he was wishing that bouncing bears didn't have jewels for claws at all. but he knew that was a silly wish, too. grabbing a branch, johnny swung himself back to a spot where he could see the hunters. as he watched, more were arriving. about a mile away a battered hunting tank came lumbering through the sliding doors of the fifty-foot high concrete wall surrounding the colony. outside those walls, johnny knew, lay the murderous animal life of the jungle planet. every living thing on venus attacked men. not just the huge rhinosaurs and the horned river snakes, but even tiny scarlet apes and pigmy antelope. johnny knew the colonists and hunters would never have come to such a savage place at all without the lure of tremendous wealth to be made from bouncing bears' claws. harder than diamonds and just as clear, these magical jewels shone soft blue in the night and were blindingly bright in the sun. but that wasn't the only reason claws were valuable. a tiny piece of claw, or even of the duller teeth, melted in thousands of tons of plastic, made that plastic tough enough to be used for the hulls of rocket ships. men called it marvaplast. with such a treasure beckoning, man could not stay away from venus. rockets came hurtling across space filled with hunters. traders followed. after the traders came the colonists, led by johnny's father and mother. johnny sighed again. "don't be so sad," baba clicked. "we've been real lucky so far." "i suppose so." johnny had to admit they'd both been lucky. baba had been lucky not to be killed as his mother and brother had been. and johnny had been lucky to get baba at all. if there had been any other way of raising the bear until his black baby claws turned blue, johnny never would have gotten him. all other young marva that had been captured had died. they refused to eat or drink. they simply squatted down and whimpered piteously until they died of what seemed to be loneliness and heartbreak. when baba had been captured, mrs. watson brought him home, hoping to save his life. two-year-old virgil dare, as johnny was called then, was fascinated. "ba-ba," he had cried, trying to say bear, and had thrown his arms around it. surprisingly, the little bear had stopped whimpering and had hugged johnny back. a few minutes later it had eaten some diamond-wood nuts. after a week, the colonists had decided that the little bear would live and he was taken away and put in a small diamond-wood cage for safe keeping. the little bear promptly refused to eat and almost died, whimpering over and over a sound that was just like "johnny, johnny, johnny." it was the only sound he could make beside the clicking noise. he had to be sent back to the little boy. from then on virgil dare was called johnny. he and baba went everywhere together, even to school. as the years went by they became closer than brothers and it was easier and easier to forget that the blue cub was really colony property. then, baba's voice had deepened; the black nails had gradually loosened; and, all in one venus night, during baba's long sleep through five earth days of darkness, the new nails had come in. johnny had a mixture of india ink and nail polish all ready. it had worked for two months now. but the polish _did_ chip off and the claws had to be painted over and over. "oh, baba, why can't you be a sensible little bear and stay home where people can't see you," johnny said. "you know why, johnny," baba clicked. "you're my kikac." this was a word in the clicking language that meant friend, pet and brother, all in one. baba said kikacs should never be parted. that was the reason johnny could not go to see the rocket come. if he went, baba was sure to follow. everyone, colonists and hunters, was going to be at the field, and if one of them caught sight of a flash of blue from baba's claws, it would mean the end of baba. the colonists liked the little bear but the colony was very poor. they wouldn't think long about killing him for his jewel claws. the hunters wouldn't think at all. they would steal him as quick as the flight of an arrow-bird. it was a very dangerous situation. but if he could keep from going to the rocket field, johnny had a plan. the plan depended on johnny's third secret. draped over his branch, johnny kept his eye on the hunters. they just seemed to be strolling about the settlement now--getting used to the fact that they were out of the dangerous jungle where they lived in concrete forts. when the door of the settlement headquarters opened again, johnny pulled his head back in among the leaves. a grey haired man with heavy eyebrows stepped out of the door. it was jeb, the old hunter, one of the first men to come to venus hunting marva. now he was one of the colony guards, and a very good friend of baba and johnny. when the old man came close enough for him to hear, johnny crawled out where he could be seen, called down to him, and waved. "hi, jeb--whatcha doing?" the old man stopped in his tracks, looked carefully around him, then cocked an eye up into the tree. he frowned, his grey eyebrows making a v over his deep-set eyes. he shook his head in disapproval, but said nothing until he was directly under the tree. "what i'm doin' isn't important," jeb said in a gruff voice, looking up at johnny. "but what are _you_ a-doin' up that tree when you're supposed to be doin' book work?" "aw," johnny started, "i just...." "you just made your paw boiling mad, that's what," jeb interrupted, "locking the teacher in that way." he snorted. "did dad say anything about keeping me away from the rocket landing?" johnny demanded anxiously. "nup," answered jeb. "cap'n thompson wanted him to, but he says no, that you worked real hard all year. but i'm warning you. you better get on inside that school house, unless you want a good tannin'. your ma's out lookin' for you with fire in her eye." he started to walk away. "hey, wait a minute jeb," johnny called. "well?" "i was watching those hunters. they're sure interested in the stockade. you better tell cap'n thompson." "we know they're interested. i don't think they'll do anything. that old reprobate of a trader harkness'll keep 'em in line. _you'd_ better watch out, though. i might tell cap'n thompson where he could find him a hooky-player." with a fierce snort the old man was on his way. johnny smiled. he knew jeb would never tell where he was hiding, in spite of the gruff warnings. jeb was a nice old fellow. he'd shot his marva years before, gone down to earth, spent his millions in a few wild years and returned to venus dead broke. in twenty years hunting he had never made another kill. marva were as hard to find as they were valuable. "guess you just weren't quite bad enough!" baba clicked to johnny. "my claws are dry. let's go before your mother finds us." johnny crawled down to the little bear. "we gotta think of something else bad to do. it's that or just plain refuse to go. but then they'd think something was funny, sure as shooting!" "there's lots of ripe meat fruit in the tree," baba clicked, and grinned. "maybe you could drop one on captain thompson!" "oh boy!" johnny exclaimed in excitement. then he frowned. "aw, he probably won't come by here again." "somebody will!" baba said. "let's keep an eye out." the two of them posted themselves in different parts of the tree and watched for possible targets for ripe meat fruit. no one seemed to want to walk under the tree. finally johnny caught sight of a short fat bald-headed man and a tall redhaired man leaving the hunters hotel together. one was trader harkness, who all but ran the colony, and the other, his bodyguard, rick saunders. they seemed to be headed for the trading post and would have to pass directly under johnny's tree to get there. baba saw them at the same time. "how about trader harkness?" the little bear clicked. "do you think he'd be a good target?" "a kind of dangerous one," johnny clicked back, his heart racing. "but where's that meat fruit?" there wasn't any question about his getting into enough trouble this time. he just hoped he wouldn't get into too much trouble! trader harkness was a very important man, but johnny didn't like him. he had started as a hunter and then had turned trader. by killing off most of his opposition, he had become the only important trader on venus. if he hadn't wanted a walled settlement to protect his goods, the colony might have failed. a hunter would stop at nothing to get what he needed and the colony had had more than one of its tanks ambushed and stolen to hunt marva. a red, ripe meat fruit was not hard to find. johnny wrenched one from the branch and held it carefully by its long stem. the size of a small melon, green meat fruit must be cooked before eating. once ripe, their thin skins are plump full of a sweet strong-smelling paste--a natural high protein baby food. "there's plenty more," johnny clicked softly. "think we ought to get rick, too?" "he's too good a friend," baba clicked back. "besides he might not give me any more chocolate." johnny agreed with a laugh, and pushed leaves aside so he could see. he shivered. below him came the most powerful man on venus--a short, immensely fat man, who waddled forward rather than walked. on earth he would have been laughed at, but on venus he was feared and respected. he liked that respect and demanded it. johnny swallowed hard. the man he was going to drop the fruit on had once been ambushed by five hunters--none of them had survived. chapter three _a dangerous target_ as the two men moved closer to johnny's and baba's meat tree, they appeared to be arguing about something. the trader glittered as he waddled forward. his armor was of the clearest, brightest marvaplast plastic, and his fingers were studded with marva jewel rings. they stopped just a few feet away from the tree. johnny could tell the trader was angry. though he was keeping himself under tight control, his heavy jaw was set and his little black eyes flashed under his smooth, hairless brow. "i'll put it to you straight, rick," the trader's heavy voice rumbled up to johnny. "i couldn't stay in business a year if i did as you asked me to." the redhaired bodyguard was flushed. "well, then, i guess i'll have to do it," he said in a tight, defiant voice. "if you won't warn the colonists, i will." harkness' jaw tightened. "better think it over, rick." his voice was still controlled and level. he gripped rick's shoulder with a pudgy, jeweled hand. "remember, those hunters trusted me. they figure my bodyguard wouldn't do anything i told him not to. if you warn the colonists, i'll have to make it clear you were on your own." his voice held a threat. "what do you mean?" rick demanded, pushing the hand from his shoulder. "the least i would do would be to fire you back to earth," he said ominously. johnny drew in his breath. he knew how much rick wanted to stay on venus. the trader got his bodyguards by paying their way to venus. he agreed to stake them for hunting if they did good work for a year. otherwise they were sent back to earth. it was said that men who crossed trader harkness never made it alive. "i'm sorry, trader," rick said, "but i'll take my chances. if you don't like what i do, i'll join the colony." "i should have guessed it," the trader said contemptuously, "when you began hanging around that worthless jeb." the trader paused and then the threat in his voice was no longer veiled. "believe me, saunders, join that colony and you'll regret it." the heavy man turned slowly and moved toward his trading post. fascinated, johnny had all but forgotten the meat fruit in his hand. the trader was almost past him when he remembered. with a little toss johnny let go of the juicy fruit. for an instant he thought he had thrown too far, but the trader waddled forward just right. with a sickening plop the red fruit exploded on the top of trader harkness' shining headglobe. dripping purple gobs splattered through the air slits, smearing the stone-bald head. a strong sweet smell floated up to johnny. for a moment harkness stood perfectly still in shocked amazement. then the tremendous man began to dance about in sheer rage and discomfort. "water!" he yelled, his rumbling voice rising to a shrill cry. "get some water!" he was bouncing up and down in an odd way, his clenched fists hitting the air. all his dignity was gone. johnny stared open-mouthed, awed by his own daring. rick saunders stool still a second, and then broke into a guffaw. "i tell you, get me some water!" trader harkness roared. three or four hunters and jeb, the old guard, came running up. they took one look and they, too, broke into laughter. jeb was carrying a fire bucket. "never thought i'd ever get this chance, will," jeb cackled, and sloshed a bucket of water over harkness. the water splashed on the bald head and washed the bits of fruit down the trader's neck and under his armor. the big man stood there dumb with anger. johnny's throat ached with the laughs he'd kept back. he glanced up to the branch where baba sat. the little bear's fur was shivering with fun. his eyes opened wide, and with a whir of clicks meaning, "watch me, johnny," he leaped into space. he kicked up a flurry of dust as he bounced to the ground and up to his feet in front of the trader and the other men. by this time the crowd had grown to a dozen men. baba stopped a moment to make sure everyone was watching him. then the round little bear began a dancing, bouncing waddle up and down. he clenched his forepaws into little fists and beat the air. his face was screwed up into a mighty frown. it was a perfect imitation of the trader. the men's laughter swelled to a roar. "rick!" harkness' voice rumbled out, tight and cold with rage. "shoot it!" the laughter stopped suddenly, almost as if it had been switched off. it had been so long since anyone had made fun of the trader that the man had lost his head. "i can't do that!" rick's lean brown face was horrified. then he became angry. "i wouldn't shoot a kid's pet!" "well, i will!" moving with more speed than it seemed a large man could muster, the trader's hand snaked toward his holster. baba saw the joke had gone too far. he leaped into the air, came down with a bounce and shot up the tree beside johnny before the trader could level the gun at him. johnny's mouth went dry. already the trader was searching the tree for baba, his pistol up, the safety switch off. the men stood in shocked silence. "he's right beside me, mr. harkness!" johnny shouted, and crawled into full view. "c'mon, baba, get on my shoulder. he can't shoot _me_." as johnny came into full view, the trader's face grew angrier yet. "baba didn't drop that meat fruit, mr. harkness," johnny said firmly. "i did." "kid's got guts," one of the hunters muttered. as johnny slid down to the ground, he saw his mother pushing her way through the group of men. her lips were tight together, her face white. "you're going to get it," baba clicked. "here come your pa and captain thompson, too." mrs. watson strode straight up to trader harkness, her eyes blazing. "you ought to be ashamed!" she said to the man. then she turned on johnny. "and so had you, young man. no planet-fall for you!" johnny's heart leaped. he'd done it at last! "now, mr. harkness," johnny's mother's voice was very low, "what baba and johnny did was very wrong. i apologize for them. and johnny will certainly be punished. nevertheless, i never want to hear of you or anyone else threatening baba again. is that clear?" taken aback, the trader nodded. "that goes for the whole family, mr. harkness." johnny's father stepped forward straight and tall and put his arm around his wife's shoulder. "not to mention the colony," he went on. "we have a pretty big stake in that bear." the fat, short trader seemed suddenly as cold as ice. his heavy jaw thrust out and his little black eyes looked straight at johnny's father. "valuable or not, i don't have to put up with insults. not from those two or any of you. if that's the kind of thanks i get for ten years of working with you, i'm through. you can fight your own battles now." he jerked his head around toward rick. "c'mon!" "i'm staying," the young man said. "all right. stay." the smooth bald head swiveled back to the watson family. "i told this man i'd fire him back to earth. but let him stay. after the hunters have picked your bones, i'll take care of him." he turned, and with heavy footsteps walked away. his slow waddle did not seem funny now. the hunters in the crowd stood for a moment, and then followed him. captain thompson addressed johnny's father. "that sounded like a declaration of war." johnny's father nodded grimly. "i think our colony is getting too big for him," he said slowly. "he's been looking for a way to break with us and johnny gave him just the kind of excuse he needed." "yep," said jeb. "but don't be too hard on johnny. maybe it's just as good it happened now when we got marva claws to buy us some extra fire power." "you might not have those claws long enough to do any good," rick saunders cut in. "i was just going to warn you. four hunters just asked harkness in on a plan to rob the stockade. the trader turned 'em down, but...." "which four hunters?" captain thompson broke in. a shadow passed over rick's face. "i don't know which ones." he looked at mr. watson eagerly. "i want to help, though. i'm hoping you'll take me on as a guard." "we can sure use you." jeb stepped up and slapped the young man on the back. mr. watson appeared to consider for a moment. he looked rick up and down, and then glanced at captain thompson, who nodded. "all right, rick," he said. "you go on over to the guard barracks and jeb'll check you out. when you're through, report to captain thompson." rick saunders grinned. old jeb threw an arm around his shoulder and they walked off together. when they were out of hearing captain thompson turned to johnny's father. "i don't know if i like this," he said. "harkness may have planted that man on us. i'm certainly not going to let him get anywhere near our claws. i'll keep an eye on saunders personally." "but, gosh," johnny broke in, "i heard him arg...." "i think, johnny," said his father sternly, "you've said and done enough for one day. the trader is a proud man and by making a fool of him you've given the colony a deadly enemy." he turned back to captain thompson. "we'd better change our plans, captain. it looks like we should double, maybe even triple the guard...." chapter four _the third secret_ three hours later, boy and bear were trudging through the marshberry fields toward new plymouth rock. johnny's bottom was still warm from his recent session with a strap. the boy was in full armor. a leather harness was strapped to the little bear's furry blue back. the last 'copter had long since left for the rocket field and, except for guards, the settlement was nearly empty. because of this johnny had been forbidden to leave his house. a lone person without a gun was supposed to be just what the arrow-birds were looking for. but johnny wasn't afraid. he had his third secret. johnny reached up and carefully picked one of the apple-sized marshberries for himself. it was a rich ripe yellow color. "they are just right this year," johnny said to baba. the little bear nodded gravely. both he and johnny had worked hard in those fields. everyone did. marshberries prevented a disease called colds that johnny had never had, and were the only crop the colonists could send back to earth. they had to be ripe for the yearly rocket or a year's work was wasted. johnny trudged on under the weight of his armor while baba bounced along beside him. a mile away loomed new plymouth rock. the huge mesa-like rock made up one corner of the settlement's barrier against the animals. the thick concrete walls of the settlement, topped with live wires, were joined to the rock on two sides. on its summit, stood a stunted diamond-wood tree. this was johnny's and baba's destination. baba jumped high in the air, made himself into a ball and bounded on ahead. "hurry up!" he clicked. "hungry for nuts, eh?" johnny asked. "crunchy ones," the little bear clicked back, turning a somersault in the air. "come on, hurry!" johnny made a face at baba. "bear," he said, "you're certainly getting bossy lately." baba did another somersault, bounced, and landed on johnny's shoulder with a thump, almost knocking the boy down. he put his nose in johnny's ear. "i'm a grown-up," he clicked in heavy tones. "hear my beautiful new voice?" johnny hunched his shoulders hard, spilling baba to the ground. then he grabbed him by the harness, and stood up. while baba squeaked piteously, johnny swung him round and round. at the top of one of the swings he let go, tossing baba high into the air. "help! help!" clicked baba, beating paws into the air, and screwing up his face. just before he hit the ground he made himself into a ball. he hit with a smack and bounced higher than johnny had thrown him. both of them were laughing when he stopped bouncing. "gosh, i wish we could have done that for the earthies!" johnny said the two fell silent, both thinking of the fun they were missing at the rocket field. they were coming to the end of the marshberry fields. before them were the great boulders surrounding new plymouth rock. johnny had made the harness baba was wearing for forays among the boulders--forbidden forays, for arrow-birds nested there. baba, with his strong nails and bouncy body, could go straight up the face of rocks. he was small enough to ride on johnny's shoulder, but he was powerful too. by hanging on to baba's harness, johnny could go straight up and over large boulders, armor and all. "let's go right by the nests," baba clicked. "i want to be sure, right off." "o. k., worry bear, you lead the way." johnny began to chant, "grandpapa baba sat in a corner, 'fraid that his shadow would burn in the fire." baba bounced over the smaller rocks in the way. johnny, weighed down with headglobe and armor, made his way slowly over them and between them. baba helped johnny over one steep place and then stayed beside him. it was hard going and johnny's clothes were drenched with sweat under his armor before they clambered down the last boulder and on to a little flat place. they were already high above the level of the settlement. on one side they were surrounded by high red boulders. on the other side loomed the sheer cliff of new plymouth rock. far above them, from many round holes in the rock, came strange squeaking sounds. here were the arrow-bird nests! johnny was deathly afraid. he'd seen what an arrow-bird could do when it shot itself at a man. "get ready, baba," he whispered. "those are just babies up there," baba clicked. "no danger yet!" "let's climb up and get rid of them!" johnny suggested. "then there won't be any here to...." "no!" baba interrupted. "but why? i'd be protected by my armor and...." "no!" baba clicked more firmly. there was a stern but puzzled expression on the little bear's face. "the arrow-birds are my friend-pets, i must not hurt them." he used a word in the clicking language which meant both friend and pet. it was something like the word "kikac," which he called johnny--"friend-pet-brother." "all right," johnny said, "but i don't understand." "you mustn't harm them, either," baba said. "remember, i brought you here. otherwise you wouldn't know where the nests were. even if you just tell the grownups and they kill them--well, it would be wrong. i would have--" baba was interrupted by a high whistling, shrieking noise, and the whir of wings. so quick you couldn't have followed his motions, johnny squatted down, curled his feet under him, thrust his hands and forearms into special armor pockets. six strangely shaped creatures were diving straight at him. arrow-birds! a dirty greenish yellow, they were long and slender, over a foot long. one could not tell where their heads left off and their necks began. they were shaped like long arrow points. their gossamer-thin wings were a blur of motion. johnny braced himself so that if they hit him he would not be knocked over. in a fraction of a second they dived within fifty feet of him. "go away friend-pets," baba clicked, as loudly and as fast as he could. "go away! bother us not!" he repeated his cry in a kind of chant, so rapidly it was almost a trill. the shrieking whistle changed to a low hum. the arrow-birds pulled out of their dive. they floated in mid-air, their wings awhir. one had almost reached johnny and was hovering in the air only a couple of yards away. it bent its neck out of arrow position and looked straight at him. its little purple eyes glittered against the yellow green skin of its head. then, like a flash, they were gone. "whew!" johnny breathed. he took his hands out of his armor and stood up. he turned around just in time to see the flight of arrow-birds crawl into the holes in the rocks that were their nests. this was johnny's third secret. the arrow-birds obeyed baba! right after baba's voice had changed and his jewel claws had come in, the two had made this astonishing discovery. they had stumbled upon this nesting place, and the arrow-birds, frightened for their nests, had slashed down at johnny for the first time in his life. but baba had cried out desperately in his new deep clicks for them to go away--and they had. it was like magic. staring up at the sheer cliff, johnny was excited, but afraid. such a climb was too dangerous to do just for the fun of it, but johnny thought he might have a way of saving baba. even when they were much younger the little bear had been willing to leave johnny in order to climb for diamond-wood nuts fresh from the tree. it was the ideal place for baba to hide. if johnny could climb up with him they would be able to visit often-and baba was so fond of fresh nuts he might be willing to use it for a hideout. johnny hadn't told baba about his plan. if they could make it to the top he would tell the bear then. the high shrieking whistle began again. johnny suddenly had an idea. "friend-pets, friend-pets, bother me not. bother me not," johnny clicked quickly, shaping deep clicks just like baba's in the back of his throat. as the birds half-pulled out of their dive, the little bear started to speak. "no, let me keep trying," johnny clicked. "friend-pets, friend-pets, bother me not." at this, the birds hovered about him making squeaking noises, their heads still in striking position. "they're puzzled," baba clicked. "they sense something's wrong. they expect to be shot at by people. i'll tell them to go and it will be all right. in a second they could kill you." "i've still got my armor," said johnny. "maybe if i tell them to come here they'll trust me." johnny spoke the last in english and the words sent the birds fluttering farther away. they seemed to be on the point of making another dive. johnny was pale under his headglobe, but clicked, "friend-pets, come to your friend." the flying lizards slowly quieted, squeaking among themselves. their wings humming, they hovered closer and closer. there were five of them. finally their heads snapped out of arrow position. one of them hovered in very close. "come to me, friend-pet," johnny clicked to it, and held out his hand. the creature, watching him carefully with its little purple eyes, floated even nearer, its wings humming. very gingerly it came to a perch on his hand. its claws were cold and it smelled faintly of meat fruit. johnny breathed deep. he was the only human being who had ever made friends with an arrow-bird. slowly, while the other birds hovered in the air about him, johnny drew in his hand and stroked the bird on its folded wings. it shivered under his touch. but, as he did it no harm, the other birds came closer and lit on his arms and his shoulders. one peered into his face. another poked the air slits of johnny's headglobe with its sharp bill. "baba! baba!" johnny cried out. "do you see this? do you think i could sneak one home with us?" "your people would kill him, johnny," baba clicked. "go away, friend-pet," he clicked to the arrow-bird. the bird looked at johnny. "go, friend-pets," johnny clicked regretfully to the five birds about him. with a flash of wings they were gone. "gosh," said johnny. "gosh!" he unzipped and wriggled out of his armor. "baba, i don't _have_ to wear armor ever any more. do you understand? i can just walk around like you do!" the words fairly bubbled out of him. baba was quiet for a moment, frowning. "johnny," he clicked, "i've done something wrong. something very bad. i'm not sure why, but i just know it's wrong. those are my friend-pets, not yours. if _you_ use the word 'friend-pet' to them, that means you can never hurt them. you must always help them. but they will always try to kill your mother and father. it is all mixed up." "gee, baba," johnny was frowning now, too. "c'mon, let's try the climb and forget it." from one of the armor straps he unhooked a flashlight he always brought along for exploring caves. he fastened it to his belt. a few moments later the two friends were looking up at the bare rock face that extended three hundred feet straight up. "golly, baba, do you really think you can take us up _there_?" johnny asked. "if you can hold on, i can take you," baba said from johnny's shoulder. "start up!" johnny yelled. baba leaped up onto the wall of rock, his claws cutting into it. johnny grasped the harness and hooked his toes into a crack in the stone. chapter five _a mystery indeed!_ by the time baba and johnny had gone fifty feet up the cliff, johnny felt as if his arms were about to be pulled from his shoulders. the boy helped push with his feet, but that took only a little weight from his arms. below him there was nothing but boulders and sharp jagged rocks. in spite of that danger, he felt that he could hardly keep hold of the harness. sweat poured down into his eyes. "hurry, baba," he said through clenched teeth. "ledge soon," the little bear clicked. as he speeded up his climb he slapped his claws deep into the rock, making sharp clapping noises that echoed among the boulders below. he stopped short and johnny saw a place where the rock jutted out a few inches. gratefully he felt something solid beneath his feet. he couldn't put his whole foot down, but he could rest his arms a little. "whew," johnny said, "doesn't the ledge get wider?" "in a minute," baba answered. crabwise, with johnny still hanging on, baba worked along the ledge, which slowly widened until johnny could stand alone. they were now on the jungle side of the rock. a few feet farther on, there was a narrow slit in the rock face that widened into a small cave. deep in the cave's darkness johnny heard the squeaking of young arrow-birds. as he crept inside he whipped his flashlight from his belt. purple eyes glittered at him in the circle of its light. there was a flutter of wings. johnny and baba started to click at the same time. the fluttering stopped and the birds' heads disappeared into their nests. the cave ended in a pile of large stones. johnny sat down. "boy, do my arms ache!" johnny said. "how about you, baba?" "i can climb," baba answered. "but can you hold on? we have far to go." "aren't there any more ledges?" johnny asked. "small ones," baba answered. "none are wide like this one. do you still want to go up?" "maybe we could tie me on some way," johnny said. "mountain climbers do it that way." in a moment the boy and the bear were trying to see what they could work out. finally johnny had baba use the razor sharp point of one of his claws to cut a pair of long thin straps from the wide ones on the harness. these they tied to johnny's belt and then to baba's harness again. when the straps were finished, johnny felt rested and they started out of the cave. they were stopped by the sight below them. at the foot of the rock there was a wide space of cleared ground, and then the jungle stretched out. about a half mile away some large greyish beasts were breaking out of the undergrowth. "rhinosaurs!" johnny shouted, pointing. "golly, a whole herd of them!" there were more than thirty of the huge grey-blue saurians. even at that distance they could hear the low thunder of the gigantic hooves. the beasts stayed close to the brush, knocking down small trees as they came. johnny knew that heavy ato-tubes were trained on the rhinosaurs from the guard towers. the guards in the gate towers would have a full view of them. johnny also knew that unless the beasts began to charge the walls, the guards would not fire. if they did, the whole herd might charge. topped as they were with electric wires, the heavy fifty-foot high walls would be hard to breach. but rhinosaurs had smashed those walls once--before they were thickened and electrified. "remember when they attacked and killed a lot of colonists?" "i remember," baba clicked. "your people killed them, too. these straps...." johnny nodded. because it was made of the skin of an animal the colonists had killed, he had had a hard time getting baba to wear that harness. "let's go!" johnny said. this time the going was not so hard for johnny, though they climbed much farther before he and baba could rest. the next ledge they reached was not large enough to let them sit. baba had to hang to the rock, but it didn't seem to tire him. three more rests, and slowly but surely they were reaching the top. at the last rest baba clicked to johnny in warning. "the rock is getting softer. if my claws tear away from the rock, just relax and fall with me. i'll grab again further down." "all right," he said. johnny didn't dare look down. he had been climbing with baba since he was three, but never this high before. they had gone up only a few more feet when baba's claws began to slip. johnny let himself go limp just in case anything happened. very slowly baba's claws slipped down the rock. then they caught hold again. "we will have to move to the side," baba clicked. johnny didn't answer. it was up to baba. the little bear scuttled crabwise along the side until he found rock that didn't scale off. then up they went again. finally there was a ledge. the two scrambled onto it. above the ledge was a gap in the rock, some boulders--and they were on the top! a faint wind was blowing, and johnny could hear it sing through the top of the stunted diamond-wood tree growing on the summit. the top of new plymouth rock was flat, a hundred feet or more wide, but with many jutting boulders. here and there grew small bushes and patches of grass. the diamond-wood tree sprang directly from the bare rock. with shaking fingers johnny untied the straps and threw himself down on a patch of green. as he lay there, his breath rustling the grass, he heard baba pattering about and wondered how the little bear had so much energy left. "johnny," baba clicked, "do you want some berries?" johnny looked up to see the little bear holding some clear, almost transparent red berries in his paw. the colonists called them antelope berries because they grew mainly in antelope country. at that moment johnny realized he was very thirsty. "thanks, baba!" he crushed the berries with his teeth and felt the sour-sweet juice trickle down his throat. he suddenly felt thrilled with triumph. he was now where no other human had ever been before! johnny was just raising his head to look around when he heard the patter of tiny hooves behind him. "look, johnny!" baba clicked. johnny turned. running toward them was a herd of the tiniest antelope he had ever seen. they were barely six inches high, their curled horns almost as tiny as needles. head down, they charged directly at him. johnny jumped to his feet. "friend-pets," baba clicked gently, "bother us not." the tiny creatures wheeled about and started back in the direction from which they had come. "oh, baba, don't send them away," johnny said. then, remembering his success with the arrow-birds, he himself clicked in a low tone, "come here, friend-pets. come here." the antelope with the longest curled blue horns stopped, turned slowly around and pawed the ground, his long neck arched. it was just seven inches high. johnny laughed. the regular antelope were seven _feet_ high, but otherwise looked exactly the same as these. johnny squatted down and, as he moved, the herd turned and ran, making little whinnying noises. then they wheeled and returned. the leader pranced closer and closer and came to a halt within a foot of johnny. it was soft blue all over, marked with spots of deeper purple. its tiny hooves were blue black, and its eyes glistened with deep purple highlights. johnny reached out both his hands and laid them before the little creature. "come," johnny clicked. trembling, the little antelope pawed the grass. then with mincing steps he came forward and placed his forefeet on one hand, his hind feet on the other. very slowly johnny raised him from the ground. the small hooves were sharp and dug into the palms of his hands. the little animal's eyes widened and it snorted in fear. johnny, afraid it might fall, set his hands back on the ground. "go, friend-pet," he clicked. with a bound the creature returned to his herd. together the antelope leaped high over a small boulder and were gone behind a clump of bushes. johnny looked up to see baba watching him steadily. the little bear looked at johnny the same way as when he had spoken to the arrow-birds. "friend-pet-brother johnny," baba clicked, "i am sure i am doing wrong. first the arrow-birds and now the antelopes are your friends. but they are your people's enemies." "not the antelopes!" johnny said. "they fight us some, but we don't ever bother them except for meat." "your people kill them," baba said, as if that settled matters. "now you can't. you've said they were your friends." "is that some kind of rule?" johnny asked. "you said they were your friends," baba repeated. "you help your friends and your friends help you. that is the law and will be the law as the trees stand. between friend and friend there is no parting more than the fingers of a hand." baba said this in a sort of sing-song of clicks, like the song of a bird. it was something like a poem. "baba," johnny asked, "how do you know all this? you've never talked this way before." johnny squatted down before the little bear, whose face was screwed up into a puzzled frown. "i guess i've always known it," baba clicked. "but it just came back to me. i don't remember much before i came to live with you, johnny. but i do remember being in a high tree. there was one like me whom i loved very much, and she sang the song i just sang to you. i remember going to sleep while she sang it. it is a true song, too." "would you sing it again?" johnny asked. the little bear began again: "you help your friends and your friends help you. it is the law, and will be the law as the trees stand. between friend and friend there is no parting more than the fingers of a hand." this time the little bear really sang, trilling the clicks to a tune like the roll of a mockingbird's song. johnny felt very strange. he patted baba on the head and then stood up. "i think i understand," he said, and looked out over the surrounding countryside, thinking about the little antelope he had just held in his hands. "i'm hungry," the little bear clicked. with a jump and a bounce he started for the stunted diamond-wood tree. "baba," johnny called. the little bear bounced back. "aren't there plenty of those nuts here for you to live on? i mean, enough to feed you regularly if you lived here all the time?" the little bear nodded yes, but frowned. "i want to live with you, johnny," he clicked. "i know, baba. but you're in danger. i hoped that if i could show you i'd be able to visit you, maybe you'd stay." at the unhappiness on the little bear's face, johnny hurried on. "look, baba, i can't make you stay here. but somebody's going to find out about your nails if you stay with me. if you live here, i could come up and visit you when the nights come, and if we were lucky, i could see you most every wake-time down by the rocks...." johnny's voice trailed off. baba was looking unhappier and unhappier. "i want to live with you," baba repeated. "remember what the song says about parting. you stay here with me." it was johnny's turn to look unhappy. he didn't want to leave his father and mother, any more than baba wanted to leave him. the hard climb was all for nothing. "i can't, baba. you know that," he said sadly. "i can't either," baba said. johnny continued arguing for a long time but it did no good. baba wanted to be with johnny: there wasn't anything more to say. "i'm still hungry!" clicked the little bear, plaintively. then, with a bounce, baba was up and away. the little bear was crazier about fresh diamond-wood nuts than anything else, even chocolate. johnny felt sad and confused. he got up. below him stretched the sweet green lands of venus. the hard angles of the walls and the squat grey buildings of the settlements were somehow out of keeping with the rest of the land. there was an almost park-like look about the jungle from this height. in the distance the towering groves of diamond-wood trees, where the marva lived, shone blue green against the light green clouds that were the skies of venus. between the blue groves of diamond-wood were the meadow lands, soft and rolling. at the edges of the meadows were the lower and darker green meat trees, where the saber-tooth leopards stalked. the land was laced with rivers that shone in the green light. it was all so beautiful, and so deadly. in a few hours evening would begin--almost three earth days of twilight. venus turned so slowly that there was a whole earth week each of daylight and dark. but of course people had to sleep and work by earth days. the thick permanent clouds surrounding venus glowed with light hours after sundown, making the twilight last and last. beyond the marshes was the sea--filled, too, with savage life, flying crocodiles who made nests of the bones of their prey, great dinosaur-like monsters and shark-snakes. but none of these dared come onto the land, for the land animals fought them as fiercely as they fought man. except for baba, all the animals on venus were determined to kill johnny's people. and he had just been making friends with some of those enemies. he felt strange, as if he were being a traitor to his own kind. johnny didn't like that feeling. suddenly he thought of baba living among people and wondered if the little bear felt the same way. johnny turned away from the edge of the cliff and kicked a stone. he began to wander over the top of new plymouth rock, peering into bushes and piles of boulders. he passed near the antelopes grazing on some grass. they lifted their heads and whinnied, but went on grazing. johnny liked that. beside a pile of small boulders, he found some arrow-bird nests. he spoke to the birds and all was well. "that's an odd pile of boulders," johnny muttered to himself. it didn't look just right, somehow. he pushed one of the stones and it rolled down almost to his foot. there was a dark empty space beyond it. he took his flashlight from his belt and shined it down into the opening. he almost dropped the flashlight. the light revealed the shape of a bouncing bear, a marva, just like baba! "baba!" johnny turned and yelled, "come here, quick!" when he looked back, the bear in the opening had not moved. it was not blue, but the color of the rock. johnny stopped shaking. the opening was the entrance into a cave, and on the wall of the cave was carved the figure of a bear he had thought was alive. but he was sure that the bear had been blue! chapter six _inside new plymouth rock_ johnny and baba excitedly started clearing away the pile of boulders and stones from the mouth of the mysterious cave. immediately the arrow-birds began flying around, their heads snapping into striking position. "they don't like us doing this," baba clicked. "they don't like it at all." he turned to the fluttering birds. "bother us not! bother us not!" he repeated. the birds retreated, but hovered in the air not far off. "go away!" johnny clicked. the birds squeaked among themselves and went a little farther away. "i don't understand," johnny said. "we aren't bothering their nests." he and baba each picked up a stone and carried it away from the cave opening. johnny watched the arrow-birds from the corners of his eyes. they dived in closer. "go away," came a firm, deep click. the birds stopped in mid-air and then were gone. "gosh," johnny said to baba, "you sure made them go that time." baba's eyes opened wide. "i didn't say anything," he clicked. the bear and the boy looked at one another, puzzled, and then into the opening. the bear cut in the stone was all they could see. "come on, baba!" johnny rushed to the opening and knocked down a few more stones. baba pushed them farther away. in a few minutes of hard work the opening was big enough for johnny to squeeze through. around the edge of the cave, the rock was carved with the shapes of many animals. the floor slanted sharply downward. "hurry, johnny," baba clicked anxiously. "he may have gone away." the little bear's eyes were shining with eagerness. johnny's heart sank. baba had not seen another live jewel bear since he had been captured. he had never seemed interested. but now he was quivering with excitement. if they found marva, maybe baba would want to stay with them! johnny wanted baba to be safe, but he didn't want to lose him for always. the little bear was already scurrying down the steep slope. without stopping to think of danger ahead, johnny plunged after him. the ceiling was just high enough for him to stand upright. flashing his light into the darkness, johnny saw that the cave was a long passageway that curved down into the heart of the great rock. soon they were too deep inside for any light to reach them from the mouth of the cave. except for the beam of johnny's flashlight, they were surrounded by complete darkness. the air was musty and cool and their footfalls echoed, making scarey hollow noises. "stop!" johnny said. he held his fingers to his lips. his words echoed and re-echoed in front of them. then there was almost silence. a soft padding and clicking sound came from far in the distance. it was the same kind of noise baba's feet and claws made on stone. the two started out again at a half run. the slope was almost too steep, and johnny had to slide to a halt to keep from falling. baba went bouncing along ahead and out of sight. as the slope became steeper yet, johnny had to slide forward carefully. he stumbled and went down on his back. his flashlight slipped from his hand and went rolling on down the passage and out of sight. in a second it was pitch black. "baba," johnny yelled at the top of his lungs. his only answer was his own voice echoing down the long corridor. he pushed himself up into a sitting position and slid on forward on the seat of his pants, his heart beating rapidly. a few very long minutes later, he saw a light shining in the distance. it was baba, the flashlight in his paw. "hurry, johnny!" he clicked. "hurry." with the way lighted for him, johnny got to his feet and could move faster. as he reached baba, the passage began to widen and the slope became less steep. "i saw him," baba clicked excitedly. "he was big. i'm sure if we could catch him he'd be a friend! i tried to talk to him but he went on ahead just when you called. oh, johnny, i do want to find him." johnny had never seen baba so excited. suddenly, the passageway ended and they were in a great underground room. johnny flashed his light around the walls. they, too, were carved with scenes of life on venus. beneath each carving was a small doorway leading into a side room. there was one large doorway opposite the one through which they had entered. "it looks like a meeting house," johnny said. "with seats and everything." he flashed the light on one of the carvings. he had heard of carvings like these and had seen one once. his father said that they must have been made by an intelligent life form that had visited venus from the stars. this cave must have been where they had hidden from the animals, just as men now hid from them behind the settlement's great walls. johnny was awed. "johnny, don't just stand here," baba clicked. "we've got to find him!" johnny looked from opening to opening. "which way, baba?" the little bear sniffed the air. "i can't tell," he said. "i can't tell." hurriedly they made a circle about the great room. when they came to the large opening, baba sniffed carefully. "maybe here," he clicked, and plunged through. down they went as before. this time johnny grabbed baba's harness and they were able to move faster. this corridor was just as steep and curving as the first one. in a few minutes they emerged into another room. it was smaller than the room above and had three small doorways and one large opening. "let's try them all," baba said. through each of the three small doorways they entered similar rooms. the fourth opening was another corridor. again baba thought he smelled the path of the marva. down that corridor they went, down and down. finally it ended in hundreds of the rooms, large and small, the rock was like a honeycomb. johnny's flashlight was already growing dim, and they didn't dare try to search much longer. trying to follow the scent they took a side corridor that led from one small room to another, and came out into a narrow passageway. a faint light glimmered at the end of it. baba bounded on ahead, johnny running to keep up with him. the light seeped through a pile of rocks. johnny flashed his light through one of the cracks. behind the pile of rocks the tunnel continued for several feet. in the light of his flashlight johnny could see bits of leather on the floor of the outer part of the cave. just beyond them on the other side of the rocks was the cave johnny and baba had rested in while climbing up, the cave in which they had cut the long straps they had used to tie themselves together for the long climb upward. the bits of leather on the floor were scraps that had been left over. "why, we're almost to the bottom," johnny said. "yes," baba clicked. "i guess we can't find him. i don't smell anything now but arrow-birds," he ended sadly. "we gotta try," johnny said firmly. he felt hollow inside when he thought baba might go away for good, but he was convinced now that this was the only way to keep him safe. "let's try farther down." johnny turned around and a few minutes later they were going down one of the curving main corridors again. this corridor gradually straightened out. soon it hardly slanted down at all. it finally turned into what seemed to be a long underground tunnel. johnny had to stoop over to keep from hitting his head on the ceiling. the passageway was no longer going through solid rock, and its walls and floor were a sticky clay. johnny's and baba's feet made squishing noises as they walked. it seemed as if the tunnel would never end. they walked on and on. "i think we're going away from new plymouth rock," baba clicked. "i think so, too," johnny answered. "we must've already gone 'most a mile." the walls had narrowed until johnny and baba had to walk single file. suddenly the passageway slanted upward and a faint glow of light could be seen far away. as they began to climb toward the light the ceiling became so low johnny had to crawl on his hands and knees. it was a long, sticky climb. as they approached within a few yards of the light, baba stopped, blocking johnny's way. "this cave must end up in the jungle outside the colony wall," the little bear clicked. "maybe we ought to stop." he sounded worried. but johnny was not going to let this chance pass. "go on," he urged. "but the rhinosaurs...." "who's afraid of an old rhinosaur?" johnny demanded. "you are," baba clicked. but he scrambled on. they emerged into the blinding light in the center of a tangle of thick, high brush. they were out in the jungle, far away from the rock! the boy and his bear were covered with mud from head to foot. they peered carefully around, listening. in the distance they could hear the rumble of moving rhinosaurs. as they crept away from the cave, their view continued to be blocked by large bushes and trees. they couldn't even see new plymouth rock. stepping quietly and carefully they finally came to an opening in the brush. far to the right was the rock--and, farther in the distance, a guard tower. "get back," johnny shouted. "the guard will see us." the two jumped back. there was a grunt behind them. they turned. behind a screen of brush, a great blue-scaled rhinosaur was waking up. it was between them and the opening to the cave. it snorted with the sound of a deep bass drum, and heaved up on its feet. ahead, at the edge of the clearing, was a tall meat tree. they had two chances. they could turn quietly and creep away into the brush, hoping the big beast would not see or hear them. or, they could make a run for the meat tree--in full view of the guard tower. chapter seven _the rhinosaur stampede_ the decision was made for them by the rhinosaur. the great scaled beast began to turn around, crashing down brush as he moved. in a few seconds he would be facing directly toward them. "tree," baba clicked very softly. johnny nodded. the two slinked like hunting cats toward the tree. they didn't dare look back. "i think the guard saw us," baba clicked. "he was waving his arms." the jewel bear had already climbed part way up the trunk. he motioned for johnny to grab the harness. not making a sound johnny took hold of the harness, and the two of them started up the tree. when they reached the first branch, johnny let go the harness and clambered up as quickly and quietly as he could. only when they were screened from view by the fleshy leaves of the meat tree did he dare to look down. through little openings between the leaves he could see the rhinosaur. it was shaking its ugly horned head. its little black-blue eyes peered about under blue scaled eyelids. it trumpeted. the deep blasting sound echoed against the settlement walls. for some minutes it moved around in the brush, snorting. it paused, snuffing in air in great gulps. then it headed straight for the tree and began to trot back and forth under it. it had smelled johnny! its hoofbeats on the ground made the limb johnny sat on tremble. if the rhinosaur sensed that johnny was in the tree it was the end. the tree was easily four feet thick at the base, but a rhinosaur could knock it down with one rush. johnny and baba were on the highest and smallest branch, but they were barely twenty feet above its head. the rhinosaur's shoulder brushed against the lowest branch and the whole tree swayed back and forth as if hit by a hurricane. johnny was struck by an idea. "baba," he whispered, "do you think it might obey you--just like the arrow-birds?" "i don't know, johnny," baba clicked softly. "i'll try." baba started to climb down. by the slow careful way baba moved, johnny knew the little bear was afraid, too. it was an awful chance to take. johnny was about to call him back, but as he opened his lips, the little bear looked up and grinned. down baba went. he was now halfway down the tree, thirty feet from the ground and level with the eyes of the rhinosaur. it caught sight of him, snorted, and pawed the ground, digging up shovelfuls of dirt with each movement. "friend-pet! friend-pet!" baba clicked and johnny suddenly wanted to giggle. imagine having something that size for a pet! "friend-pet!" baba clicked again, "go away! go away! bother us not!" the big creature stopped still. muscles rolled and bunched under the heavy blue-grey scales. was he going to charge or leave? they never found out. there was a roar of motors behind the beast, the clank of metal, the deafening blast of an ato-tube gun. the ground shook; leaves showered down on johnny. the guards had sent a tank to rescue them! things began to happen too fast for johnny to keep track. the rhinosaur roared with pain and wheeled. it had been hit! it charged toward the oncoming tank--one of the colony's light duty tanks, built for speed and quick turns. the driver jockied for position. the tank shot down the clearing, turned and stopped. its guns were too light to kill the huge beast, so the gunner did not bother to fire again. they were trying to draw the rhinosaur away from the tree. the rhinosaur's hooves thundered, echoing against the walls and the rocks as it gathered speed. it was almost on top of the tank. with a roar of the motors the tank shot forward. the rhinosaur was going too fast to stop or turn. it plunged on past the tank, bellowing its rage. almost immediately the tank screeched to a stop beneath the tree. its manhole swung open. rick saunders' red head emerged. "get in here! quick!" he shouted over the noise of the motor. johnny needed no invitation. he was already halfway down the trunk of the tree. baba jumped from his perch into the open manhole. as soon as johnny was low enough, he grasped a branch, swung on to the top of the tank, and started down the steel ladder. the tank jumped forward with a lurch. the rhinosaur was bearing down on them. their guns roared, but the rhinosaur did not stop. as a hand grabbed him, pulling him inside, johnny saw the tree topple over as the rhinosaur crashed into it. "fire the gate rocket!" someone's shout echoed in the tank. johnny recognized captain thompson's deep voice. "check!" johnny heard rick answer. rick was up in the gun turret. after the outside light, it seemed very dark in the tank. it smelled of grease and the burnt air of cannon fire. there was the swish of a rocket. johnny knew this rocket was a signal for the guard on duty at the steel gateways to be ready to open up. the motors were roaring with a high whining sound which meant they were going at full speed. the tank bounced and jolted, shaking johnny from side to side. "get ready for the gate!" warned captain thompson from the driver's seat. the tank seemed to be almost flying now. johnny set himself for a violent turn. like the doors of the houses, the wall gates were double. each was a heavy steel portcullis, a great sliding door that could be raised and lowered. when a tank came in the outer gate its weight tripped a switch. that switched turned on motors that made the first gate fall and the second rise. otherwise fast moving tanks would have smashed into the second gate. johnny slid over to an observation slit. to his left he could see that the heavy steel gate was rising. his heart raced. when being chased by rhinosaurs a driver sped straight along the wall and then turned sharply through the open gate. if he timed it right the rhinosaurs plunged on and the tank was safe. it took split second timing. they were right by the gate. johnny grabbed a brace. with a scream of the treads, the tank started into a turn. "rhinos on the side!" shouted rick. his guns blasted. captain thompson fought to straighten the tank out of the turn. baba was sitting with his paws over his ears, his claws glowing. there was a bone-shattering crash. then johnny felt himself flying through the air. everything went topsy-turvy. he banged his shoulder against the side of the tank. then he felt baba's furry body against his. rick's feet seemed to come from nowhere and dig into his back. johnny grabbed on to something solid and wedged himself in tight. the tank was rolling over and over. something crashed against it again and again. there was a heavy thud and the sound of breaking metal. then everything was still. the motors had stopped. from outside came the roar of guns and the bellowing of rhinosaurs. johnny found himself sprawled on top of rick saunders. he was terribly shaken. baba was hanging onto one of the rungs of the steel ladder. it was almost pitch dark. rick struggled to his feet as johnny scrambled from on top of him. "we're upside down," baba clicked softly to johnny. "what happened, saunders?" captain thompson's heavy voice demanded from the driver's compartment. "didn't harkness teach you to shoot?" "four of them rushed us right at the gate," rick answered. "did we make it inside?" "think so. anybody hurt?" thompson asked. "just scratched a little," johnny answered. "good," captain thompson grunted. "is the righting jack o.k.?" rick tested a lever. "o.k." "let her rip!" "hang on, johnny," rick said. "we're going to right her." johnny knew just what was going to happen. a tank turned turtle had meant a dead crew until the righting jack had been attached to each of the tanks. compressed air pushed out two rods fore and aft and flipped the tank right side up. johnny braced himself. there was a rush of air. johnny felt the tank tip slowly under him. then it went over with a crash. the tank was right side up. "the gate!" rick exclaimed. just above his head johnny saw light from the observation slit. he looked out. then he knew what rick meant. they and the four rhinosaurs had reached the gate at the same time. the rhinosaurs were inside. they had knocked the tank through the outer gateway and had smashed into the steel door before it was halfway down. the inner door must have met the same fate for johnny could see that the sliding steel plates were bent and jammed open. the rhinosaurs had kept after the tank until now it lay fifty yards inside the settlement. even as johnny watched, another rhinosaur charged through the opening and headed into the settlement. captain thompson was grinding on the starter and rick was working up in the gun turret. "the rhinosaurs got through," johnny clicked to baba. "and the tank is broken?" baba clicked back. "yes." "i have to get out," baba said. "maybe i can get the rhinosaurs to...." "no, baba," johnny said. "they're just plain crazy now." captain thompson climbed down out of the driver's compartment. "the motor's gone. how are the guns?" "out of action," rick answered. "must be filled with dirt. we can't do any good here." "o.k.," captain thompson said. "let's get moving. i'm needed out there!" rick undid the wing nuts on the manhole and pushed. metal squeaked, but the door stayed in place. "jammed!" rick said. "get me a crow bar out of the box." johnny dived for the tool box and came up with a pry bar. he handed it to rick. "hurry, man," captain thompson said as rick went to work. his black angry eyes fixed themselves on johnny. "we should have left you out there." "i'm sorry," johnny said. in answer the man cuffed johnny with the back of his hand. johnny couldn't be angry. he knew what a rhinosaur raid was like, and this one was his fault. "oh, leave the kid alone," rick said from above. "leave him alone!" thompson snorted, and glared first at johnny and then at baba. "the kid and that bear have caused more trouble...." captain thompson stopped talking and stared at baba. he reached out suddenly and grabbed the little bear by the paw. "well, look at this!" he said in a hushed tone. in the steamy darkness of the tank baba's nails shone clear and blue. the climbing and running had worn off all the paint. thompson held up baba's paws into the light of an observation slit. he scraped with one of his finger nails. "nail polish!" he exclaimed. the manhole came open with a clang. "she's open!" rick called. captain thompson paused only a fraction of a second over baba and climbed the ladder. "lock the kid and bear in the tank," thompson ordered. "there's less danger here for the boy than there would be in the trip to the wall. you, rick, go back to the gate. i'll run for headquarters. make it fast!" without another word he was up the ladder and gone. rick saunders reached down and patted johnny on the shoulder. "tough luck about your bear, son," he said, and then he, too, was gone. the manhole door clanged and johnny heard a lock click into place. he hugged baba to him. "gosh, baba," johnny said, "what are we going to do now?" baba, for once, had nothing to say. johnny hugged the warm, furry creature closer to him. tears began to streak down his cheeks. baba didn't like this. he cocked a blue eye at the boy. "don't cry, johnny!" he clicked. "come on, stop it!" he pleaded. "why don't we go up in the turret and see what's happening." johnny wiped his tears away and the two climbed into the gun turret. his stomach tightened. through the four-inch thick bubble of marvite plastic he could see the destruction he and baba had let loose. the whole settlement lay within view. a half dozen of the giant lizard beasts had turned, the colony into a dusty hell. even within the tank the bellows of the beasts and the roar of guns was almost deafening. most of the marshberry fields had already been trampled in the mud. one of the concrete houses lay crushed into rubble. johnny was grateful that almost everyone was at the rocket field. he gave thanks, too, for captain thompson. he could see the big man marshaling tanks into an organized row. they were going to try to herd the great beasts out the open gates. johnny turned his eyes toward the gates. someone had manhandled one of the big ato-tube cannons into the opening, pointing it into the jungle. his friend, rick saunders, ran up to help. a dying rhinosaur lay not far from the muzzle of the gun. evidently the other rhinosaurs were too sensible or too frightened to try the power of that cannon. baba was pulling at johnny's sleeve. "look, johnny, look!" baba clicked. johnny turned and looked toward the settlement again. a heavy duty hunting tank stood before the settlement stockade and store house. its heavy cannon spoke once and the door dissolved. four men leaped from the tank and ran inside. "they're stealing our claws!" johnny cried out. weighed down by the colony's strong box, the four men came out of the building. inside that strong box were the colony's precious marva claws! the four hunters heaved the safe into the tank's carrier and climbed inside. with a spurt of dust, the tank rolled on. a few minutes later it had fought its way through the rhinosaurs and was passing the place where johnny and baba stared out of the turret. as it came up to the gate the hunting tank's manhole opened and a man emerged. he waved to rick, standing beside the cannon. the redhaired ex-bodyguard waved back. then he climbed up on the tank and down inside. the tank rolled on out into the jungle. johnny stood, shocked and silent. out that gate went the last valuable thing the colony owned! "i don't understand," baba clicked. "i thought rick was the colony's friend." "i did, too," johnny said sadly. chapter eight _one secret is revealed_ it was now early evening and the venus skies were a deep clear green. it was over an hour since the last rhinosaur had been killed or driven out. the gates had been temporarily repaired. here and there a small building had been trodden into rubble. johnny and baba were still locked inside the tank which had been dragged away from the dangerous fighting. from the turret they were watching a group of men gathered outside the administration building. johnny wished someone would come and let them out. finally the crowd broke up. one group of men hopped on to the back of a tank and headed toward johnny and baba. the rest of the crowd followed on foot. "i wonder what's up," johnny said. baba shook his head. "i don't like the looks of it," johnny went on. "we're in an awful pickle." he looked down at the little bear's paws. he had painted the nails again with the nail polish, but he didn't think it would do any good. the tank came rumbling to a halt beside them. the two crawled down from the turret. johnny heard the men working on the lock. the manhole door was opened. "come on out, johnny." it was his father's voice. baba jumped on his shoulder and johnny climbed slowly out. johnny's father and captain thompson were standing on top of the tank, surrounded by a crowd of grave-faced venus pioneers. it was odd. none of the men looked angry. johnny knew they should be very angry with him. he tried to shape words to say he'd try to make up for the trouble he'd caused, but the words would not come. mr. watson reached out and picked baba from johnny's shoulder. he lifted up one of the little bear's paws and looked at it carefully. "the claws still look black to me," he said. disappointment, mixed with relief, came over the faces of the men. "let me show you." captain thompson, not ungently, took baba from johnny's father. the little bear looked straight at johnny, an odd expression in his deep blue eyes. but he didn't struggle. captain thompson set baba down on the top of the tank and took one of the paws in his hands. with his fingernail he scraped at one of the claws, then another and another. he held the paw up for the men to see. the claws glowed clear blue in the evening light. "you see," he said, triumphantly, "it is just as i said. the boy has been covering them up." the crowd sighed with wonder. captain thompson turned back to johnny's father. "you'd better tell the boy right away. it will be easier." many of the crowd nodded their agreement. for the first time johnny made out the object that captain thompson had been carrying. it was a small cage made of diamond-wood. johnny's father reached out and touched him on the shoulder. "you know what happened here today, don't you, johnny?" he asked in a grave tone. "yes, sir," johnny answered in a low, shamed voice. "the crop's been ruined, and those hunters stole our claws." "that's right," his father said. "and i think you also understand that if it hadn't been for you, this needn't have happened." "yes, sir." the words were almost a whisper. johnny felt the tears coming up into his eyes. "you can understand, then, it's up to you and us to make amends to the colony." "yes, sir." johnny's whisper was even lower. "well, son, i'm sorry to do this, but i have to. i know baba has been your pet for a long time, but you are going to have to give him up. i've just given him back to the colony. now, get him into the cage, so we can get this over with." "but you'll kill him!" johnny cried out. he reached down and swept the little bear into his arms. "no, son, not right away," his father answered. "the rocket captain says the colony could make some money by showing him alive on earth before they--put him to sleep." "but you know that he'll die. oh, daddy, please don't!" johnny looked up, pleading, at his father. frederick watson's eyes met johnny's. they were kind but stern. he shook his head firmly. johnny looked around him through his tears. baba was warm and furry in his arms. the men stood about; their faces were grave and determined. most still held ato-tubes in their hands. even at that, baba had a chance. johnny began to click in the ear of the little bear. "baba," he clicked very softly, "you can get away, over the wall by the rock. it isn't very far. i'll throw you as far as i can. if you bounce like crazy they could never hit you." but the little bear jumped to the steel tank top. "no, johnny," he clicked. "you are my friend-pet-brother, no matter what happens." then, just as if he had been told to go by johnny, the little bear walked over to the cage. captain thompson was holding a sliding door open. baba climbed in. he squatted there and made a little whimpering noise that was the only sound he could make beside his clicks. he waved a paw at johnny. "the little devil acts almost human," the old guard, jeb, said from the crowd. only johnny knew how true that was. "better hustle that kid inside a tank," someone shouted. "he hasn't got any armor on." frederick watson's head jerked around. his eyes widened. in one motion he took johnny into his arms and jumped to the ground. seconds later johnny was in a big hunting tank headed for home, a home for the first time in ten years empty of a little bouncing bear. chapter nine _the price of a brother_ johnny had some tall explaining to do about his lack of armor. he was in a tight spot, for the less he let anyone know, the more chance he had to find some way of rescuing baba. johnny was very careful about his explanation. there might still be a way. the fact that he had been seen on top of new plymouth rock made his explanation easier. he simply said that he had been looking for a place to hide the little bear and, in order for baba to help take him up the rock, he had had to chance taking off his armor. he said nothing about baba and the arrow-birds. being found in the jungle was harder to explain without telling a lie--but he managed it. he said that he and baba had taken a route down that had made them land on the jungle side of the rock. it didn't explain why they were beyond the clearing, but his parents seemed to assume that he had been trying to get among the brush where he could hide from the animals. he said nothing at all about the caves in the rock. it was a pretty thin story, but his family was too relieved that he had come home alive to worry much about it. it was long past supper time when the explaining was over and his mother began to prepare a meal. ordinarily johnny's father would not have been home even for supper. rocket day was a busy time for the leader of the colony. but with all the confusion, the business of the day had to be put aside. it was a strangely sad and silent house. johnny himself was so good his parents could hardly recognize him. he had showered without being asked and changed into clean clothes. his hands were perfectly clean at the table. his mother had hidden baba's high chair away; the little bear had always sat with them at table. it was a quiet meal. often after the before-sleep meal johnny and his father worked on model rockets, but this evening models were forgotten. johnny got a book and his father busied himself with papers. but johnny didn't read. he kept thinking of baba, all alone in the settlement storage house, surrounded by guards. the whole area was lit up in case hunters should try to steal the little bear just as they had stolen the marva claws. the family sat in silence. once johnny saw his mother wipe a tear away from her eyes. he knew she liked baba, too. but she liked him only as a pet. "dad," he said suddenly. his father looked up from his work. "would you--?" johnny didn't know how to put the question he had to ask. "i mean ... well, the colony's in pretty bad shape, isn't it?" "yes, son," his father said gravely, "it is." "the million dollars we get for baba will help out a lot, won't it?" johnny was very serious. "but, without it, would everybody starve to death?" "a million dollars will help the colony out," his father answered. "but even without it, nobody would starve. there are the meat fruit and berries to gather and the animals to hunt. but everyone would have a very hard time. it isn't a simple thing to keep a colony going. it is very difficult and very important. mankind is reaching out, son, and some day we may inhabit planets of all the stars in the heavens. but only if venus colony succeeds. it is a big thing, johnny." mr. watson's voice was serious, as if he were talking to another man. johnny was quiet a minute. "dad," he said slowly, "in order to get that million dollars would you have mother or me"--he paused--"put to sleep?" "johnny!" johnny's mother broke in in a horrified voice. "that's no question to ask your father." "i've got to know, mother. i've just got to," johnny said earnestly, his brow wrinkled. johnny's father looked at him strangely. "did you really think," he asked in a tight, hurt voice, "i would do a thing like that?" "not even uncle nathan?" johnny persisted. nathan was his mother's brother. "all right, johnny," his father said in a firm voice. "i'll answer you. no, i wouldn't have you, your mother, _or_ your uncle nathan 'put to sleep' for any amount of money--for the colony or for myself. but you must understand, johnny, you aren't the same as a little bouncing bear." "but baba--" johnny began. "baba is an animal," johnny's mother broke in. "i know how you love him. but you have to understand that your father could not do differently from what he did." she came over to johnny and put her arm around him. "we love baba, too, and it hurts us to give him up. still we must. you do understand, don't you?" johnny looked up into his mother's face and smiled. it was a very small and very weak smile, but a smile none the less. "i understand," he said, and turned back to his father. "thanks for answering my question, dad." johnny felt better for the first time since baba had been put in the cage. now he knew just what he had to do. it was right to do it. baba was as close to him as _any_ brother. "do you think i could go see baba before sleep time, dad? you know he won't eat if i'm not there." johnny's father looked at his mother. "it couldn't do any harm, fred," she said. "let the boy go. but he must be in bed soon." "all right, son," his father answered. "but remember, the whole thing is out of our hands now. you'll just have to accept what is going to happen." "o.k., dad," johnny said. everything was going to be all right, but he'd need every ounce of courage he had. * * * * * a few minutes later jeb, the old guard, let johnny and his father into the store house. the little bear sat quietly in his cage. there were a dozen uncracked nuts on the floor. an untouched bar of chocolate lay beside him. "i'm sure glad to see you!" said old jeb. "ever since he got here the little critter's been sitting just like that, kind of crying to himself. he wouldn't pay attention even when i gave him the chocolate." "he'll be all right now," johnny's father said. "it probably oughtn't to bother me so much." jeb closed the door and stood there with them. he took off his headglobe and scratched his head. "but my partner'n me caught one of the little ones once. we watched it just waste away, crying like that all the time. i always figured we should have let it go. but then there was always the chance it'd grow up and be worth a million." he glanced down at johnny, who was removing his armor, and came to a stumbling halt. "sorry, kid," he said. he put his headglobe back on and went out. as soon as he saw johnny, the little bear's ears perked up. "hi!" he clicked. johnny winked. johnny's father stood there and watched them. "remember, johnny," he cautioned, "this is just a visit. what the colony decides in this matter goes." "i know, dad," johnny answered. "i'll be back in half an hour," his father said. "get him to eat, if you can. night will be here in a few hours and he'll sleep then." with this he opened the door and left. johnny rushed to the cage. his hand was on the latch when the door opened again. it was old jeb. "sorry, son, but i got orders not to leave you alone with the critter. if he ever got out he'd be mighty hard to catch." jeb walked over and seated himself on a box. "that's all right," johnny said, and squatted down in front of the cage. it wasn't part of the plan for baba to get away--yet. "besides, he wouldn't run away while i'm here," he said. "can't take no chances." jeb sprawled out as if glad to be off his feet. johnny turned to baba. "baba," johnny clicked in the marva language, "can you get out of here, if you want to?" johnny didn't like to talk in the clicking language with jeb around, but there was no avoiding it. "yes," the little bear answered after a time. but then he whimpered again. "doggone it, stop that!" johnny said in english. then he clicked, "if things work out right, you aren't going to have to go to earth _or_ get killed." "but how?" baba asked. he seemed to revive a little. "if i got out and came to you they'd just bring me back here." "i know, but they don't think you're smart enough to do anything else. they don't know anything except that we were up on the rock." the little bear grinned. then suddenly he began to sniff. he looked all around him, found the chocolate and began to stuff it into his mouth, making loud smacking noises. johnny gave a sigh of relief. baba was on the mend. "now, listen, we've gotta make plans." "but what can we do, if they know we were on the rock?" baba clicked through a mouthful of chocolate mixed with nuts--his favorite combination. johnny took a deep breath. "we could run away into the jungle!" he clicked. he jumped when jeb moved away from his box. "that's quite a racket you two're making." jeb walked over and peered at them from under jutting grey eyebrows. "well, you've got the little devil to eatin'!" he smiled and waved at baba. baba waved back and the guard laughed. "it's a pity, that what it is. it's just a pity you're worth so much money!" he went back to his seat. "but, johnny," baba clicked, "you couldn't live in the jungle." "_you_ can't live _here_--or on earth. sooner or later they're going to--well, they're going to want your claws and teeth. out there we would have a chance. why, we might even find some of the--" he put in the word 'wild' in english, for there was no word for it in the clicking language, "--marvas, and we could live with them." "no!" baba interrupted. "you might be killed. i can make the arrow-birds go away, but there are the horned snakes and the leopards and rhinosaurs and...." "wasn't that old rhinosaur about to go away?" johnny broke in. "just because you said so?" "maybe," baba admitted. "he stopped a second. but then we don't know for sure!" "i've got to take the chance. i've just got to!" johnny insisted. "i can't let them take you away and use you for making somebody's rings or a mess of plastic. remember that song you sang." johnny tried to sing the little lullaby that baba had sung on the top of new plymouth rock. the little bear grinned and put his paws over his ears. "the words are right," he said, "but the tune is all wrong. listen!" the little bear sang the song that was like the roll of a mockingbird's call. "that's right pretty," jeb said from his box. "i'd heard men say that the critters sang, but never did hear one myself. old hunter friend of mine said he came on a marva once singing to her little ones that way. it was so pretty he stopped to listen and by gum if she didn't smell him and bounce off 'fore he could draw a bead on her." "baba sings real well--when he's happy," johnny said, and turned back to baba. "and you sing true, too, baba," he clicked. "all right," the little bear clicked. "how will we do it?" the plan came out in a rush. johnny had it all worked out. "it's venus evening now," johnny said, "and we're supposed to be in a sleep period. that means there won't be too many people up but guards. i'll take some food for me and some matches and a flashlight and some other things." he paused. "they leave you alone in here, don't they?" "yes," clicked baba. "do you think you can cut a hole in the bottom of the cage?" johnny asked. "easy!" the little bear touched a bar with his claws. "good. when you're out, dig a hole in the floor. but be careful. they have guards walking all around, and they already have lights rigged up. the switch is in between the double doors. get your escape holes all made, turn out the lights, and then scoot! i'll be waiting for you by the rock. o.k.?" the little bear nodded. "we'll have to find a place to be when it gets dark," he clicked. baba didn't sleep as people did, but during the four day period of darkness he had to sleep most of the time. "we'll find some place," johnny clicked. "now, listen. i'll try to get some sleep and i'll be ready in five hours. don't try to get out before then. my folks will be asleep and i can slip out of the house. if it takes you longer, i'll wait." "leave it to me," baba said. they had everything settled and were playing together through the bars of the cage when johnny's father came after him. "time for bed, son," his father said. "say goodbye, now." johnny got into his armor, said goodnight to jeb and followed his father outside. in the deep green twilight every building of the settlement stood out sharp and clear. a cool breeze was coming up. johnny looked over to new plymouth rock. behind that towering rock lay the vast and menacing jungle. chapter ten _alone in the jungle_ johnny was afraid. behind a boulder by new plymouth rock, he had been sitting and waiting for baba for almost one hour. it was too long a time to wait with nothing to do but imagine what might happen in the jungle. johnny was dressed for the cold night to come in a synthetic fur parka. strapped on his back was a pack containing food and jungle equipment. beside him was baba's harness. he was very tired and sleepy. he leaned over and peeked cautiously from behind the boulder. the lights around the storage shed were still on. he wondered what was keeping baba. he made himself comfortable again and listened to the night sounds. he listened hard for any sound of rhinosaurs outside. there was only the sigh of wind through the trampled marshberries. as he listened, his head nodded down on his breast, and his eyes closed. he wished baba would come. maybe he couldn't make it. maybe he.... but his thought trailed off into a dream. he was up in the meat tree being attacked by a rhinosaur standing twice as high as the tree. far away someone began shooting at the rhinosaur. then the tree was being shaken back and forth. baba was clicking something in the dream johnny couldn't understand. "wake up, johnny! wake up!" johnny's head jerked up. the shaking was real. it was baba pushing his shoulder. the shooting was real too. men were running about the settlement with flashlights. it was hard to see for any distance through the green twilight which would last for many hours longer. "hurry, johnny!" baba clicked. "o.k." johnny said. he was still dazed with sleep as he helped baba struggle into his harness. as soon as the harness was on, they began to run deeper among the boulders. hundreds of small stones under their feet made a sound like a landslide. they stopped still, listening. the men had not heard. "maybe we'd better go straight up the main rock," johnny said. baba nodded. both knew it would be harder work, but safer. johnny tested the straps on baba's harness. there was no time to tie himself on. this time it was going to be harder for both of them. baba didn't dare bounce, so they started right from the foot of the rock. in the half light it was not likely that the men would see them. even if they did, there was a good chance they would hold their fire when they saw johnny. if so, the two of them could still get away. oddly, johnny's fear was gone. from below them came the sound of a man moving among the rocks. "quiet, baba," johnny whispered. baba stopped. jeb flashed his light among the rocks and up along the main rock. for a fraction of a second the light was full on them. but it passed by without pausing. "nothing over here!" jeb called out in a loud voice. "dang critter must have got clear away." there was the sound of footsteps hurrying toward them. johnny and baba froze to the rock. "hey, you two," jeb's voice came softly, "i don't know what you're aimin' to do, but you'd better hurry up about it. they're fixin' to mount searchlights on the wall." johnny was flabbergasted. the old hunter was helping them! there was a chuckle from below. "hurry up, now. i don't want no more baby marva a-haunting me like the one i told you about." "thanks," johnny whispered. "golly, thanks! come on, baba," he clicked, turning his head back to the little bear. baba began to scurry along up the rocks once more. "just one thing more," the whisper followed them. "ain't that clickin' the way those critters got of talking?" "yes," johnny answered. "i figgered it, by gosh!" jeb chuckled deep in his throat. "i just knew you was fixin' up a getaway. good luck, you two!" "goodbye," johnny said. "you are a good man," baba clicked. "a true friend!" "baba said you are a good man and a true friend," johnny whispered. "thank you, baba," the old man said. then he was gone. baba and johnny began climbing in earnest now. johnny couldn't let himself get tired. as silently as they could, they went on and on. they climbed for what seemed an hour. actually it was fifteen minutes later when they reached the ledge leading to the cave in the rock. they were barely inside when search lights cut through the twilight and began to play on the rock. the two sat down to rest, but not for long. soon they were tearing down the pile of rocks at the back of the cave so they could get into the main caverns. they had talked about staying the night within the inner rooms, but decided it was too dangerous. sooner or later the colonists were bound to drop someone from a helicopter to search for baba on top of the rock; and there was too great a chance the entrance would be discovered. once inside the main caverns, the first job was to make their way through the long passageways to the top of the rock to block the entrance they had made earlier in the day. it took precious time, but they had to do it. they almost didn't make it, for as they were filling in the last stone at the cave mouth they heard the sound of 'copter motors. johnny grabbed baba's harness, and down the long winding passageways they went, full tilt. soon they were picking their way about the brush near the exit of the long, damp tunnel. through the green twilight they could see the searchlights brightening new plymouth rock. baba was sniffing the air. johnny listened carefully for the sound of rhinosaurs or of tanks. there was no evidence of either man or animal. "we made it, grandfather bear!" johnny said aloud to baba. "you're safe!" baba grinned. "no rhinosaurs around either," he clicked. "we'd better hurry." "let's stick close to trees for a while--just in case," johnny suggested. only heavy brush surrounded them. "we'd better get to a tank path," baba clicked, "or we won't get very far very fast." johnny nodded. he settled his pack on his shoulder and the two moved forward. using johnny's compass they cut through the brush and soon came to a tank path. it was very still. there was no sound but the wind rustling the trees. all around them were trees and brush and pools of deep green shadow. the first two miles were the easiest. in the absence of rhinosaurs, there was nothing much to fear here but arrow-birds, and they would soon be heading for their nests. most of the venus animals kept well away from the settlement. twice a flight of arrow-birds came shrieking down at them, and twice baba's clicks sent them whirring on their way. otherwise the jungle was empty of life. it was a relatively safe zone. but in order to make sure of baba's safety, they would have to go on into an area of teeming life. johnny thought of the comfort and safety of the settlement, of the love and protection his parents had given him. he had left a note for his parents. "i am sorry to take baba away since he is worth so much to the colony," he had written. "but he is just like a brother to me. don't worry. i will be safe with baba." he hoped they would understand. though he had bravely told his parents not to worry, here in the jungle, johnny, himself, was already frightened and very homesick. "baba," he said suddenly, "it's going to be hard being away from mom and pop." they were walking now through the thick grove of meat trees that edged a forest of diamond-woods that loomed up in the distance. "yes," baba clicked, "i know." "well, i was thinking," johnny continued, "that after we find your people, maybe after a month or so, i could go back home. later i could come for visits and things." johnny watched baba from the corners of his eyes to see how the little bear would take to the idea. for a while, baba bounded along beside johnny, his eyes straight ahead. "i know what it's like being without a mother and father," the little bear clicked so softly johnny could hardly hear him. "it happened long ago, but i remember how it was at first. i can't bear to think of your going away. but we will see what happens." baba turned toward johnny. "i think you shouldn't have come." johnny was sorry for having brought up the subject. "let's skip it," he said. "don't be an unhappy old grandfather bear," he joked. "think about the nuts you'll find right ahead." the nuts were not really very close. it took a good deal of hiking before the tank trail began to wind among gigantic trees. bigger than earth redwoods, they rose almost like mountains around them. here even the wind did not enter, and beneath their feet was a cushion of fine leaves. all was silence. johnny was glad to rest his feet while baba gathered a few nuts. then they trudged on. hours later they emerged from the darkness of the diamond-wood forest into the green twilight of the surrounding meat trees. johnny was exhausted. a sudden coughing roar in the distance sent a shiver up johnny's back and brought them to an abrupt halt. it was a saber-tooth leopard! johnny heard a slight stir of movement in the underbrush. about them, birds of all kinds twittered and chirped, readying themselves for the long darkness of venus night. they were out of the safety zone. though many hours had gone by, it was still venus evening. he and baba had to push on into the deadly part of the jungle before they could rest. the leopard's roar had come from far away and there was no immediate danger, but from that time on the two watched every step they took. a faint breeze blew in their faces. that was good. johnny's scent would not be blown to any of the animals. johnny set his voice to click, not to speak. he had to try to forget human speech, and talk always like baba. he spoke to baba constantly in the marva language, and baba corrected him when he let his clicks become high pitched as baba's once had been. the meat tree grove was thinning out. the tank tracks were getting fainter and fainter. vines wound around the trees and bushes. on the vines great orange flowers seemed to burn with color in the green light. johnny watched the flowers carefully because one might really be a scarlet ape. men called these flowers monkey flowers since they were so near the color of those small apes that lived on the edge of meat tree groves. as the two adventurers walked, the noises of animals became louder and more numerous. a large bird fluttered across their path and went shrieking ahead of them. then there was sudden silence. they stopped. baba hurriedly clicked loudly into the silence, "friend-pets, friend-pets, bother--" he did not have time to finish the sentence. johnny was struck suddenly on the back and sent sprawling on his face. a hundred tiny hands seemed to be pulling at his hair. he felt a rip of cloth and then a sharp pain as a small claw cut into his back. baba was clicking loudly. as suddenly as he was struck down, the attack on him stopped. dazed, he painfully got to his hands and knees. "friend-pets, bother us not. bother us not!" baba was repeating over and over again as loudly as he could. johnny's eyes widened. surrounding them were hundreds of tiny monkeys no more than eight inches high. scarlet red in color, they sat perfectly still, their eyes fixed on johnny and baba. sitting high on a nearby bush one of the little apes held a packet of johnny's food in its tiny hands. johnny stood up to his full height and a low growl went up from the animals. the monkey with johnny's packet hurled it at johnny with surprising strength. johnny made a quick catch. "thank you," johnny clicked in the marva tongue. the monkeys chattered excitedly. "thank you, friend-pet." "give it something," baba clicked. "oh, i'm afraid, johnny. they hate you so much--i can feel it." johnny knew why. the skins of these animals were much in fashion for coats back on earth. johnny reached down for his knife to cut the strings of the packet. as the knife came in sight a menacing growl went up. as johnny and baba stood there, more and more of the monkeys leaped from the bushes to join the crowd. the whole path was covered; the trees seemed to be filled with red flowers. some of the new-comers were intent upon rushing johnny when the knife glittered in the half light. but baba stopped them with his sharp, repeated commands. johnny cut the packet open. among other things, a large bag of candy was inside. he had raided the cupboard well. "come here," johnny clicked, as firmly as he could manage. "friend-pet, come here." he pointed at the little creature who had thrown the package at him. showing its teeth and growling faintly, the monkey bounded forward. johnny held out a piece of candy to it. it sidled up, snatched the candy, and ran back to the others. it sniffed at the sweet, chattering wildly. then its long black tongue went out and licked it. the monkey's eyes widened and it popped the candy into its mouth, smacking its lips. again johnny was almost knocked down. he was surrounded, climbed over, patted, peered at, and deafened by chatter. in a few seconds not a piece was left. but the monkeys no longer growled. "go away! go away!" baba clicked. reluctantly the animals parted from johnny and took to the trees along the path. the branches swayed under them as they chattered among themselves. suddenly, as quickly and mysteriously as they had appeared, the monkeys were gone. something was wrong! johnny's fear returned with the sense that something was watching him. hardly daring to, he looked behind him. there in the half-darkness, glowed three pairs of green eyes. crouched ready to spring, a leopardess was watching them, her two cubs beside her. how long they had been watching, johnny never knew. he froze in his tracks. baba had not looked around. "friend-pets, bother us not, bother us not!" baba was clicking loudly in preparation for going forward. as johnny watched, the leopard, followed by her cubs, slipped into the jungle. "you didn't see her," johnny clicked. "there was a leopardess and two cubs." baba turned in the direction toward which johnny was pointing. "we'd better go back," he clicked. "no," johnny insisted bravely. "she and her cubs went away when you began to talk." "not _far_ away." baba sniffed the air. "i can smell them. i smell rain too." "then we'd better find shelter. c'mon. maybe we better take a path over to the right, away from the tank trail," johnny suggested. "the leopardess went the other way." baba nodded. they trudged on and took the first animal trail to the right. baba went slightly ahead, crying "friend-pets, bother us not!" over and over again. it was almost a chorus now. most of the time baba clicked it, but when he got tired johnny took over for a while. they never ceased repeating the magical words. once an antelope walked by their sides a few yards off, but he soon bounded away. shortly afterward johnny thought he saw a large black shadow moving in the deep brush. they walked steadily and found nothing but brush land. then, not a hundred yards from them, a river shone through the deepening twilight. the shine of the water stopped them. they had proved they could control some of the animals, possibly even the leopards and rhinosaurs. but, if a river snake struck without warning as the monkeys had done, it would be the end of johnny. while johnny stood where he was, baba went forward, chanting the cry of "bother us not" as he went. when he returned he looked worried. "it is too dangerous to try to swim," he clicked. "in some places the branches of the trees on this side almost touch branches of the trees on the other side. if we keep on the path, maybe we can find a place where it would be safe to climb over." the path they were on turned and followed the river. they walked on for a few minutes. baba stopped again, sniffing the air. "i don't like it," he clicked. "the leopards are close again." they moved forward cautiously, but when minutes passed and no attack came they walked with more confidence. the magic formula of clicks seemed to be working. though nothing bothered them, they knew from rustling noises and from cries that animals were all about them. nowhere could they find a place where the tree branches made a bridge across the river. nowhere could they find a place of refuge. the trail began to lead away from the river toward a little hill that stood in black outline against the almost darkened sky. big venus fireflies had begun to come out, sparkling like so many blue stars. the two weary travelers followed the path, hoping it would lead back to the river. it ended completely at the base of the small rocky hill. so tired he almost wanted to cry, johnny sat down in the middle of the path. then he noticed a spot of deeper darkness among the rocks. he jumped to his feet. "hey, baba," he said, "it looks like a cave! come on!" the two of them hurried forward. a nice comfortable cave was just what they were looking for! they were within a few yards of the cave, when they heard a crashing noise from the underbrush and the pad of soft footsteps. a leopardess leaped in front of them, cutting them off from the cave. the big cat growled low, and two cubs scuttled through the entrance. the leopardess sat back on her haunches in the mouth of the cave, her eyes two gold-green lights burning in the dark green of the late twilight. slightly larger than an earth lion, the venus sabre-tooth leopard is coal black, marked with golden spots. her two tusk-like fangs show why leopards are among the most deadly fighters of all the venus animals. baba began clicking again. johnny stood stock still. the leopardess watched them. she looked as if she might spring at any moment. then, with a ripple of her powerful shoulder muscles, she lay down in the mouth of the cave. "let's go before she changes her mind and attacks," johnny said. "no, wait!" baba said. "you stay here." slowly baba walked up to the spot where the big cat was lying, clicking as he went. she appeared to pay no attention to him, but when he was right beside her, she stood up. she made a low rumbling in her throat that sounded strangely like a purr. when baba paused, the leopardess made a little coughing sound. the two cubs, who were as large as collie dogs, came tumbling out of the cave, their tongues hanging out. they came up to baba, cocking their heads. they rubbed themselves in a friendly way against the little bear. "come on, johnny," baba clicked. "i think we have a home." his heart in his mouth, johnny walked forward. "friend-pet," he clicked firmly, "i am your friend." repeating this, he walked straight up to the deadly beast. he reached out a trembling hand and patted the ugly fanged head. the creature stood rigid. but as he petted her, she relaxed and the purring noise began in the back of her throat. the big head moved around. her mouth opened slightly and she licked his hand. she made a little coughing noise and the cubs came up to him. he petted them, too, and looked at baba. "come on," said the little bear, "let's see what the leopard's house is like." together the two explored the inside of the cave with the help of johnny's flashlight. it was surprisingly clean. the big cat had dragged in straw, which was arranged thickly over part of the floor. "it sure looks like it would make a good bed," johnny said. he was so tired; so much had happened. trader harkness and the meat fruit, the climbing of new plymouth rock, the rhinosaur raid and rick's betrayal, and the escape into the jungle. johnny ate a few antelope berries to quench his thirst, but nothing more. he arranged a place for himself on the dried grass and curled up. he was almost asleep, when he heard the big cat come into that part of the cave. he opened his eyes to see the sabre-tooth leopard looming over him. for a second he was afraid. then, just as a house cat will do, she pushed her paws back and forth into the straw, circled a few times, and lay down right by his head, pushing him aside. he rearranged his bed and lay his head against her soft flank. with his head pillowed against a sabre-tooth leopard, johnny watson slipped off to sleep. chapter eleven _the friends are separated_ johnny was hot and sweaty. he was glad to see the cool dark cave ahead. it was like home to him by now. the mother leopard was lying in front of the cave, and the two cubs came running to greet them. "hi, pat. hi, mike," he called. they came up to be petted. "they seem happy to see us," baba clicked as he bounced along. "and i'm glad to see them," johnny said. "golly, i'm hot." baba and he had just been down the river trying to find a place where they might cross. immediately after the long venus night was over, they had gone exploring in hopes of finding a colony of wild marva nearby. but the only diamond-wood groves close to the cave were still too close to the settlement. the marva must have left them because of the danger. the two had gathered a good supply of nuts for baba, but otherwise the trip had been useless. though they were still afraid of the horned river snakes, there was no way of avoiding crossing the river. if they went downstream they would soon be in the rhinosaur marshes. upstream the river curved back toward the colony. johnny and baba had spent the whole long night in the cave and johnny had got to know the leopard family quite well. he had discovered they, too, had something like a language. it was made up of different kinds of growls. each growl meant something, but there weren't many of them. the mother leopard could say things like "come," or "go" to her kittens. she had a different growl for each of them, though johnny named them pat and mike. throughout the time baba was asleep johnny had practiced these growls, until he could talk a little in the leopard language. he had also taught the little ones to like meat fruit roasted over the open fire he had had to light to keep warm. all three cats had been afraid of the fire when he had first lit it. they had soon learned it was harmless if they didn't step into it. they were very smart animals, but by no means as smart as baba. baba was just as clever as a person. all the rest of the animals now seemed friendly, too. johnny thought he knew why. not only the leopards, but all the animals could talk! they couldn't say much, but just enough to tell one another johnny wouldn't hurt them. and all of them could understand the marva language. he and baba talked about this, but they weren't yet ready to take a chance on river snakes. the snakes stayed deep in the water and struck before they could be seen. it didn't seem likely that they would have learned johnny was a friend. baba was going to go down to the river by himself. perhaps he could find one of the horned snakes and bring it back with him. then johnny could make friends with it. if what johnny thought was true, then the snake would tell the others and he and baba could float safely across the river on a log they had found. after patting the mother leopard on the head, johnny took off his pack and laid it in the mouth of the cave. "i think i'll go over to the waterfall and have a shower," he said. "that's not such a good idea," baba said. "stay here. i won't be gone long." "oh, stop worrying, grandfather!" johnny laughed. he was stripping himself down to his shorts. the three leopards sat on their haunches watching him. they were fascinated by his clothes. the first time he had taken them off they had been almost afraid of him. "i'll take mama leopard along with me for a guard," johnny said. "you tell her, baba. maybe i can growl better than you, but she still seems to do everything you say." baba clicked directions to the leopard. she was to go along with johnny and protect him. when baba was through clicking, the mother leopard came over and licked johnny, making a growling sound that meant she understood. then with a wave of his paw, baba bounced away toward the river. johnny was happy to see him go. baba, himself, had suggested that the trip be taken. it was the first time he had ever offered to leave johnny for such a long time. johnny loved the little bear, and it was fun in the jungle, but he couldn't help wishing he were home. the waterfall was not much of a waterfall. a little way from the leopard's cave was a small spring high up in the rocks. a tiny stream of water fell about ten feet making a great spray and quite a little noise. it made a wonderful shower. the mother leopard lay on the rocks below while johnny climbed up to the waterfall. johnny danced about as the cool water hit his hot dusty skin. it felt wonderful running all over him. then he walked into a pool and splashed happily. then johnny began to sing. with him the little waterfall sang a tinkling, merry tune that blotted out even the chatter of the birds in the surrounding trees. it did not blot out a coughing roar that came from the mother leopard. johnny knew that sound. it meant _come_! johnny stopped singing and looked down. the leopardess was on her feet now, looking into the sky. johnny looked too. a helicopter floated soundlessly overhead, its jets off. johnny looked around for some place to hide. there was none. the mother leopard crouched. her muscles rippled under her black and gold skin. in one mighty spring she was beside him. before johnny knew what was happening, her great jaws opened--and closed around him. the long sabre teeth barely touched his skin. with no more effort than if she were carrying a feather, she leaped through the air with johnny in her mouth. when she landed johnny's feet thumped painfully against a rock. where she was holding him about the middle in her teeth, he was unharmed. johnny heard the roar of gunfire as the helicopter's motors were switched on. still carrying johnny in her jaws, the mother leopard screamed in pain. johnny was tumbled to the ground, half dazed. a very shaken johnny watched the mother leopard run away a short distance, then turn and spring back toward him. a second later she was standing over johnny, putting her body between him and the helicopter. she roared her defiance at the machine. johnny marveled at her courage. she started to pick him up again. the helicopter was getting into a position where it could hit the big cat without hitting johnny. in a few seconds the courageous animal would be dead. "run, friend-pet!" he clicked loudly. "run! they won't hurt me. run!" she looked down at him and growled in a questioning way. her muscles tensed, and, with a great spring, she was gone. the guns roared, but the leopard's last bound carried her safely into the brush. before johnny could get to his feet the 'copter was beside him. two men in armor and headglobes jumped out. "hurry," yelled the pilot from inside. "you just grazed the leopard." one man grabbed johnny by the heels, the other by his shoulders. with one swing he was tossed heavily onto the floor of the 'copter. the two men jumped in after him. the armored door clanged closed. the motors roared and they were going straight up into the sky. johnny lay quietly on the floor for some moments; he was still dazed by his fall--and by the sudden turn of events. "that leopard was crazy," one of the men was saying. "i never saw one come back like that, except for a cub!" johnny looked up into the face of the speaker. it was a thin, narrow face with full red lips and small black eyes. johnny didn't know him. "that was a narrow squeak you had," the hunter said to johnny, in a high, nasal voice. "two minutes later you'd have been leopard food. are you hurt?" johnny sat up slowly, moving his arms and legs. "uh uh," he said. with a whine of the motors the 'copter went into a hover. it floated over the spot where they had picked up johnny. "what in the name of all the moon devils were you doing out there like that--stark naked and no armor?" "taking a bath." johnny was too bewildered to make up an excuse. the man raised his black eyes to heaven and looked at his companion. "crazy!" he muttered. "but, kid," he addressed johnny, "what made--" "skip it!" the pilot said, in a low hard voice. the black-eyed man stopped abruptly. johnny decided the pilot must be the leader. the man turned around and looked at johnny. he was a large man, slope-shouldered but powerful. his blond hair was slicked down against his head. two long red scars cut across a white heavy-jawed face. his eyes were so pale they were almost white. "where's the bear?" he snapped. johnny was struck silent. they were after baba! "come on, kid," the low voice came again, "where's the bear?" "he ran away." johnny blurted out the first thing he could think of. "i've had an awful time. we got lost in the jungle and he ran away, right at first. i lit fires to attract attention and keep off animals, and the rains put them out and my matches got wet. i've had an awful time, and...." "you ain't seen nothing of the bear?" the scar-faced pilot cut in. johnny crossed his fingers carefully and looked the big man straight in the eyes. "not since right at first!" the pale eyes bored into his. johnny's eyes dropped down. "the kid's lying!" the big man said to the others, and turned back to johnny. "o.k., kid, let's have it straight now!" but no matter how much they questioned him or how they threatened, johnny insisted he did not know where baba was. finally ed, the blond scar-faced leader, gave up. he turned to the others. "you guys search the ground," he commanded, "while i call in to the boss." he turned and dialed the radio telephone on the instrument board of the 'copter. "hello," he said, "i want to speak to the boss." there was a pause. "hello," he said again. "we got the kid--found him where stevenson thought he saw the fire." johnny heard a voice coming back over the instrument. he thought he recognized it, but he couldn't make out any words. "no," the pilot spoke into the instrument, "the kid says the bear ran away, but i think he's lying. we're going to search from the plane. can't send anybody down because of the leopards. one had the kid when we found him." there was another pause. "no, not hurt. when we're finished i'll drop him at the colony." there was a long pause. johnny caught the words, "if i know that bear," and then there was more he couldn't catch. "that's a smart idea," the scar-faced man said. "we'll do just what you said. o.k. be seeing you!" the pilot turned back to the other two, who had binoculars trained down into the jungle. "see anything, barney?" "not a thing, ed!" the black-eyed man replied. "you, shorty?" the other man shook his head. "not even a bird." for over an hour they searched. while they were searching, ed, the pilot, put in another call and told someone else what had happened. he hinted that even if they didn't find the bear, there was still a way they might get their hands on him. johnny sat with his fists clenched. he knew they would shoot if baba showed himself. after an hour went by and the 'copter had gone over every foot of the surrounding territory, the men had to give up because they were running low on fuel. as they went higher up, johnny peered out. the 'copter veered venus east--away from the colony. at that moment johnny's heart sank. the hunters weren't taking him home! baba would have seen the 'copter come and go. the little bear would think anyone finding johnny would take him back to the settlement. johnny knew just what the little bear would do. he would go back to the settlement looking for johnny! johnny had succeeded in keeping those hunters from getting baba; now the colonists would get him. or would they? suddenly johnny knew whose voice that had been on the radio telephone. the voice was that of the trader, willard harkness! chapter twelve _the price of a boy_ they were in the air over two hours, traveling at maximum speed, before they arrived at their destination. this turned out to be a small cabin, surrounded by the usual high wall, with a space inside the wall for a helicopter and a tank. it was a hunters' hideout entirely hidden from view by diamond-wood trees. the pilot had had to work his way through branches and then fly for a time between the trunks of the great trees before hovering in for a landing. a man was standing in the yard waiting for them when they landed. as soon as ed shut off the 'copter's motor, the man who was waiting for them yelled, "no arrow-birds that i can see. tell the kid to run for it." the man had been informed about him by the helicopter's radio. "o.k., kid, scoot!" ed jabbed johnny in the ribs. johnny scooted. the lodge door slammed behind him and he opened the inner door. the large central room was surprisingly neat. the floor was bare but polished. some hunting trophies were on the windowless walls. chained on a perch in one corner of the room, a miserable little scarlet ape sat huddled up, with its chin upon its knees. when it saw johnny it screamed and chattered. johnny walked toward it, about to click a greeting. "better watch out!" a red head was thrust from the door of another room. "ed's monkey is meaner than he is." it was rick saunders. "glad to see you safe!" the big redhaired man grinned easily, and waved. "hullo," johnny said. he didn't smile. if rick were here, it meant only one thing. these were the same men who had stolen the colony's marva claws! he all but glared at rick saunders standing in the inner doorway. "you don't seem too happy about being rescued," rick said with a laugh. "i wasn't rescued. i...." johnny stopped. he knew he shouldn't have said that. rick's eyebrows went up. "it seems i heard something about a leopard." "well, i guess i was rescued--sorta," johnny admitted lamely. "i guess you were!" rick paused, looking at johnny. "you sure don't sound very friendly." "i don't like thieves and traitors," johnny said defiantly. "wait a minute!" rick began. at that moment the four hunters entered the room, cutting off the rest of rick's sentence. the scarred-faced leader spoke to rick. "you know you're not allowed in here. get out!" his voice was low and threatening. rick turned to go. "hold it," called barney, the narrow-faced hunter. "carry this in to the kitchen." he dropped a haunch of antelope on the floor. his face set and calm, rick walked slowly past johnny and hoisted the meat to his shoulder. "any other orders?" he asked quietly. "yep!" ed said. "take the kid with you. rustle him up clothes of some kind. then you can put him to work helping you." "come on, johnny." rick put his hand on johnny's shoulder and started for the door. johnny followed him, shrugging off the friendly hand. the kitchen was even neater than the main room. as soon as they entered the room, rick tossed the haunch of antelope into the sink. he turned, faced johnny, and grasped the boy's shoulders with his big freckled hands. he seemed angry. "what's this thieves-and-traitors business mean?" he demanded. "first you pretended to be on our side," johnny answered, "and then you let the rhinosaurs get in so's those hunters could steal our marva claws." "so that's what you think," rick said. he regarded johnny gravely. "does the rest of the colony think that, too?" johnny nodded. "take a good look at me, johnny." rick touched a cloth tied around his middle like an apron. "i'm cook and housekeeper here, not one of the gang. i wasn't pretending anything, and i didn't _let_ any rhinosaurs inside. i came with these outlaws because they had their tank guns leveled on me." "but why did they do that?" johnny demanded. "harkness' orders," rick replied. "remember his threat?" "i sure do!" johnny said. his eyes grew wide. "i was right," he went on. "i _thought_ mr. harkness was the boss those hunters called." "he sure is the boss," rick said. "he's given out word he'll pay for any information about you and baba. any information he gets he passes on to this bunch. the gang has to work for him so he'll market their stolen claws and arrange their passage to earth. why he's even offering to pay double for baba just to prevent the colony from getting him." "golly!" johnny breathed. "he really must be sore at us." johnny sat down on a kitchen stool. it was cold against his bare bottom. he looked up at rick. "gosh, i'm sorry, rick. i mean about thinking you were--well you know." "that's all right, johnny." rick was smiling now. "i'll admit it did look bad. let's forget it and get you into some clothes. we have a meal to fix." johnny jumped up. with a friend beside him things didn't seem quite as bad. helped by a pair of scissors, rick soon had him into a pair of cut down trousers and a baggy shirt. as soon as the clothes were on, the two started preparing the meal. as they worked, johnny questioned rick about what had happened to him. outside of beating him up once, the hunters hadn't treated him too badly. he was being saved for trader harkness. they made rick stay in the kitchen and wouldn't let him into the main room except to clean it up, and then kept a gun on him. the gang kept him from escaping by a very simple means--they locked up the rhinosaur-hide armor in a closet. ed kept the closet keys, as well as the keys to the tank and helicopter, fastened to his wrist. rick had been watching carefully but had not seen one chance to escape. as johnny served the meal to the outlaw hunters, he looked the room over carefully. when the men weren't looking, he clicked a greeting to the little scarlet ape. it immediately became quite excited. a plan for escape began to shape itself in johnny's mind. he said nothing to rick, however. after the outlaws had eaten, johnny and rick had their meal. rick thought it strange, but johnny couldn't bring himself to eat any of the antelope; he remembered all too well the tiny antelope leader he had held in his hand. when they were finished and had washed the dishes, johnny was all too glad for a blanket thrown on the kitchen floor--the same kind of bed rick had. johnny tried to push away his fears for baba, but it was a long time before he could get to sleep. it seemed only minutes later when he was rudely awakened by a rough blow on his shoulder. actually it was ten hours later, as he could see by the clock above the stove. johnny reared up to see ed standing over him, a smile on his thin lips, his pale eyes jubilant. "get up and get your clothes on," he ordered. "we're going places." johnny jumped up and reached for the baggy clothes rick had made him. "come on in when you're ready and don't waste any time about it," ed directed, and strode back into the other room. johnny slipped on the pants and was soon stuffing in the shirt tails of the oversized shirt. rick stood by the stove and watched, sympathy in his eyes. "baba," he said slowly, "arrived at the colony an hour ago. i was listening at the door when the call came from harkness. these guys are planning--" "come on!" ed stuck his head in through the door and cut rick off. numb with worry, johnny followed ed into the main room. "better wrap him up in something," the outlaw called barney said, his narrow face twisted in a strange grin. "we can't let the arrow-birds get him now." johnny stood while they strapped man-sized armor on him and put a headglobe on his head. he followed ed out of the door and into the helicopter. the outlaw leader seated johnny beside him, switched on the motor, and they roared away. "where we going?" johnny asked. "you'll find out," ed snapped. "keep quiet till i tell you to talk!" they flew on for almost an hour. then ed set the helicopter controls on automatic hover and snapped the radio telephone on. he dialed a number. johnny saw that the number was that of colony headquarters. "hello." ed made his voice high and nasal. "i have information concerning johnny watson. let me speak to his father." the slick-haired blond man put his hand over the telephone mouthpiece. he grabbed johnny by the collar and stared directly into his eyes. "listen," he said, "when your father comes on, i want you to speak to him. tell him you were rescued by us and we've treated you o.k. understand?" johnny nodded, his mouth dry. "i'll tell him what happened," johnny said. he didn't understand why ed was making such a fuss about it. "hello. hello. this is frederick watson." johnny was thrilled by the sound of his father's voice over the telephone. "hello, mr. watson," ed said in the fake voice. "we've found your boy and here he is." ed handed johnny the telephone, his hand over the mouthpiece again. "remember!" he said in a threatening voice. "hello, dad!" johnny said into the telephone. "i'm safe all right." "thank god!" his father's voice replied. "i was rescued by these men and outside of making me wash dishes and sleep on the floor, they've treated me fine. i'm--" ed took the telephone away from him in mid-sentence. "but where are you, johnny?" johnny could still hear his father's voice. "right now," ed said into the telephone, "johnny's up in a 'copter. you needn't try to get a direction finder on us. rescuing this boy cost us a lot and we gotta be sure you'll pay us for it." "i offered a reward." mr. watson's voice was anxious. "it ain't enough," ed said. "we lost a tank and a 'copter getting him. he was surrounded by rhinosaurs. we have the boy. you've got a live marva. i figure it should be a trade. you bring the marva to the old tank road by the river, and we'll bring the boy. bring one tank, driven by one man. that's all. be there forty-eight hours from now. do as i say and the boy will be delivered on schedule." "hello, hello." frederick watson's voice was frantic. "i don't know if the colony will--" ed hung up and snapped off the radio. "they will," he said. johnny's spirits had never been so low. everything he touched seemed to turn to disaster. the colony was all but ruined. in trying to protect baba he had caused the marshberries to be destroyed and had given these outlaws a chance to steal the colony's marva claws. by running away with baba he hadn't saved the little bear at all. the outlaws, trader harkness' outlaws, were going to get him. johnny would not only lose baba, but the colony, too, would lose its last chance for survival. chapter thirteen _outwitting the outlaws_ the little red monkey screamed and chattered its hate as johnny and ed stepped through the doorway of the cabin after their eventful flight. johnny had noted that the cabin door was the only exit. as was usual on venus, the exit was a double door. when the outer door was open, the inner one could not be opened. it was just like the school door. if johnny could once get through the outer door and block it open, it would be a while before the men could break the lock on the inner door and get out. getting out the first door would be the problem--but not too big a problem. the outlaws didn't think that he could go into the jungle without armor, so they did not watch him or the door too carefully. as soon as they were inside, ed took off johnny's oversized armor and locked it away. he then winked at the other men and sat johnny down in front of him on a high stool. "you know who i am?" ed asked him. "sure," johnny said. "you're ed." the big man cuffed him so hard he fell from the stool. "boy," he said, "you never saw me before." he frowned, making his scarred face as evil as he could. "when you go back to that colony, you're going to forget you ever saw us. do you know why?" from the floor johnny shook his head. "because if you tell anybody our names or anything about us, you know what we're going to do?" ed asked. again johnny shook his head. "we'll catch you and take you out into the jungle and tie you to a tree without any armor on, and leave you for the arrow-birds. you understand?" johnny nodded his head. they thought they were scaring him. they talked a little while longer, describing things they might do to him if he told their names, and johnny pretended to be afraid. "all right," ed said after the lecture. "get back to the kitchen." "can i play with your monkey?" johnny asked. "play with that monkey!" ed's pale eyebrows went up. "he'd chew an ear off you. i've been trying to tame him for a month--and he don't do anything but bite. you leave him alone." "he won't bite me," johnny said. "i don't think he will." the monkey would be a big help in escaping, if only they'd let johnny get close to him. "i'll just go get some sugar cubes from the kitchen." "let him, ed. it'll teach the brat a lesson," the narrow-faced barney put in. "o.k." ed said. "get bit, if you want to." johnny rushed through the open door into the kitchen. rick was sitting at the table with a book beside him. "you got any candy, rick?" johnny asked. "or maybe some sugar cubes?" "you better not fool with that monk, johnny," rick said. "he's plenty mean, like all the venus creatures." "he won't hurt me," johnny said. he saw a box of sugar cubes in the cupboard and grabbed it. "monkeys just love sweets." "no." rick leaned over and a big freckled hand closed around johnny's small brown one. he took the box of sugar away. "i'm going to tell them you got scared. only two things will happen if you try playing with that monk. you'll get bitten, and they'll get a big laugh." "please let me, rick," johnny said. he paused a minute and whispered, "i've got an idea how i can get away." "what!" rick exploded. he closed the door and went on in a whisper, "it's impossible. you haven't any armor. you don't have any weapons or a tank. don't be silly." he paused, and looked at johnny. "well, how were you going to do it?" "simple," said johnny. "first i make friends with the monkey. then i'll let him go and tell him to run around and jump on ed and the rest. while they are chasing him, i'll open the inside door. i'll let him out first and dive through myself. i'll wedge open the outside door, and by the time they get their armor on and break the lock on the inside door, i'll be over the wall and gone." the words tumbled out of him. rick shook his head. "johnny, that week in the jungle has gone straight to your head. in the first place, how are you going to make friends with the monkey? then how are you going to _tell_ him anything? and how are you going to get any armor?" "rick," johnny said, "i don't need any armor." "oh, johnny!" rick exclaimed, exasperated. "they just won't bother me." johnny took a deep breath. "i can talk to them, same as i can talk to the monkey!" "what!" "now, listen, rick," johnny whispered earnestly, "i wasn't hurt when i came here, was i? i'd been in the jungle six earth days without any armor." rick was looking at him with a strange expression. "do you remember," johnny went on, "how i looked when you rescued me from the rhinosaur?" rick nodded. "did i have any armor on then?" rick stared at johnny for a few seconds. "by golly!" his mouth was slightly open in amazement. "you didn't have any armor on!" "i wasn't hurt, was i?" rick shook his head slowly. "no," he said, "but what about that leopard and the rhinosaur?" "the leopard wasn't hurting me," johnny said. "she was trying to get me away before the men got me. she was my friend. as for the rhinosaur--well, baba and me hadn't learned for sure about them, yet." "but how can you talk to them?" rick asked in wonder. johnny knew he had no choice, he had to trust rick completely. "it was baba," johnny said. then, very quickly, he explained about baba's clicks, and told rick about his three secrets. "jeb said something about those clicks one time," rick said thoughtfully. "i never dreamed it could be true." "it _is_ true, though," johnny insisted. ed stuck his scarred face through the doorway. "well, kid, getting cold feet about the monk?" "no, sir!" johnny said. "rick was just getting me some cube sugar." "well, hurry it up." ed went back out. "johnny," rick said, "you show me with that monk, and by the moons of saturn, i'll come with you, armor or no armor!" johnny was bewildered. this was something he hadn't counted on. he wanted to explain that there was a chance even he, alone, could not succeed without baba. just as johnny started to speak, ed appeared in the doorway again. "well?" he said in his heavy voice. johnny took the sugar cubes from rick and followed ed into the main room. as he always did, the monkey screamed and chattered at them as they entered. the little animal was chained to its perch. a spring catch too strong for its tiny fingers fastened the chain to its collar and kept it from getting away. the outlaws began to gather around. "you'll have to stay at the table, way over at the other end of the room," johnny said to the men. "he's scared of you." he pointed to the table, which was as far as possible from the door leading outside. "all right, all right." the four men seated themselves where johnny pointed, ready to watch the fun. johnny walked slowly up to the tiny monkey. as he did so, its little red face twisted and it showed its razor-sharp fangs. it screamed at him. then it leaped out, only to be jerked back cruelly as it came to the end of its chain. but it ran out as far as it could and clawed at johnny, its eyes red. "friend-pet, friend-pet," johnny clicked very low in the back of his throat. the animal stopped screaming and cocked his head at him. it looked from one side to the other, as if looking for a marva behind johnny. johnny repeated the phrase again and again, holding the sugar out where the red monkey could see it and smell it. johnny didn't have any idea how much the little animal could understand, but he went on clicking. "i'm your friend. we are going to get away from these men." he repeated this many times. then he remembered that rick was going to try, too. "you and i and the big man in the other room are going to escape." as johnny talked, he moved forward. soon he was well in range of the little monkey's nails. it jumped forward. johnny put a sugar cube in its paws. with a gurgle of pleasure, the monkey swallowed the sugar and put out its paw for more. "jump on my shoulder," johnny clicked. the little creature regarded him silently. then, with a graceful hop, it was on his shoulder. "i don't believe it," ed's voice rumbled. as soon as the hunter outlaw spoke, the little monkey growled and bared his teeth at him. the man muttered something under his breath, angry that a small boy had done what he couldn't do. he started out toward them, and was quickly in range of the creature's teeth. "you'd better not," johnny said. "he'll--" the monkey dived at ed, his teeth slicing into the man's shoulder. the outlaw jumped back, cursing. blood ran down his shirt. "i'm sorry, ed," johnny said. "let me work with him just a little while, and maybe he'll make friends with you, too." in his anger the man had picked up a heavy stick to hit the monkey. the other men broke into laughter. ed grunted something, and threw his stick at the men who were laughing. "come on," he said, "let's play cards." johnny turned back to the monkey. for almost half an hour johnny talked to the monkey in the marva clicking language while the outlaws played cards across the room. he guessed the little animal could understand a little more than the mother leopard could. that wasn't too much, but it was enough. he made the creature understand that when he was released, he was to fly at the men. he wasn't to hurt them, but make them chase him until johnny could get the door open. then the monkey was to leap for the opening. the hardest job was getting the monkey to understand that he shouldn't harm rick if the ex-bodyguard came with them. johnny wasn't sure the monkey understood. with his back turned to the outlaws, johnny undid the collar about the monkey's throat. keeping the little animal out of their sight he walked toward the exit door. he picked up an old boot to use on the outer door. "hey," ed suddenly shouted, "where's the monk?" "after them," johnny clicked. the monkey leaped at the oncoming ed. he clawed his face, then leaped at the other men. he made great jumps by swinging from light fixtures by his long black tail. ed wheeled and charged like a bull after the tiny screaming creature. "the kid let the crazy thing loose!" he shouted. "catch it!" "shoot him!" yelled shorty, drawing his ato-tube pistol from its holster. ed knocked it from his hand, and it went sliding along the floor. "want to kill us, too, you fool?" in the excitement johnny worked the latch on the exit door, and pressed the button that opened it. he saw rick half way through the kitchen door. rick reached down and grabbed up something from the floor. the monkey was jumping from head to head among the yelling outlaws. not one of them noticed what johnny was doing. the door was open. johnny nodded his head toward rick, who came at a dead run. when rick was almost there, johnny clicked as loud as he could, "come, friend-pet! come!" in one leap the little animal sailed across the room and landed on his shoulder. johnny and rick pushed through the door, slammed it behind them, and opened the outside door. johnny paused a second and wedged the boot he had picked up into the outer door. the outside door could not close and the safety lock would keep the inner door closed. "come on, johnny," rick shouted. "this way!" he rushed through the helicopter landing space toward the tank entrance. rick pulled the switch that opened the duro-steel door. "dive for the nearest tree trunk," rick shouted. "they have gun mounts on the roof." johnny ran after rick, his short legs unable to keep up with the older man. the little monkey was riding on top of his head, shrieking and chattering. as soon as they reached the forest the monkey jumped into a tree. johnny stopped dead. he needed that monkey. the little animal could tell other animals he and rick were friendly. "friend-pet monkey, friend-pet monkey," he clicked, "come with me." for an instant he was afraid the animal had not heard. then, with a shock, he felt it drop down on his head. "rick, rick," he yelled, "stay with me." with relief he heard the big man coming back. "you gotta stay with me," johnny panted. "arrow-birds." rick nodded, and ran along beside johnny. they ran among the great pillars of the diamond-wood forest until johnny thought his breath would come no more. his feet were heavy against the springing leaves, his legs began to twist with fatigue. when he was about to fall, rick whisked him up in his arms. the little monkey screamed and jumped at rick's head. "no, no!" johnny clicked. the tiny creature jumped back on johnny's head, but he had left red claw marks on rick's face. far in the distance they heard the noise of a tank motor starting. the diamond-wood trees were beginning to thin out. soon they would be in the jungle of meat trees which always surrounded a grove of the giant trees. the sound of a helicopter motor starting up was added to the sound of the tank. the noise of the tank motor lessened. the outlaws had headed in the wrong direction. the helicopter was the great danger now. hiding under a meat tree, with its heavy leaves, was their best chance. "we'd better get under something, rick," johnny said. his breath had returned. "let me down." rick nodded. his breath was coming in great gasps. a heavily leafed tree surrounded by brush was a few hundred yards ahead of them. johnny pointed to it and rick nodded. johnny prayed that there were no arrow-birds feeding there. this close to the hunters' lodge there shouldn't be many animals--but arrow-birds were always on the watch. as they worked through the brush to get under the meat tree johnny really missed baba. the first branches were too high for either johnny or rick to reach. if baba had been there they could have easily climbed up into the protection of the tree's leaves and branches. luckily the brush was high and thick around it, screening them from view from the side. the tree itself screened off the sky. once they had reached the trunk of the tree, they stood wordlessly for a while, breathing hard. "any idea where we are, rick?" johnny asked in a whisper. rick's big, bony face broke into a smile. he reached into a pocket. out came a small map of the venus continent. "not for sure," he said. "but we can't be far from the lodge." he pointed to a mark on the map. "once we see the lay of the land, we should be able to tell." suddenly rick froze stone still. johnny looked up. an arrow-bird had flown into the tree. since its head was not in position to strike, it was probably looking for a meat fruit. just as johnny saw it, its head turned toward them. johnny clicked out a sharp command for it to leave them alone. as the little purple eyes sought them out, its head snapped into striking position. but as johnny clicked on, it moved its head back to a friendlier position. its little purple eyes stared directly at them. rick regarded johnny with wonder. "i don't know what that little bear taught you, but it sure is a miracle," he said. he then reached into his shirt. "i'm still glad i got this. did you see ed knock it out of shorty's hand?" he pulled an ato-tube pistol out of the shirt. as soon as the gun came out, the red ape leaped from johnny's head, screaming. the arrow-bird snapped its head into position to strike. "drop it, rick! drop it!" johnny yelled. amazement swept over rick's face. "but why--?" "bother us not, friend-pet," johnny clicked loudly. at the same time he knocked the ato-tube from rick's hand. he was too late. the arrow-bird shot with a sickening smack into rick's shoulder. almost as quickly it withdrew its blood-stained beak and was hovering in the air for another strike. chapter fourteen _captured!_ rick stood rigid, his face twisting with pain, a hand clutching his upper arm. the greenish bird hovered in the air, its wings a blur of motion. "we are friends. we are friends. bother us not, friend-pet!" johnny clicked deep in his throat. the bird continued to hover, its little purple eyes darting back and forth from johnny to the wounded rick. its bloody head stayed in arrow position, but it drifted farther away. johnny remembered that when he had had an arrow-bird on his shoulder, the others had left him alone. he dreaded changing his command, but he did. "come to your friend," he clicked firmly. the arrow-bird stared at him distrustfully, but came closer. the monkey dropped back on johnny's head. with a sigh of relief, johnny saw the arrow-bird's head snap out of attack position. he put out his hand and the arrow-bird lit on it. "are you hurt bad, rick?" he asked. the words made the arrow-bird flutter with alarm, but johnny soothed it by petting it with his other hand. rick shook his head. "not too bad," he said through clenched teeth. "the thing seemed to dodge when you made that clicking noise." "i'm sorry, rick," johnny said. "you just shouldn't have shown that gun--you'll have to leave it behind. if they think you'd harm any of them, they'll kill you, just like that. the monkeys almost got me 'cause of a pocket knife." "i didn't know," rick said. he looked at the bird on johnny's shoulder. "seems peaceful enough now." "you better let him sit on your shoulder, rick." johnny looked down at the arrow-bird and stroked it again. when it was quiet he placed it on rick's shoulder. the man was nervous and the bird was worried, but they both did as they were told. they waited under the tree while the helicopter went back and forth above them. johnny looked at rick's wound. it didn't look too serious, but johnny knew better than to count on that. the slightest arrow-bird wound could be deadly if not treated. johnny had seen hunters brought into the colony sick from an untreated scratch. they should have brought an emergency kit, but the kits were only carried in special pockets of the armor. they let rick's wound bleed to cleanse it as much as possible. then johnny bound the arm tightly and made a sling for it from a piece of rick's shirt. rick gave johnny his wrist watch to wear, since his wrist was hidden by the sling. after that they waited. it seemed the helicopter would never go away. once it hovered almost directly above them, but then went on. while they waited johnny looked over the map. the outlaw hideout was not as far from the colony as he had feared. they had to start soon and make good time, but they just might be able to make it to the meeting place the outlaws had set before johnny's father got there. there was a fighting chance if rick didn't get too sick. finally they heard the sound of the helicopter landing far in the distance. taking direction from the map, they set out on their way. rick's wound was less painful now, but johnny kept his eye on his redhaired friend. they started out at a fast clip, following an animal track which led in the direction they wanted to go. in a few hours of steady marching they were a safe distance from the outlaw hideout. johnny's idea was working out. several flights of arrow-birds had passed them by with no more than a glance in their direction. one flight had hovered above them while the arrow-bird on rick's shoulder twittered and shrieked to them. then they had flown off at top speed. a troop of monkeys had also let them pass without doing them any harm. hundreds of the small red apes had followed along beside them for some time. johnny's monkey chattered to them from his perch on the boy's head. then they, too, had swung off through the trees at top speed. rick had been awed, for he had never seen venus animals so close except when they were attacking. at first rick's strides had been long and johnny had had to run every few steps to keep up. now rick's steps were short and slow. he seemed to be getting weaker and weaker. they had stopped and cleaned his wound again at a spring and rebound it, but he was not doing well. the big redhaired man was pale under his freckles; his lips were set tight. johnny kept close beside him as they moved forward. they had worked out a path to follow that skirted diamond-wood groves and avoided rivers. it was too easy to become lost in the dense forest, and johnny was very unsure of what river snakes would do. suddenly rick stumbled. he stopped and balanced himself by leaning on johnny's shoulder. he looked at johnny with bloodshot eyes, sighed and crumpled up on the ground. the arrow-bird that had been sitting on his shoulder hovered in the air above him making little squeaking noises. he flew toward johnny and then down an animal trail that led off toward a diamond-wood grove. as johnny leaned over to look at rick the monkey jumped from johnny's head. johnny stared down at rick saunders' face. his cheeks were flushed but the rest of his face was grey. the little monkey sniffed the wounded man and chattered something at johnny. then he, too, ran down the side trail. when johnny paid no attention, he came up to johnny and plucked his sleeve, chattering all the while. johnny looked around. he thought the monkey was drawing his attention to some antelope berries growing down the path. johnny clicked to the little red monkey to gather some. when the red monkey returned, clutching a cluster of the large berries in each tiny paw, johnny took them and squeezed the clear red juice into rick's mouth. the man coughed and turned his face away. but gradually his eyes opened. they were dull and feverish. his hand went to his shoulder and he winced. in the few hours that had passed, his arm and shoulder had already swollen a great deal. he raised his head. johnny helped him to his feet, but when he staggered, johnny helped him lie down again on a patch of grass by the antelope berry bush. "i can't go any farther, johnny." rick's voice was hoarse. "those birds must have some kind of poison on their beaks. that wound feels like it's on fire." "it's not poison, rick," johnny explained. "they eat the meat fruit and little pieces stick to their beaks. the pieces get rotten and infect wounds bad." johnny remembered that rick was an earthie and had been on venus barely a year. "there's only one thing to do," johnny went on. "i'll have to light a signal fire with lots of smoke. somebody'll see us then." rick shook his head slowly. "no, johnny, it won't do. if those hunters come they'll get you again and they're likely to finish me off. you take the map and go on...." rick's voice trailed away. he struggled to sit up. johnny stepped forward, wondering what was wrong. the monkey leaped off his head and bounded into a tree. slowly rick raised his good arm and pointed directly behind johnny. johnny turned. staring at him through a bush was a coal black sabre-toothed leopard, crouched to spring. "friend-pet, go away!" johnny clicked in the marva tongue. oh, if baba were only here! the monkey chattered from a tree. "go away! go away!" johnny repeated. then he saw a second leopard. a third. none of them was his friend, the mother leopard. these leopards stood almost a foot higher and were solid black. their sabre fangs were a full foot long. these were deadly males, hunting in a pack. the one behind the bush gave a coughing growl. all three slinked slowly toward johnny and rick on silent feet, their mouths half open, their white teeth shining. "go away, bother us not! friend-pets, bother us not!" johnny repeated. the leopards moved smoothly forward, their steel-like muscles rippling under the shining black fur. frantically, johnny turned to rick, who was struggling to his feet. "they won't obey, rick!" "run, johnny," rick said. "run for a tree!" rick thrust the boy behind him, but johnny would not leave his friend. rick turned, pulling johnny, and started to run. at the same moment a leopard sprang through the air, high over their heads. a split second later he was in front of them, barring their way, his gold eyes glistening, his fanged mouth giving forth a low growl. the growl meant, "come." johnny looked about. not four steps away was another of the lion-sized cats. they were ringed around by the creatures. johnny tried clicking again, but they paid no attention. "my arm, johnny!" rick groaned. he ran his hand over a forehead which was dripping sweat. slowly his legs gave way and he fell in a heap beside johnny. the leopards moved closer, their mouths wide. the one in front was getting so close that johnny could feel its breath blowing against his bare arm. then it moved too fast for johnny to follow. johnny felt the great jaws close around his middle, and he was hurled off his feet. frantically he beat at the big head. the jaws tightened, gripping him painfully. as johnny cried out in pain he saw the other two leopards leap upon rick. a few seconds later johnny was being carried down the path in the jaws of the monster cat. the jaws had tightened no more than was necessary to hold him firmly as the animal trotted along. from this strange position johnny witnessed an even stranger sight. behind the leopard carrying johnny strode the two others. side by side they walked, dividing rick saunders' weight between them. one had its jaws about rick's arms and shoulders; the other held his hips and legs. they moved along easily, their heads held high so that his feet would not drag on the ground. then johnny saw that his arrow-bird friend was riding on the shoulder of one of the leopards that was carrying rick. he heard a chattering noise, and knew that the little red monkey was close by. the leopards were taking them some place, but who could know where? in his odd position johnny could not tell even the direction they were going. but soon they were in the patchwork shadow of a meat tree forest. here the leopards had their lairs. but they did not stop. they went on and on. johnny kept trying to watch the leopards which carried rick. once in a while he could catch a glimpse of them, rick's head bobbing as they moved. he was still unconscious. then johnny heard a shout and a scuffling noise. the leopard carrying him turned around. rick was conscious. his head was turning about wildly and he was yelling. his eyes lit on johnny. "what's happening?" he all but screamed. "they're taking us somewhere," johnny answered. "they haven't hurt me yet." rick was kicking his feet and struggling, making it hard for the leopards to walk. johnny could see their jaws tightening as rick struggled. "you better not fight, rick," johnny said. "you can't get away and they'll just hurt you more. i'll tell them you won't fight if they'll hold you easier." he clicked the message to the big cats. his own leopard turned back up the trail, and he couldn't see what the other leopards did. a few seconds later he heard rick's voice. "you were right, johnny. when i eased up they eased up, too." then he laughed in a strained way. "i wish they'd eat us right now and get it over with." "maybe they won't." they said no more. they were coming to the edge of the meat tree grove. as was often the case, the last group of meat trees was beside a river. beyond was a diamond-wood grove. the three animals plunged into the cool water, and soon were swimming, with johnny's and rick's heads held well above the water. on the opposite bank they dived into the shadow of the diamond-wood grove. as soon as they entered the grove johnny was startled to see that there were several antelope walking beside them. then, suddenly, the little red monkey he had rescued from ed was squatting on the leopard's back. johnny heard a swishing sound almost under his head. by twisting hard he could see the ground. there was a river snake crawling beside them. its ugly horned head was right beneath him. it was the first time he had ever seen one. then his heart leaped. he heard the clicking of the marva language. johnny twisted his body against the leopard's teeth, trying to see where the clicking was coming from. the leopard growled, and johnny lay still again. "take the big killer to the healer," the voice clicked. "the little killer take to the council." the clicks were somehow different from baba's, firmer and louder; but johnny could understand them perfectly. johnny caught sight of the two leopards carrying rick. they were turning down another path. the river snake and the antelope took the same path. but johnny's leopard went on forward. after a short time the leopard stopped and very carefully opened its jaws and eased johnny to the ground. it turned and walked a few steps away. there it crouched. johnny got slowly to his feet. the little red monkey jumped on his head. the arrow-bird perched on his shoulder. in a clearing among the diamond-wood trees johnny stood in the center of a circle of jewel bears, their blue nails glowing in the half light. all but one or two were dark about the muzzle. they sat on their haunches, staring straight at johnny. chapter fifteen _a city in the trees_ except for faint animal sounds in the distance, there was silence in the diamond-wood grove. more marva than any other person had ever seen surrounded johnny. most of them were dark muzzled and very old. from old jeb's hunting tales johnny knew that as a marva grows older the fur about its muzzle darkens. a jewel bear with a black muzzle was a rare thing. this was no ordinary group of marva, but a gathering of elders. they seemed neither friendly nor unfriendly. they seemed to be waiting patiently for johnny to do something. "hello," johnny broke the silence, greeting them in their own clicking language. "i am very glad to see you." once started, johnny had so much to say the words fairly rushed from him. "your leopards sure scared us. maybe you can tell me how to get to some people quick. before it knew we wouldn't hurt it, this arrow-bird wounded my friend and he's very sick. and baba's got caught again, and some bad men are trying to get him. if you could help us get back to the colony, oh, i'd thank you! baba's a marva, you know, just like you and he's my best friend. we tried to find you, but the outlaws captured me and baba went home because i'm his friend-pet-brother and he thought i'd be there. rick will die if you--" the torrent of words was cut short by a marva with a coal black muzzle. he stood up and raised both furry blue paws for silence. "it was well reported that the little killer can speak our language," he clicked, with a sound very like a human chuckle. "you speak well," he clicked to johnny, "but you speak too much at once." a ripple of amusement passed over the faces of the jewel bears. then they became stern once more. "you must try to tell a little at a time," the old marva continued. "but first, let me answer one of your questions, for i think you are full of questions. the red-furred killer has been sent to the healers. he will soon be treated. we heard of you and of the wound from our friend-pets. you need not worry, little killer. our healers have had many wounds to deal with since your kind has been in the green lands." "you mean _you_ will fix up my friend?" johnny asked. "you have doctors?" "yes, little killer," the black muzzled one answered. "but he won't understand," johnny said. "he wouldn't let any of you touch him--not unless i talk to him." "follow the leopard, then. he will take you to the healers. then return here." the black muzzled marva waved his paw and the leopard rose and trotted off. johnny ran beside him. in another clearing johnny paused in amazement. it was filled with many animals. he saw several rhinosaurs with great gaping ato-tube wounds. a leopard with a cut on its shoulder lay whimpering before a marva, who was squeezing the juice of some berries upon the cut. fascinated, johnny watched as the marva sewed up the cut--a fine piece of marva claw for his needle. the berry's juice must have killed the pain for the leopard stopped whimpering and lay very still. then johnny saw rick. he was lying on his back, but his eyes were open. the two leopards were right beside him, their heavy paws holding him down. "rick!" johnny called, running up to him. "get away from here," rick yelled. "there's a horned snake right beside me. he'll kill us!" "no," johnny answered. "if he'd wanted to, he could have done it long ago. rick, we're safe! the leopards brought you here to get your wound fixed up." then he clicked to the leopards, "let him go. he won't run away." he turned back to rick. "i just told the leopards you won't run away," he explained. "just watch the marva over there." unsteadily, rick got to his feet. he quickly sat down again, overcome by weakness and amazement. he had caught sight of the marva healers at work. one was sewing up a rhinosaur. another was splinting up the leg of an antelope. rick shook his head. "i'm dreaming," he said. "i must be!" "isn't it wonderful!" johnny said. "they're going to fix your wound, too." the leopard beside him growled, in the way johnny knew meant "come." "i gotta go now," johnny said. "goodbye, and don't worry. let them do what they want to." johnny and the leopard made their way among the sick animals. johnny let out a cry of pleasure. there was his friend the leopardess. the ato-tube burn was not a bad one, and it had already been treated. she rose when she saw him. though the big male leopard growled his disapproval, johnny ran over and patted her and her cubs before he went on. "is she a friend of yours?" johnny was startled by the sudden appearance of the black muzzled marva who had spoken to him earlier. "yes, old one," johnny answered respectfully. "come!" the marva addressed the leopardess. the two leopards, the cubs, johnny and the marva walked off together. soon johnny was in the circle of marva again. this time he was over his surprise and he tried to tell his story as clearly as he could. he was beginning to get worried about the time that was passing, and he looked at rick's watch again and again. there was always the chance that the outlaws would try to get baba, even though they no longer had johnny to give in return. but he told his story as best he could. in spite of his worry, he had to explain all about men on venus. he even had to tell where men came from, since the jewel bears had never seen stars or planets in their sky. he told about overcrowded earth and his father's desire to make a colony. he told about the hunters and trader harkness. he told about his trip into the jungle and how the outlaws had captured him, and, finally, of his escape with rick into the jungle. the group of marva listened carefully. sometimes they nodded their heads in approval of what he had done, and sometimes they seemed puzzled. but they seemed more friendly when he had finished. when at last he came to a halt, the old marva who was acting as spokesman for the group arose. "you say this young marva friend of yours is named baba?" the old one used the word in the clicking language for baba's name. "yes." "we have heard of him," the black muzzled marva clicked, "though he was not of our grove. his mother and brother were killed. we have wondered why he was not killed too, since your people feel we are your enemies. our observer on council rock has watched your people often, but has seen little we can understand. tell us why baba was not killed at first." "i already explained," johnny said. "his teeth and claws were black. now they are blue and, of course, he's worth a lot of money." "what is this money?" the black muzzled one asked. johnny was surprised. the word baba used for money must not be a real marva word. if only baba was here to explain! johnny tried the best he could to explain how money works. the marva shook its head in wonder at the strange ways of men. "but why do you want our claws and teeth?" the marva asked. "to make rings and plastic." but they understood neither the word "ring" nor the word "plastic." johnny had to explain that plastic was the material that headglobes were made from. he explained also that rings and jewelry were used for decoration. "and that is why we are killed on sight?" asked the marva. "yes, old one." it made johnny sad for himself, for the marva, and for his people, to have to admit this. his answer caused a stir among the marva. "i have one more question," the old marva said. "why did you come into the jungle with the marva, baba?" "he would have died or been killed otherwise, and he was my brother, or like my brother. it was like the song he sang: "you help your friends and your friends help you. it is the law and will be the law as the trees stand. between friend and friend there is no parting more than the fingers of a hand." "we know the song," the marva said, gently. "but didn't you think these--" the marva gestured at the leopards, "might kill you?" "yes," johnny said, "but i had to take the chance." they asked many more questions about men and their ways. many were hard for johnny to answer or even to understand, but he tried very hard to be as clear and truthful as possible. finally they seemed satisfied, and there was again silence in the diamond-wood grove. with a nod to johnny the black muzzled marva led the rest of the jewel bears away, and left johnny and his animal friends alone. a short distance away the marva again formed a circle and clicked together quietly. then they called over his friend, the leopardess, the red monkey and the arrow-bird. they appeared to be asking them questions. johnny, left to himself, wondered what was happening. it was all very strange. rick's wrist watch said too much time had passed already. the black muzzled marva returned to johnny. "come with me," he clicked, and walked toward one of the great trees. one of the younger jewel bears waited at the foot of the tree. "grasp him by the shoulders," the black muzzled marva directed johnny, "and hold tight." johnny found he could ride easily on his back. the marva started up the tree at a breathtaking speed. the full grown marva climbed three times as fast as baba could without anything on his back. down below them the black muzzled marva followed with the slow dignity of age. up and up they went, the full two hundred feet toward the sky. johnny looked down at the sick animals and the healers. they looked very small now. finally johnny and the marva reached the branches. as they came up to the first huge branch, it appeared to move slowly away from the trunk of the tree, to reveal a large opening. the tip of the branch was fastened to a branch above. two huge snakes the color of the branch were coiled about it. these snakes had pulled the branch from the opening so that the marva and johnny could enter. johnny could see that the branch had been hollowed out until it was fairly light. once inside, johnny's eyes were dazzled by light. the young marva started back down the tree. in a few moments the black muzzled marva was before johnny again. he made a little bow. "man child," he clicked, "welcome to the tree of keetack, leader of the council of this grove. may you have long life." "thank you." it was the only thing johnny could think of to say. before him was a beautiful room. there were finely woven grass mats upon the floor, and in places about the room piles of mats of soft blue and delicate pinks made places to sit. the room was flooded with light that came from directly over their heads. the walls were made of the living wood of the tree carved with many scenes of venus and colored to make beautiful designs. johnny looked up to see where the light came from. he gasped. above them was a great cluster of marva teeth and claws, glowing with light. when keetack, the leader of the council, moved forward, the light floated along the ceiling following him. finally, johnny realized what the light was. it was a cluster of the large venus fireflies. each clasped a marva claw in its tiny feet. as the insect glowed, the claw multiplied the light. in the middle of the ceiling was a hive where the fireflies lived. johnny watched with wonder as the flies went back and forth from hive to light. keetack noticed johnny's interest. "as one becomes tired," he said, "another takes his place. we give them food and they give us light. is it not a good system?" suddenly johnny understood. "and the rhinosaurs protect you from the sea beasts...." "and we help them when they are sick or hurt. we help take care of their marshberries and see that they have food. all living things are our friends but the killers of the sea." "gee," said johnny, "it's just perfect." the little bear appeared to laugh. "hardly," he clicked. "we have our quarrels too, and many of our friends sometimes forget." "that's right," johnny said. "the monkeys sure didn't trust those leopards until after we got here." "it is hard for many of them," keetack went on. "i often wonder what the rhinosaurs will do when there is nothing left to fight. we are already beginning to make friends with the killers of the sea. not long ago the arrow-birds were killers, and it was only in the lifetime of my great grandfather's great great grandfather's father that we made friends with the river snakes, so that they, too, do as we advise them to do." "you mean obey you?" johnny asked. "in a way," keetack answered, "most of the animals obey us." "but they don't obey your little ones!" johnny was excited. "it's only when your blue teeth come in and your voice gets deep that other animals will obey you. isn't that right?" "yes," said keetack. "we say a deep voice is a sign of the coming of wisdom." "then that's why the arrow-birds obeyed baba and me?" "yes," keetack nodded. "now would you like to see the remainder of our tree?" "please," johnny answered politely. "it's a lot like the caves in new plymouth rock." "indeed so," said the marva leader. "those caves served as a yearly meeting place of the council of all the groves. no one tree was large enough for all to live in while we talked together. before your people came to the green lands we had happy times there each year. now we use the rock only for watching you." "i'm sorry," johnny said. "come now," keetack clicked. "i will show you the tree." johnny would have been terribly excited by the suggestion if it hadn't been for his fear that they were taking too much time. the whole upper part of the tree was honeycombed with rooms. each level was connected by a winding passage as in the caverns of new plymouth rock. each was lit in the same way. it was not keetack's tree alone; several marva families lived there together. as they entered each level a marva would come forward and welcome johnny. he was fascinated by the little ones, who grinned at him just as baba did. the marva cubs always came in twos: peeking around from the back of the mothers were always two pairs of bright blue eyes. but one family was different. johnny and keetack entered that level to the sound of growling and tumbling and scratching. in the middle of the room a small bear bounced hard on the floor and up to the ceiling where it clung like a fly. below it a coal black leopard cub growled in a way johnny understood. it was a pleading growl saying "come." as soon as the baby bear hanging on the ceiling saw johnny and keetack he dropped to the floor and stood with his arm around the black leopard cub. a mother marva came rushing from another room. "i'm sorry my cubs were so rude," she clicked, "but you know how much mischief one of ours and a friend-pet-brother can get into." "of course," keetack clicked. "this is the friend-pet-brother of one of ours, so he will understand." "oh, yes!" johnny said. then he looked over at the two cubs. the little marva was still very small and had black claws. "he shows off just like baba used to," johnny exclaimed. johnny remembered the trouble his mother had had with baba's game of walking on the ceiling. with that they went on, but johnny touched keetack on the shoulder. though the bear was old, he came no more than to johnny's shoulder. "the leopard cub was that marva cub's friend-pet-brother--just as baba is mine?" johnny asked. for the first time the marva seemed to smile, opening his mouth wide as baba did when he grinned. "we would say _you_ were _his_ friend-pet-brother," the black muzzled one clicked. "perhaps it is better to say you are _friend-brothers_. it is not strange. many of us have had companions of another race." "but why is this?" johnny asked eagerly. "you have seen that our cubs always come in pairs. the pair is almost one until they are grown," keetack explained. "if only one cub is born, or one of a pair dies, we give the lone cub a friend-pet, a cub of another race to grow up with him. they become brothers just as you and baba did. without this the lone cub would die. cubs need the love of a brother as much as they need food. it is sometimes a very good thing, for in this way our friends of the plains and the groves are knitted to us with ties of very deep love." "now i understand why baba would never leave me," johnny said. and then he went on earnestly, "and you should understand why i've got to get back to baba in the colony. there may still be some way i can save him. but i don't have much more time." "i can make no promise yet to let you go," keetack said. "still there may be a way we can save your friend-brother and do something more besides." he would say no more. soon they were back in keetack's rooms. "you will wait here," keetack said. johnny seated himself on one of the piles of mats and waited. he didn't quite understand what was going on, but he wished keetack would hurry. he looked at rick's watch. it had been twelve hours since he had spoken to his father on ed's radio telephone. he had only an earth day and a half to get to the settlement if he were to keep baba out of ed's hands. a few minutes later keetack reentered the room, surrounded by some of the furry bears who lived in his tree. "my friend," he clicked, "i have a gift from the people of my tree to your people--those whom you say are making a colony. it is a gift of friendship and a gift of peace. if the council of the grove decides to let you go back, i hope you can use these to pay for the life of your friend and brother, baba." in his hand the marva held a small package wrapped with woven rushes. "thank you," johnny said, and took the package. "you may unwrap it." johnny folded back the stiff material, and gasped. in his hand glowed a pile of marva claws--hundreds of them! chapter sixteen _the thunder of rhinosaur hooves_ a worried johnny was standing in the center of the clearing once more, surrounded by the little jewel bears. he now knew this was the grove council, a group of the wisest bears of the grove. keetack's gift to johnny had impressed them all. they knew it meant that keetack trusted johnny. yet they were cautious. johnny's knowledge of them could be very dangerous. "it is not right he should go," one of the marva was saying. his muzzle was still blue, and johnny knew this meant he was younger than the rest. "the young killer will return to his people and tell of our ways and of our houses in the trees. then the older killers will come with their death-spitting things and our lives will be gone. i think that we should hold him here. otherwise we risk the lives of our people." johnny put up his hand as if he were in school. the marva, keetack, of the deep black muzzle, pointed at johnny. "may i talk now?" johnny asked. the marva nodded. "i won't tell anything you don't want me to," he promised earnestly. "with these claws i'm sure baba can be saved, but i'm going to have to hurry. if the outlaws get him they will kill him sure. don't you understand?" "we understand," the old marva answered. "but we must be sure of safety for us and our people. your people are killers like the beasts of the sea. you even kill each other. you are a strange people. still you risked your life for your friend baba, just as baba would risk his. your friend with the red fur risked his life to help you. do you really think that if your people knew all there is to know about us, they would not come with the fire spitting things?" johnny was silent. he knew ed would come. he knew trader harkness would, too. he swallowed, for lying to these little bears was something he just couldn't do. "for those claws some of my people would do anything," he clicked in a low voice. there was complete silence in the grove. the marva who was young and still blue furred about the muzzle stood again. johnny wanted to cry. he had condemned baba to death, but if he hadn't done so, maybe all the marva would be killed. he felt they, too, were his brothers. he broke into sobs and stood there with tears running down his cheeks. "we have heard our young friend," the blue-furred marva said. it was the first time he had not called johnny a killer. "he gave us the truth because we have trusted him, and treated him with friendship. i was wrong. he is to be trusted. let him go from here with his gifts. my tree, too, will send a gift. but let him promise to keep secret anything he thinks may be dangerous to us." the marva seated himself. "oh, i promise," johnny said solemnly. "cross my heart and hope to die." "it is agreed among us then?" keetack asked the group. the furry heads nodded their agreement. "young friend, you may go. your settlement is three groves away from us. you may have a rhinosaur to ride. it will take you home with time to spare. you go with a pledge of peace. we will send messages ahead and no animals will attack you. nor will any of our friends attack any man unless he attacks first. you may tell your people we will give them more claws for such things as we would like from them. every two years we marva get a new set of claws and teeth. the old ones have been saved from generation to generation to be used for lights and for tools. you may also tell the leaders of your people we would like to meet with them. perhaps we can make a friendship that will endure!" johnny had a busy hour ahead of him. first he ran to see rick among the sick animals in the other part of the grove. there was no question of rick's coming with him. he was still too sick from the arrow-bird's wound, but he was definitely on the mend. he was lying under a tree, petting the leopard cubs. johnny told him what had happened, carefully omitting where the marva lived, and rick became more and more interested. finally johnny showed him one of the packets of claws that he had been given. by now the packets had grown to over a dozen, and he had placed them in a bag made from his shirt. "johnny," rick said, "you've done a most wonderful thing! those marva don't have to worry about being hunted any more. if people can get so many of those claws and teeth, no one will ever want to hunt for them again. you tell them that, for me." johnny rushed to give the news to the marva. the first one he found was the young council member who had at first opposed letting him go. "it pays to trust one another," the marva said simply. soon johnny was ready. the leader of the council brought before him a huge rhinosaur, one of the biggest johnny had ever seen. "skorkin knows he must obey you," keetack said. "he will do anything you ask, and will harm none of your people." "hello, friend-pet," johnny said. the rhinosaur turned and looked at him with his little blue-black eyes and grunted a greeting. johnny noted it. it probably meant "hello." "was that his speech?" johnny asked. "yes," keetack answered. "they have more words than the other creatures of the green lands. only the monkeys of all our friend-pets come near to being as smart as they. they are a people, too, of great courage." "i know," johnny said. he remembered the rhinosaur charge at the colony. at the mention of the word "monkey," the little red ape whom johnny had rescued from ed began to chatter and jump up and down. "he likes you and wishes to go with you," keetack said. "do you want him to?" "oh, yes," johnny answered. the monkey leaped to his shoulder. johnny suddenly had an idea. "could the leopardess, her cubs, and the arrow-bird come too?" he asked. "that is, if they want to?" keetack understood what was in johnny's mind and nodded his approval. "it is a good idea," he clicked. "it would be a good way to prove to your people that the animals can be friendly." the leopardess was suddenly beside johnny, rubbing up against him like a big cat. she looked up into his face and growled in the way that johnny knew meant "come." johnny looked at the wrist watch. "we do have to hurry." he threw the bagful of the precious claws over his shoulder, and stepped toward the rhinosaur. "how'm i going to get on?" he asked, with sudden surprise. a series of grunts came from the rhinosaur, that sounded something like laughter. then it lay its horned snout upon the ground, and grunted again. "climb on," keetack said. grasping one of the long snout horns, johnny climbed aboard his strange mount. "goodbye," he shouted. all around hundreds of the marva were hanging from their trees. they waved and he waved back. "let's go!" he clicked to the rhinosaur. and so began the race through the jungle. the great rhinosaur moved forward with thundering speed, the leopardess and her cubs loping along beside them. when one of the cubs grew tired it leaped on to the rhinosaur's back, curled up beside johnny and went peacefully to sleep. the arrow-bird perched on one of the beast's horns and the monkey beside it. they did not stop for rain or rivers. everywhere the jungle seemed to have blossomed forth with animals, who waved and grunted, growled, clicked, or sang greetings to them as they went past. the broad back of the rhinosaur was a perfect place to travel, johnny found. it swayed hardly as much as a helicopter and bounced much less than a tank. it was not long until johnny had followed the leopard cub's example. he found a hollow in the big back, curled up and went to sleep, lulled by the steady swinging movement and the thunder of the rhinosaur's hooves. * * * * * johnny woke with a start. the monkey was pulling on one of his ears; they had reached the settlement. johnny glanced down at his watch. he had slept six hours. the rhinosaur had stopped right at the edge of the meat tree grove that bordered the settlement. through the screen of trees johnny could see the high grey walls. it was about half a mile to the gate. johnny wiped the sleep out of his eyes and puzzled as to the best way of making his appearance. "go that way," johnny clicked, and pointed. "but stay where you can't be seen from the walls." at a slow trot, the rhinosaur carried them to a place directly in front of the gate to the settlement wall. johnny saw that the gate had been repaired. beside it was a steel door through which a single man could be admitted. "you wait here for me," he said to the animals. "let me down, friend rhinosaur." he tied his bag of claws to the rhinosaur's horn and then walked down the huge head to the ground. the arrow-bird flew over and lit on his shoulder. it had not understood. "wait," johnny repeated. "wait, i will come back." the rhinosaur wandered a few yards away and began to munch on some bushes. the leopard growled to her cubs and began to climb a meat tree in search of food. johnny smiled. they were good friends to have. johnny slipped through the bushes and trees until only one antelope berry bush was between him and the wall. the guard tower was directly in front of him. the men in the tower must have noticed the swaying of the bushes, for they were looking directly toward the spot where johnny stood. johnny slipped from behind the bush and stepped into full view. he smiled and waved jauntily to the guards. as casually as he could he started toward the door. halfway there he began to skip for sheer joy. the guards were staring at him open-mouthed. obviously he had no armor on. he had had to use his shirt to make the bag for the claws. the only clothes he wore was the baggy pair of shorts rick had made him. the steel door at the base of the guard tower opened at his touch. he closed it carefully, opened the inner door and then climbed the stairs to the guard tower, instead of going straight into the colony. there, too, were double doors. "hello," he said, as he entered. the three guards on duty were so surprised they couldn't speak for a second. one of them was old jeb. before they recovered, johnny went up to jeb. "would you call my father, jeb, and tell him to come to the gate?" it was funny to watch their faces. "johnny, you're safe!" jeb suddenly exploded. he swept the boy into his arms and swung him about. he stopped, pushed the boy away from him, and tousled his hair. "i can't believe it, but you're safe!" "sure am," johnny said, with a grin. then he became serious. "how is baba? is he all right?" "he's been kind of sad and upset, poor little feller," jeb said. "but how in thunder did you get here? last we heard you were being held for ransom. your folks have been worried sick." "oh, i got away from the outlaws and some friends brought me. please call everybody in the colony, will you? tell them to come to the gate. i have something important to show them. i've got to go back out to my friends now. 'bye." he started toward the door. "friends! what friends?" jeb called. "you'll find out," johnny said, with a laugh. "hey, you can't go outside without armor," one of the other guards shouted. but johnny had slipped out before he could be stopped. he took the stairs at a run, and was out of the heavy steel wall doors before the men could follow him. as he skipped across the open space back to the jungle, he turned his head, waved to the men in the tower, and smiled. "come back here, you little devil!" jeb shouted through the loudspeaker the guards used to guide tanks in. but johnny shook his head and went back into the brush. johnny waited for about ten minutes. all this time the loudspeaker in the tower was shouting for johnny to come back in. finally the voice changed. it was johnny's father's voice. "johnny," his father said over the speaker. "come on in here! _please!_ i'm here now. johnny!" johnny heard a tank starting up inside. he didn't want any tanks coming after him. "come on, friends," he clicked to the animals. he climbed back up on the rhinosaur's back. the leopard came running up with her cubs. the arrow-bird and the monkey, taking no chances, followed behind them, leaped to its usual perch--the top of johnny's head. "let's go!" johnny clicked to the rhinosaur. "walk very slowly out toward the big black place." johnny clicked to one of the cubs to jump up on the rhinosaur's back beside him. johnny crawled to the broad head of the rhinosaur between two of its horns. the leopard cub sat on its haunches beside him. the mother leopard and the other cub ran alongside them. the rhinosaur's hooves made muffled thunder as he walked. a big grin on his face, and waving his hand, johnny emerged from the jungle into full sight of his father, jeb, and many others inside the guard tower. "stop when we get a little way from the door," johnny said to the rhinosaur. the big beast grunted its understanding. johnny and his friends came to a halt close enough to the tower so that johnny's voice could be heard. "open the gate, please," johnny shouted. "we want to come inside." he saw his father's startled face above him. "hello, dad. how's mom? did she worry too much?" "hello, son." his father's voice was shocked. "your mother is all right." he paused. "where did you.... how did you...?" "you mean the animals?" johnny asked, rather enjoying the effect he was making. "oh, they're friends of mine. you can let us in. they won't hurt anybody. i'm bringing a present to pay for baba and make up for all the harm we did. look." he took a packet of the claws and opened it. he let a handful of the claws run out of one hand into the other in a shining blue waterfall. through the microphone he could hear his father and the other men gasp. "come in here quick," frederick watson's voice came back over the loudspeaker. "open the gates, please," johnny repeated. "but the rhinosaur! and the leopard!" "they're friends of mine. they brought me here. they won't hurt anybody. i promise." the big steel gate slowly opened. riding on the back of one of the greatly feared rhinosaurs, johnny entered the colony. it seemed that everyone in the colony had heard of johnny's strange return. pioneers--men, women and children, hunters and guards--were hurrying toward the big gate. at the sight of the rhinosaur, a woman screamed and the crowd ran, scattering in all directions. captain thompson, two other colonists and a hunter held their ground, their ato-tube pistols out. "don't shoot! don't shoot!" johnny shouted. beneath him the rhinosaur trembled. "he won't hurt you. he's our friend." he stroked the arrow-bird on his shoulder. "look! even an arrow-bird!" slowly the ato-tube pistols that had been leveled at them were lowered. hesitantly, one or two of the people began to move back toward the little group. a woman came running toward johnny. it was his mother. tears were running down her face. even she was finally stopped by the bewildering sight of her son surrounded by jungle animals. "let me down," johnny clicked to the rhinosaur. the big animal lowered his head. a cry went up from the people as the leopardess bounded after him. johnny threw his arms about his mother. "oh, johnny, johnny!" his mother said over and over, holding him tight against her armor. she stiffened as the mother leopard rubbed against them and the arrow-bird lit, for a moment, on her shoulder. "mother, i want you to meet my friends," johnny said. "this is mona, the leopardess, and her two cubs, pat and mike. and this is skimpy, the monkey. i haven't named my arrow-bird yet." then he spoke to the animals. "this is my mother." johnny's mother stood there a moment, too bewildered to speak. the leopardess licked her hand. then johnny led his mother to the rhinosaur. "this is my friend skorkin, the rhinosaur. he gave me a ride all the way here. isn't he beautiful?" then he clicked to the rhinosaur, "this is my mother." the huge creature grunted. "skorkin said 'hello,'" johnny said. her eyes wide with the strangeness of it all, johnny's mother nodded a wordless greeting to the creature. just then johnny heard a sound he had been waiting for. it was the sound of a basketball dropped from a height. he looked up to see baba bounding along as fast as he could come. johnny was off at a dead run to meet him, leaving his mother and the other animals behind. the two of them met at top speed, and they met with such impact that both were tumbled to the ground in a heap of arms, legs, boy and bear. both of them were laughing when they got to their feet. "oh, baba, you bad little bear!" johnny said. "i thought i'd never see you again!" "and i!" baba said. "you shouldn't have come back here!" johnny said. "i'll have to punish you right now!" he grabbed baba suddenly by the leg, whirled him around and around above his head and threw him as high as he could in the air. throwing his arms around as if frightened to death, the little bear whimpered and clicked. but just before he hit the ground he made himself into a ball, and bounced higher than johnny had thrown him. then, on the third bounce, he landed lightly on johnny's shoulder. their delight was cut short by the sight of a fat bald man who glittered as he walked toward the crowd. for an instant johnny was afraid. it was trader harkness. then he remembered--the trader's days of power were over. "mr. harkness," he called, "i've got something to show you." "they said you had claws." the trader's little black eyes fixed their gaze on johnny. "come on, i'll show everybody." the crowd parted for johnny and baba and the trader. by this time almost all the colonists and visiting hunters were gathered around the rhinosaur and the leopards. a few bold souls were timidly petting the cubs. probably of most interest was the arrow-bird. tired from all its riding, it had put its head under its wing and gone fast asleep, perched on the rhinosaur's horn. johnny took the bag he had made from the shirt down from where it hung beside the arrow-bird. he untied it, revealing the many packets made from woven rushes. packet after packet, he spilled the claws out on to the shirt until there was a great pile of jewels glowing before the people. "where did you get them?" trader harkness' voice rumbled. he was shocked and pale. "the marva themselves gave them to me for the colony," johnny replied. "it's a sign that they and all the animals want to be our friends." the trader forced his eyes away from the pile of jewels and looked over his shoulder. johnny was suddenly conscious of three hunters standing behind the trader. ed and his gang! "i'll take those claws now," the trader said. the gang whipped out their ato-tubes and leveled them at johnny and baba. the crowd gasped and then fell silent. johnny's father stepped up, but one of the hunters waved him back with his gun. johnny saw he'd been wrong. there was plenty of fight left in the trader. he glanced around him; the animals had become very still, waiting his word. "friends," johnny clicked, "stay still. this man is a killer." skorkin, the rhinosaur, snorted. the arrow-bird awoke and snapped its head into arrow position. the monkey bared its teeth, while mona, the leopardess, crouched to spring, the muscles of her haunches trembling. johnny saw the trader's eyes widen. the leopard was not three feet away from him. thinking fast, johnny stepped carefully over and put a hand on the leopard's shoulder. "i wouldn't move, mr. harkness," johnny said, his voice quavering in spite of himself. "if you don't tell your gang to give their guns to captain thompson, i'll tell the animals to charge. maybe ed told you what i made the monkey do?" johnny's heart raced. it was a bluff. he couldn't tell the animals to charge. he knew they might be killed. no amount of claws would be worth that. the trader's eyes were fixed on mona. then skorkin snorted again, eager to fight. the trader turned brick red. "do what the kid says," he said in a low, strangled voice. the ato-tube in ed's hand wavered and then came down. there was a deep sigh of relief from the crowd. grimly and quietly, captain thompson gathered up the guns. "all right, you men," he said, "there's a room ready for you at the stockade." the fight was really gone from the trader now. his shoulders slumped, his head down, he shuffled as he was led away. johnny's father stepped forward and embraced him. "i don't understand how you did it, johnny," he said. "i don't understand anything about it. but this is certainly a wonderful day!" chapter seventeen _teachers can't play hookey_ it was now an hour after the earth rocket had blasted off on its way back to earth. johnny watson lay on his stomach with his chin cupped in his hands and looked down from the top of new plymouth rock. beside him, twisted into the same position, was his friend baba, his blue nails glowing in venus' pearly light. near the two friends, perched on a boulder, were two of the large venus eagles, watching every move they made. how changed it all was down in the settlement! people were streaming back from the rocket field on foot and without armor. beside the jenkins family strode mona, the leopardess, carrying a basket in her mouth. in the basket the jenkins' baby slept. mona just loved babies. down in the marshberry fields three rhinosaurs peacefully browsed. there were so many berries available now in the sea marshes that no one had to worry about the few in the fields. the marva had left these three rhinosaurs to carry people wherever they might want to go. high in the sky was a faint dot. baba nudged johnny and pointed. "here comes keetack," he said in his clicking language. "we'll have to go down pretty soon." "i suppose so," johnny said wearily. it had been fun for a while being the only person who understood the marva language. when dad and the other colonists had gone into the jungle to talk with the council of all the marva groves, johnny and baba had been there too--the center of attention. when the men spoke, baba told the marva what they meant. when the marva spoke, johnny had to tell the men what the bears meant. it had been fun being so important. it had been fun being treated like heroes, but they were already tired of it. with their new freedom to travel, there was a whole continent to explore, and hundreds of new friends to make. idly, johnny watched the dot, that baba said was keetack, grow into a bird with a twenty-foot wing spread flying through the sky. in its claws was a small black-muzzled bouncing bear. baba's eyes were magically good. the bird was a venus eagle--the marva's airplane. before men had come and made it dangerous for them, the marva had flown anywhere they wanted to go in the talons of these great birds. johnny knew that the earliest hunters thought the eagles were preying upon the bears. it was just one more surprising thing about the little bears. johnny remembered what rick had said when he had arrived home, his wound all healed. he had really grown to respect the marva. "they have learned to live with other creatures, and have taught all their friends, as they call the animals, to live in peace together. the meat eaters have their meat trees so they don't need to attack other animals--it's amazing," rick reported. johnny remembered how baba had preened himself when rick had spoken that way, and he smiled. "hey, baba," johnny said, "how soon do you think we could take a trip all around the groves? we could get skorkin to carry us, and go visit everybody." "you will have to come stay with my people," baba said. only a few days before baba had discovered a host of aunts, uncles and cousins in one of the outlying groves. most important of all he had found his father. "i've lived with you for years and years. now it should be your turn." "oh, good," said johnny. "we'll do it, soon as they'll let us go." "look, johnny," baba pointed. "look at the trader!" below, the fat bald-headed little man, a pack on his back, was heading into the jungle. he waddled as he walked, but he moved straight along. "where's he going?" baba asked. "dad says he's going to start a marshberry farm--if the marva will let him. but, gosh, it'll be a long time before anyone will help him." "he can always live on meat fruit and stuff," baba said. "nobody likes him, but they won't bother him if he leaves them alone." what had happened to the trader and to the outlaws was the strangest thing of all. the marva had not wanted them punished. they said they wanted to make friends, not enemies. the thousands of marva claws that had been given to the colony had made the claws quite cheap, so that trader harkness had become a poor man; he had been rich in hunting equipment and hunting lodges--now all these things were valueless. surprisingly, he had refused to return to earth. "venus is my home," he had said flatly. "i'll get by." johnny had to admire his courage, just as he had to admire some of the hunters who would not stay on venus. these lean hard-bitten men were going further on into space. to johnny's surprise keetack admired the hunters, too. "they are fighters, like the rhinosaurs. here there is nothing left to fight. they are people of much courage." looking down on the trader, johnny found he couldn't help feeling sorry for him. "goodbye," he yelled, his voice echoing among the rocks. "goodbye, trader." the fat man looked up and waved back. johnny thought he smiled. "he was a real pioneer," johnny said. "yes," baba answered, "he'll be all right." johnny jumped back suddenly from the edge of the rock and hid behind some bushes. "here comes mom, looking for us!" baba quickly dived back out of sight too. johnny peeked through the screening of bushes. his mother was riding toward the rock on skorkin, the rhinosaur! this hideout was not very secret. everybody on venus knew about it. he stood up, and waved down to her. "i'm coming, mother," he shouted. his mother nodded and the big rhinosaur turned back toward the settlement. in a few minutes baba and johnny would be back in school, sitting in front of a group of men and a group of marva. baba would be teaching the marva how to understand the talk of people, while johnny taught the men and women how to talk and understand the language of the marva. it was a hard job. "i guess we gotta go back!" johnny mourned. "i guess so!" baba agreed sadly. "there is only one trouble with being a teacher," said johnny. "teachers just can't play hookey." then he grinned. "say, i've got an idea!" "what?" asked baba. "mom hasn't been doing her homework. let's give a test today!" baba slapped his furry haunches, his blue teeth glowing. "let's go!" johnny clicked to the two eagles. he ran as hard as he could and leaped off the edge of the high cliff, hurtling down and down. right after him, baba jumped, too. there was the sound of great wings, and the two tremendous venus eagles swept after them. one dived at johnny, its claws spread. the long powerful claws hooked into johnny's belt and whisked him through the air toward the settlement. the other grasped baba by the shoulders. together the two friends flew on. "that was fun!" said johnny. his furry blue pal nodded his agreement. facts about venus an afterword for curious boys and girls (as well as parents, teachers and librarians) "daddy, is this what venus is really like?" demanded blake, my eleven-year-old son. he had just finished reading my manuscript. i have an idea that among my readers there may be other curious boys and girls who might ask the same question my son did. this was my answer: the job of a science fiction writer, i think, is to spin out tales about other times and strange planets, using known facts as beginning points, and without violating any known facts. in _venus boy_ i have tried to do this. i think i have created a picture of life on the surface of venus that is possible, if just barely possible. in addition to being a story teller, i am a librarian, and librarians love to keep their facts straight. the fact about venus is that nobody knows just what it is like on the surface of the planet. since nobody knows, i could make it all up. many facts _are_ known about venus, however. venus is the sun's second planet. it is about twenty-five million miles closer to the sun than our earth. astronomers have measured and "weighed" it. it is almost exactly the same size as earth, but its weight (mass) is twenty per cent less. it turns very slowly on its axis, so that its day is much longer than an earth day. because of a layer of clouds that surrounds it, the surface cannot be seen even with the most powerful of telescopes. thus, astronomers cannot tell just how fast or slow it turns. a venus day may be as short as fourteen earth days or as long as two hundred and twenty-five earth days. if you noticed, you can see i have kept my picture of life on venus true to these facts. i had the venus day be fourteen earth days long. some of the animals and plants were a great deal larger than earth animals and plants, a fact that would be expected on a planet with less gravity than that of earth. of course you might think that because of the clouds that surround venus, the planet would be a terribly rainy place. that is not very probable. by using an instrument called a spectrograph, astronomers have learned that those heavy clouds are not clouds of water vapor. indeed, they can find evidence for little or no water vapor on venus. they can detect a great deal of carbon dioxide--but no oxygen. "but without oxygen, animals couldn't breathe!" i can hear a child who knows some science say. "life would be impossible!" that could be true. some scientists, in fact most of them, believe that life _is_ impossible on the surface of venus. but remember, nobody knows what is under that heavy layer of clouds, and nobody knows just what those clouds are. one astronomer, rupert wildt, has advanced a theory about the venusian clouds that, i think, would allow for the possibility of life on venus. he theorized, on the evidence available to him, that, when venus was young, carbon-dioxide and water, in the presence of ultra-violet light, may have combined to make clouds of one form of plastic! i think it possible that such clouds would be thick, spongy and permanent, and that they would join together, so that the inner atmosphere of venus could not escape through them. according to his theory venus could be like a christmas present--all wrapped in shining plastic. this could account for the fact, too, that more than half the light falling on it from the sun is reflected, making it the brightest of all the planets or stars, a jewel of a planet. under a loose layer of plastic, life could be possible on venus. if plant life began under those clouds, then an oxygen atmosphere could develop. plants take in carbon dioxide through their leaves and give out oxygen. many scientists believe the earth's atmosphere became rich with oxygen in this manner. of course, none of that oxygen in venus' atmosphere could get through the thick layer of spongy plastic clouds. the carbon dioxide that was trapped on the outside would not get through either. scientists believe, too, that venus may be too hot for life, or too cold. i think that the clouds and the carbon dioxide trapped outside of them would serve, on the one hand, to insulate venus from the hot light of the nearby sun; and, on the other hand, to hold in its warmth during the long nights. as you can see, i have spun my story out of mr. wildt's idea of the plastic clouds of venus. the rhinosaurs heavy armor, the arrow-bird's bills, the marva's plastic-strengthening jewel claws, all had their beginnings in the idea of a plastic planet. it allowed for the creation of some fairly interesting animals, i think. while i am on the subject of my animals, i should say a word about the possibility of animals cooperating the way i have had my venus animals cooperate. that, i think, is perfectly possible. on earth one can find examples of several creatures living so closely together that if one kind is killed off the others would all die. in many articles and books mr. ashley montague has amassed much evidence that shows an instinct for cooperation is as primary as the instinct of self-preservation. if we grant the idea of a creature whose intelligence is directed entirely toward surviving by cooperation, then i think my cooperative animals are, at the very least, possible. possible! that is what i hope my picture of life on venus is. however, it must be remembered that it is only _just_ possible. astronomers have envisioned venus as a planet of terrible dust storms, with a temperature hot enough to boil water. they have spoken of it as a place of seas of formaldehyde, hot and terrible by day, and freezing cold at night. their guesses are probably better than mine. but i must admit i like my guess a little better. i hope you have enjoyed it. the lord of death and the queen of life by homer eon flint part i the discovery i the sky cube the doctor, who was easily the most musical of the four men, sang in a cheerful baritone: "the owl and the pussy-cat went to sea in a beautiful, pea-green boat." the geologist, who had held down the lower end of a quartet in his university days, growled an accompaniment under his breath as he blithely peeled the potatoes. occasionally a high-pitched note or two came from the direction of the engineer; he could not spare much wind while clambering about the machinery, oil-can in hand. the architect, alone, ignored the famous tune. "what i can't understand, smith," he insisted, "is how you draw the electricity from the ether into this car without blasting us all to cinders." the engineer squinted through an opal glass shutter into one of the tunnels, through which the anti-gravitation current was pouring. "if you didn't know any more about buildings than you do about machinery, jackson," he grunted, because of his squatting position, "i'd hate to live in one of your houses!" the architect smiled grimly. "you're living in one of 'em right now, smith," said he; "that is, if you call this car a house." smith straightened up. he was an unimportant-looking man, of medium height and build, and bearing a mild, good-humored expression. nobody would ever look at him twice, would ever guess that his skull concealed an unusually complete knowledge of electricity, mechanisms, and such practical matters. "i told you yesterday, jackson," he said, "that the air surrounding the earth is chock full of electricity. and--" "and that the higher we go, the more juice," added the other, remembering. "as much as to say that it is the atmosphere, then, that protects the earth from the surrounding voltage." the engineer nodded. "occasionally it breaks through, anyhow, in the form of lightning. now, in order to control that current, and prevent it from turning this machine, and us, into ashes, all we do is to pass the juice through a cylinder of highly compressed air, fixed in this wall. by varying the pressure and dampness within the cylinder, we can regulate the flow." the builder nodded rapidly. "all right. but why doesn't the electricity affect the walls themselves? i thought they were made of steel." the engineer glanced through the dead-light at the reddish disk of the earth, hazy and indistinct at a distance of forty million miles. "it isn't steel; it's a non-magnetic alloy. besides, there's a layer of crystalline sulphur between the alloy and the vacuum space." "the vacuum is what keeps out the cold, isn't it?" jackson knew, but he asked in order to learn more. "keeps out the sun's heat, too. the outer shell is pretty blamed hot on that side, just as hot as it is cold on the shady side." smith seated himself beside a huge electrical machine, a rotary converter which he next indicated with a jerk of his thumb. "but you don't want to forget that the juice outside is no use to us, the way it is. we have to change it. "it's neither positive nor negative; it's just neutral. so we separate it into two parts; and all we have to do, when we want to get away from the earth or any other magnetic-sphere, is to aim a bunch of positive current at the corresponding pole of the planet, or negative current at the other pole. like poles repel, you know." "listens easy," commented jackson. "too easy." "well, it isn't exactly as simple as all that. takes a lot of apparatus, all told," and the engineer looked about the room, his glance resting fondly on his beloved machinery. the big room, fifty feet square, was almost filled with machines; some reached nearly to the ceiling, the same distance above. in fact, the interior of the "cube," as that form of sky-car was known, had very little waste space. the living quarters of the four men who occupied it had to be fitted in wherever there happened to be room. the architect's own berth was sandwiched in between two huge dynamos. he was thinking hard. "i see now why you have such a lot of adjustments for those tunnels," meaning the six square tubes which opened into the ether through the six walls of the room. "you've got to point the juice pretty accurately." "i should say so." smith led the way to a window, and the two shaded their eyes from the lights within while they gazed at the ashy glow of mercury, toward which they were traveling. "i've got to adjust the current so as to point exactly toward his northern half." smith might have added that a continual stream of repelling current was still directed toward the earth, and another toward the sun, away over to their right; both to prevent being drawn off their course. "and how fast are we going?" "four or five times as fast as mother earth: between eighty and ninety miles per second. it's easy to get up speed out here, of course, where there's no air resistance." another voice broke in. the geologist had finished his potatoes, and a savory smell was already issuing from the frying pan. years spent in the wilderness had made the geologist a good cook, and doubly welcome as a member of the expedition. "we ought to get there tomorrow, then," he said eagerly. indoor life did not appeal to him, even under such exciting circumstances. he peered at mercury through his binoculars. "beginning to show up fine now." the builder improved upon van emmon's example by setting up the car's biggest telescope, a four-inch tube of unusual excellence. all three pronounced the planet, which was three-fourths "full" as they viewed it, as having pretty much the appearance of the moon. "wonder why there's always been so much mystery about mercury?" pondered the architect invitingly. "looks as though the big five-foot telescope on mt. wilson would have shown everything." "ask doc," suggested smith, diplomatically. jackson turned and hailed the little man on the other side of the car. he looked up absently from the scientific apparatus with which he had been making a test of the room's chemically purified air, then he stepped to the oxygen tanks and closed the flow a trifle, referring to his figures in the severely exact manner of his craft. he crossed to the group. "mercury is so close to the sun," he answered the architect's question, "he's always been hard to observe. for a long time the astronomers couldn't even agree that he always keeps the same face toward the sun, like the moon toward the earth." "then his day is as long as his year?" "eighty-eight of our days; yes." "continual sunlight! he can't be inhabited, then?" the architect knew very little about the planets. he had been included in the party because, along with his professional knowledge, he possessed remarkable ability as an amateur antiquarian. he knew as much about the doings of the ancients as the average man knows of baseball. dr. kinney shook his head. "not at present, certainly." instantly jackson was alert. "then perhaps there were people there at one time!" "why not?" the doctor put it lightly. "there's little or no atmosphere there now, of course, but that's not saying there never has been. even if he is such a little planet--less than three thousand, smaller than the moon--he must have had plenty of air and water at one time, the same as the earth." "what's become of the air?" van emmon wanted to know. kinney eyed him in reproach. he said: "you ought to know. mercury has only two-fifths as much gravitation as the earth; a man weighing a hundred and fifty back home would be only a sixty-pounder there. and you can't expect stuff as light as air to stay forever on a planet with no more pull than that, when the sun is on the job only thirty-six millions miles away." "about a third as far as from the earth to the sun," commented the engineer. "by george, it must be hot!" "on the sunlit side, yes," said kinney. "on the dark side it is as cold as space itself--four hundred and sixty below, fahrenheit." they considered this in silence for some minutes. the builder went to another window and looked at venus, at that time about sixty million miles distant, on the far side of the sun. they were intending to visit "earth's twin sister" on their return. after a while he came back to the group, ready with another question: "if mercury ever was inhabited, then his day wasn't as long as it is now, was it?" "no," said the doctor. "in all probability he once had a day the same length as ours. mercury is a comparatively old planet, you know; being smaller, he cooled off earlier than the earth, and has been more affected by the pull of the sun. but it's been a mighty long time since he had a day like ours; before the earth was cool enough to live on, probably." "but since mercury was made out of the same batch of material--" prompted the geologist. "no reason, then, why life shouldn't have existed there in the past!" exclaimed the architect, his eyes sparkling with the instinct of the born antiquarian. he glanced up eagerly as the doctor coughed apologetically and said: "don't forget that, even if mercury is part baked and part frozen, there must be a region in between which is neither." he picked up a small globe from the table and ran a finger completely around it from pole to pole. "so. there must be a narrow band of country where the sun is only partly above the horizon, and where the climate is temperate." "then--" the architect almost shouted in his excitement, an excitement only slightly greater than that of the other two--"then, if there were people on mercury at one time--" the doctor nodded gravely. "there may be some there now!" ii a dead city from a height of a few thousand miles mercury, at first glance, strongly reminded them of the moon. the general effect was the same--leaden disk, with slight prominences here and there on the circumference, and large, irregular splotches of a darkish shade relieved by a great many brilliantly lighted areas, lines, and spots. a second glance, however, found a marked difference. instead of the craters, which always distinguished the moon, mercury showed ranges of bona fide mountains. the doctor gave a sigh of regret, mixed with a generous amount of excitement. "too bad those mountains weren't distinguishable from the earth," he complained. "we wouldn't have been so quick to brand mercury a dead world." the others were too engrossed to comment. the sky-car was rapidly sinking nearer and nearer the planet; already smith had stopped the current with which he had attracted the cube toward the little world's northern hemisphere, and was now using negative voltage. this, in order to act as a brake, and prevent them from falling to destruction. suddenly van emmon, the geologist, whose eyes had been glued to his binoculars, gave an exclamation of wonder. "look at those faults!" he pointed toward a region south of that for which they were bound; what might be called the planet's torrid zone. at first it was hard to see; then, little by little, there unfolded before their eyes a giant, spiderlike system of chasms in the strange surface beneath them. from a point almost directly opposite the sun, these cracks radiated in a half-dozen different directions; vast, irregular clefts, they ran through mountain and plain alike. in places they must have been hundreds of miles wide, while there was no guessing as to their depth. for all that the four in the cube could see, they were bottomless. "small likelihood of anybody being alive there now," commented the geologist skeptically. "if the sun has dried it out enough to produce faults like that, how could animal life exist?" "notice, however," prompted the doctor, "that the cracks do not extend all the way to the edge of the disk." this was true; all the great chasms ended far short of the "twilight band" which the doctor had declared might still contain life. but as the sky-car rushed downward their attention became fixed upon the surface directly beneath them, a point whose latitude corresponded roughly with that of new york on the earth. it was a region of low-lying mountains, decidedly different from various precipitous ranges to be seen to the north and east. on the west, or left-hand side of this district, a comparatively level stretch, with an occasional peak or two projecting, suggested the ancient bed of an ocean. by this time they were within a thousand miles. smith threw on a little more current; their speed diminished to a safer point, and they scanned the approaching surface with the greatest of care. the architect, who was a new yorker, was strongly reminded of the fall aspect of the appalachians; but van emmon, who was born and raised on the pacific coast, declared that the spot was almost exactly like the region north of san francisco. "if i didn't know where i was," he declared, "i'd be trying to locate eureka right now." the engineer smiled tolerantly. he had spent several years in scotland, and he felt sure, he obligingly told the others, that this new locality was far more like the ben lomond country than any other spot on earth. he was so positive, he made the doctor, a new zealander, smile quite broadly. "it is just like the hills near my home," he stated, with an air of finality which made further discussion useless. "there's a river!" the architect suddenly exclaimed, pointing; then added, before the others could comment, "i mean, what was once a river." they saw that he was right; an irregular but well-defined streak of sandy hue trickled down the middle of their chosen destination--a long, l-shaped valley, surrounded by low hills. "that's the most likely place, outside of the twilight zone, for life to be found," remarked the doctor. "neither mountainous nor dead level." he added: "the spectroscope has plainly shown that there's water vapor in what little air there is. must be precious little. if the air was as humid as the earth's, we couldn't see the surface at all from this height." the inviting-looking valley was now less than a hundred miles below. inviting, however, only in outline; in color it was a grayish buff, scorched and forbidding. the hills were yellower, and an alkali white on their summits. "do either of you fellows see anything green?" demanded the engineer, a little later. they were silent; each had noticed long before, that not even near the poles was there the slightest sign of vegetation. "no chance unless there's foliage," muttered the doctor, half to himself. the builder asked what he meant. he explained: "so far as we know, all animal life depends upon vegetation for its oxygen. not only the oxygen in the air, but that stored in the plants which animals eat. unless there's greenery--" he paused at a low exclamation from smith. the engineer's eyes were fixed, in wonder and excitement, upon that part of the valley which lay at the joint of the "l" below them. it was perhaps six miles across; and all over the comparatively smooth surface jutted dark projections. viewed through the glasses, they had a regular, uniform appearance. "by jove!" ejaculated the doctor, almost in awe. he leaned forward and scrubbed the dead-light for the tenth time. all four men strained their eyes to see. it was the architect who broke the silence which followed. the other three were content to let the thrill of the thing have its way with them. such a feeling had little weight with the expert in archeology. "well," he declared jubilantly in his boyish voice, "either i eat my hat or that's a genuine, bona fide city!" as swiftly as an elevator drops, and as safely, the cube shot straight downward. every second the landscape narrowed and shrunk, leaving the remaining details larger, clearer, sharper. bit by bit the amazing thing below them resolved itself into a real metropolis. within five minutes they were less than a mile above it. smith threw on more current, so that the descent stopped; and the cube hung motionless in space. for another five minutes the four men studied the scene in nervous silence. each knew that the others were looking for the same thing--some sign of life. a little spot of green, or possibly something in motion--a single whiff of smoke would have been enough to cause a whoop of joy. but nobody shouted. there was nothing to shout about. nowhere in all that locality apparently was there the slightest indication that any save themselves were alive. instead, the most extraordinary city that man had ever laid eyes upon was stretched directly beneath. it was grouped about what seemed to be the meeting-point of three great roads, which led to this spot from as many passes through the surrounding hills. and the city seemed thus naturally divided into three segments, of equal size and shape, and each with its own street system. for they undoubtedly were streets. no metropolis on earth ever had its blocks laid out with such unvarying exactness. this mercurian city contained none but perfect equilateral triangles, and the streets themselves were of absolutely uniform width. the buildings, however, showed no such uniformity. on the outskirts of this brilliantly tan mystery the blocks seemed to contain nothing save odd heaps of dingy, sun-baked mud. on the extreme north, however, lay five blocks grouped together, whose buildings, like those in the middle of the city, were rather tall, square-cut and of the same dusty, creamwhite hue. "down-town" were several structures especially prominent for their height. they towered to such an extent, in fact, that their upper windows were easily made out. apparently they were hundreds of stories high! here and there on the streets could be seen small spots, colored a darker buff than the rest of that dazzling landscape. but not one of the spots was moving. "we'll go down further," said the engineer tentatively, in a low tone. there was no comment. he gradually reduced the repelling current, so that the sky-car resumed its descent. they sank down until they were on a level with the top of one of those extraordinary sky-scrapers. the roof seemed perfectly flat, except for a large, round, black opening in its center. no one was in sight. when opposite the upper row of windows, at a distance of perhaps twenty feet, smith brought the car to a halt, and they peered in. there were no panes; the windows opened directly into a vast room; but nothing was clearly visible in the blackness save the outlines of the opening in the opposite walls. they went down further, keeping well to the middle of the space above the street. at every other yard they kept a sharp lookout for the inhabitants; but so far as they could see, their approach was entirely unobserved. when within fifty yards of the surface, all four men made a search for cross-wires below. they saw none; there were no poles, even. neither, to their astonishment, was there such a thing as a sidewalk. the street stretched, unbroken by curbing, from wall to wall and from corner to corner. as the cube settled slowly to the ground, the adventurers left the deadlight to use the windows. for a moment the view was obscured by a swirl of dust, raised by the spurt of the current; then this cloud vanished, settling to the ground with astounding suddenness, as though jerked down by some invisible hand. directly ahead of them, distant perhaps a hundred yards, lay a yellowish-brown mass of unusual octagonal shape. one end contained a small oval opening, but the men from the earth looked in vain for any creature to emerge from it. the doctor silently set to work with his apparatus. from an air-tight double-doored compartment he obtained a sample of the ether outside the car; and with the aid of previously arranged chemicals, quickly learned the truth. there was no air. not only was there no oxygen, the element upon which all known life depends, but there was no nitrogen, no carbon dioxide; not the slightest trace of water vapor or of the other less known elements which can be found in small amounts in our own atmosphere. clearly, as the doctor said, whatever air the astronomers had observed must exist on the circumference of the planet only, and not in this sunblasted, north-central spot. on the outer walls of the cube, so arranged as to be visible through the windows, were various instruments. the barometer showed no pressure. the thermometer, a specially devised one which used gas instead of mercury, showed a temperature of six hundred degrees, fahrenheit. no air, no water, and a baking heat; as the geologist remarked, how could life exist there? but the architect suggested that possibly there was some form of life, of which men knew nothing, which could exist under such circumstances. they got out three of the suits. these were a good deal like those worn by divers, except that the outer layer was made of non-conducting aluminum cloth, flexible, air-tight, and strong. between it and the inner lining was a layer of cells, into which the men now pumped several pints of liquid oxygen. the terrific cold of this chemical made the heavy flannel of the inner lining very welcome; while the oxygen itself, as fast as it evaporated, revitalized the air within the big, glassfaced helmet. once safely locked within the clumsy suits, jackson, van emmon, and smith took their places within the vestibule; while the doctor, who had volunteered to stay behind, watched them open the outer door. with a hiss all the air in the vestibule rushed out; and the doctor earnestly thanked his stars that the inner door had been built very strongly. the men stepped out on to the ground. at first they moved with great care, being uncertain that their feet were weighted heavily enough to counteract the reduced gravitation of the tiny planet. but they had been living in a very peculiar condition, gravitationally speaking, for the past three days; and they quickly adapted themselves. after a little shifting about, the three artificial monsters gave their telephone wires another scrutiny; then, keeping always within ten feet of each other, so as not to throw any strain on the connections, they strode in a matterof-fact way toward the nearest doorway. for a moment or two they stood outside the queer, peaked archway, their glimmering suits standing out oddly in the blinding sunlight. then they advanced boldly into the opening; in a flash they vanished from the doctor's sight, and the inklike blackness of the opening again stared at him from that dazzling wall. iii the house of dust the geologist, strong man that he was, and by profession an investigator of the unknown--van emmon--took the lead. he stalked straight ahead into a vast space which, without any preliminary hallway, filled the entire triangular block. before their eyes were accustomed to the shadow--"pretty cold," murmured the architect into the phone transmitter; it was fastened to the inside of the helmet, directly in front of his mouth, while the receiver was placed beside his ear. all three stopped short to adjust each other's electrical heating apparatus. to do this, they did not use their fingers directly; they manipulated ingenious non-magnetic pliers attached to the ends of fingerless, insulated mittens. before they had finished, the builder, who had been puzzling over the extraordinary suddenness with which that cloud of dust had settled, received an inspiration. he was carrying note-book and camera. with his pliers he tore out a sheet from the former, and holding book in one hand and the leaf in the other, he allowed them to drop at the same instant. they reached the ground together. "see?" the architect repeated the experiment. "back home, where there's air, the paper would have floated down; it would have taken three times as long for it to fall as the book." smith nodded, but he had been thinking of something else. he said gravely: "remember what i told you--it's air that insulates the earth from the ether. if there's no air here--" he glanced out into the pitiless sunlight--"then i hope there's no flaw in our insulation. we're walking in an electrical bath." they looked around. objects were pretty distinct now. they could easily see that the floor was covered with what appeared to be machines, laid out in orderly fashion. here, however, as outside, everything was coated with that fine, cream-colored dust. it filled every nook and cranny; it stirred about their feet with every step. the geologist led the way down a broad aisle, on either side of which towered immense machinery. smith was for stopping to examine them one by one; but the others vetoed the engineer's passion, and strode on toward the end of the triangle. more than anything else, they looked for the absent population to show itself. suddenly van emmon stopped short. "is it possible that they're all asleep?" he added that, even though the sun shone steadily the year around, the people must take time for rest. but smith stirred the dust with his foot and shook his head. "i've seen no tracks. this dust has been lying here for weeks, perhaps months. if the folks are away, then they must be taking a community vacation." at the end of the aisle they reached a small, railed-in space, strongly resembling what might be seen in any office on the earth. in the middle of it stood a low, flat-topped desk, for all the world like that of a prosperous real-estate agent, except that it was about half a foot lower. there was no chair. for lack of a visible gate in the railing, the explorers stepped over, being careful not to touch it. there was nothing on top of the desk save the usual coat of dust. below, a very wide space had been left for the legs of whoever had used it; and flanking this space were two pedestals, containing what looked to be a multitude of exceedingly small drawers. smith bent and examined them; apparently they had no locks; and he unhesitatingly reached out, gripped the knob of one and pulled. noiselessly, instantaneously, the whole desk crumbled to powder. startled, smith stumbled backwards, knocking against the railing. next instant it lay on the floor, its fragments scarcely distinguishable from what had already covered the surface. only a tiny cloud of dust arose, and in half a second this had settled. the three looked at each other significantly. clearly, the thing that had just happened argued a great lapse of time since the user of that desk officiated in that enclosure. it looked as though smith's guess of "weeks, perhaps months," would have to be changed to years, perhaps centuries. "feel all right?" asked the geologist. jackson and smith made affirmative noises; and again they stepped out, this time walking in the aisle along the outer wall. they could see their sky-car plainly through the ovals. here the machinery could be examined more closely. they resembled automatic testing scales, said smith; such as is used in weighing complicated metal products after finishing and assembling. moreover, they seemed to be connected, the one to the other, with a series of endless belts, which smith thought indicated automatic production. to all appearances, the dust-covered apparatus stood just as it had been left when operations ceased, an unguessable length of time before. smith showed no desire to touch the things now. seeing this, the geologist deliberately reached out and scraped the dust from the nearest machine; and to the vast relief of all three, no damage was done. the dust fell straight to the floor, exposing a brilliantly polished streak of greenish-white metal. van emmon made another tentative brush or so at other points, with the same result. clean, untarnished metal lay beneath all that dust. clearly it was some non-conducting alloy; whatever it was, it had successfully resisted the action of the elements all the while that such presumably wooden articles as the desk and railing had been steadily rotting. emboldened, smith clambered up on the frame of one of the machines. he examined it closely as to its cams, clutches, gearing, and other details significant enough to his mechanical training. he noted their adjustments, scrutinized the conveying apparatus, and came back carrying a cylindrical object which he had removed from an automatic chuck. "this is what they were making," he remarked, trying to conceal his excitement. the others brushed the dust from the thing, a huge piece of metal which would have been too much for their strength on the earth. instantly they identified it. it was a cannon shell. again van emmon led the way. they took a reassuring glance out the window at the familiar cube, then passed along the aisle toward the farther corner. as they neared it they saw that it contained a small enclosure of heavy metal scrollwork, within which stood a triangular elevator. the men examined it as closely as possible, noting especially the extremely low stool which stood upon its platform. the same unerodable metal seemed to have been used throughout the whole affair. after a careful scrutiny of the two levers which appeared to control the thing--"i'm going to try it out," announced smith, well knowing that the others would have to go with him if they kept the telephones intact. they protested that the thing was not safe; smith replied that they had seen no stairway, or anything corresponding to one. "if this lift is made of that alloy," admiringly, "then it's safe." but jackson managed to talk him out of it. when they returned to the heap of powdered wood which had been the desk, smith spied a long work-bench under a nearby window. there they found a very ordinary vise, in which was clamped a piece of metal; but for the dust, it might have been placed there ten minutes before. on the bench lay several tools, some familiar to the engineer and some entirely strange. a set of screw-drivers of various sizes caught his eye. he picked them up, and again experienced the sensation of having wood turn to dust at his touch. the blades were whole. still searching, the engineer found a square metal chest of drawers, each of which he promptly opened. the contents were laden with dust, but he brushed this off and disclosed a quantity of exceedingly delicate instruments. they were more like dentists' tools than machinists', yet plainly were intended for mechanical use. one drawer held what appeared to be a roll of drawings. smith did not want to touch them; with infinite care he blew off the dust with the aid of his oxygen pipe. after a moment or two the surface was clear, but it offered no encouragement; it was the blank side of the paper. there was no help for it. smith grasped the roll firmly with his pliers --and next second gazed upon dust. in the bottom drawer lay something that aroused the curiosity of all three. these were small reels, about two inches in diameter and a quarter of an inch thick, each incased in a tight-fitting box. they resembled measuring tapes to some extent, except that the ribbons were made of marvelously thin material. van emmon guessed that there were a hundred yards in a roll. smith estimated it at three hundred. they seemed to be made of a metal similar to that composing the machines. smith pocketed them all. it was the builder who thought to look under the bench, but it was smith who had brought a light. by its aid they discovered a very small machine, decidedly like a stock ticker, except that it had no glass dome, but possessed at one end a curious metal disk about a foot in diameter. apparently it had been undergoing repairs; it was impossible to guess its purpose. smith's pride was instantly aroused; he tucked it under his arm, and was impatient to get back to the cube, where he might more carefully examine his find with the tips of his fingers. it was when they were about to leave the building that they thought to inspect walls and ceiling. not that anything worth while was to be seen; the surfaces seemed perfectly plain and bare, except for the inevitable dust. even the uppermost corners, ten feet above their heads, showed dust to the light of smith's electric torch. van emmon stopped and stared at the spot as though fascinated. the others were ready to go; they turned and looked at him curiously. for a moment or two he seemed struggling for breath. "good heavens!" he gasped, almost in a whisper. his face was white; the other two leaped toward him, fearful that he was suffocating. but he pushed them away roughly. "we're fools! blind, blithering idiots--that's what we are!" he pointed toward the ceiling with a hand that trembled plainly, and went on in a voice which he tried to make fierce despite the awe which shook it. "look at that dust again! how'd it get there?" he paused while the others, the thought finally getting to them, felt a queer chill striking at the backs of their necks. "men--there's only one way for the dust to settle on a wall! it's got to have air to carry it! it couldn't possibly get there without air! "that dust settled long before life appeared on the earth, even! it's been there ever since the air disappeared from mercury!" iv the library "i thought you'd never get back," complained the doctor crossly, when the three entered. they had been gone just half an hour. next moment he was studying their faces, and at once he demanded the most important fact. they told him, and before they had finished he was half-way into another suit. he was all eagerness; but somehow the three were very glad to be inside the cube again, and firmly insisted upon moving to another spot before making further explorations. within a minute or two the cube was hovering opposite the upper floor of the building the three had entered; and with only a foot of space separating the window of the sky-car and the dust-covered wall, the men from the earth inspected the interior at considerable length. they flashed a search-light all about the place, and concluded that it was the receiving-room, where the raw iron billets were brought via the elevator, and from there slid to the floor below. at one end, in exactly the same location as the desk smith had destroyed, stood another, with a low and remarkably broad chair beside it. so far as could be seen, there were neither doors, window-panes, nor shutters through the structure. "to get all the light and air they could," guessed the doctor. "perhaps that's why the buildings are all triangular; most wall surface in proportion to floor area, that way." a few hundred feet higher they began to look for prominent buildings. only in forgetful moments did either of them scan the landscape for signs of life; they knew now that there could be none. "we ought to learn something there," the doctor said after a while, pointing out a particularly large, squat, irregularly built affair on the edge of the "business district." the architect, however, was in favor of an exceptionally large, high building in the isolated group previously noted in the "suburbs." but because it was nearer, they maneuvered first in the direction of the doctor's choice. the sky-car came to rest in a large plaza opposite what appeared to be the structure's main entrance. from their window the explorers saw that the squat effect was due only to the space the edifice covered; for it was an edifice, a full five stories high. the doctor was impatient to go. smith was willing enough to stay behind; he was already joyously examining the strange machine he had found. two minutes later kinney, van emmon, and jackson were standing before the portals of the great building. there they halted, and no wonder. the entire face of the building could now be seen to be covered with a mass of carvings; for the most part they were statues in bas relief. all were fantastic in the extreme, but whether purposely so or not, there was no way to tell. certainly any such work on the part of an earthly artist would have branded him either as insane or as an incomprehensible genius. directly above the entrance was a group which might have been labeled, "the triumph of the brute." an enormously powerful man, nearly as broad as he was tall, stood exulting over his victim, a less robust figure, prostrate under his feet. both were clad in armor. the victor's face was distorted into a savage snarl, startlingly hideous by reason of the prodigious size of his head, planted as it was directly upon his shoulders; for he had no neck. his eyes were set so close together that at first glance they seemed to be but one. his nose was flat and african in type, while his mouth, devoid of curves, was simply revolting in its huge, thick-lipped lack of proportion. his chin was square and aggressive; his forehead, strangely enough, extremely high and narrow, rather than low and broad. his victim lay in an attitude that indicated the most agonizing torture; his head was bent completely back, and around behind his shoulders. on the ground lay two battle-axes, huge affairs almost as heavy as the massively muscled men who had used them. but the eyes of the explorers kept coming back to the fearsome face of the conqueror. from the brows down, he was simply a huge, brutal giant; above his eyes, he was an intellectual. the combination was absolutely frightful; the beast looked capable of anything, of overcoming any obstacle, mental or physical, internal or external, in order to assert his apparently enormous will. he could control himself or dominate others with equal ease and assurance. "it can't be that he was drawn from life," said the doctor, with an effort. it wasn't easy to criticize that figure, lifeless though it was. "on a planet like this, with such slight gravitation, there is no need for such huge strength. the typical mercurian should be tall and flimsy in build, rather than short and compact." but the geologist differed. "we want to remember that the earth has no standard type. think what a difference there is between the mosquito and the elephant, the snake and the spider! one would suppose that they had been developed under totally different planetary conditions, instead of all right on the same globe. "no; i think this monster may have been genuine." and with that the geologist turned to examine the other statuary. without exception, it resembled the central group; all the figures were neckless, and all much more heavily built than any people on earth. there were several female figures; they had the same general build, and in every case were so placed as to enhance the glory of the males. in one group the woman was offering up food and drink to a resting worker; in another she was being carried off, struggling, in the arms of a fairly good-looking warrior. dr. kinney led the way into the building. as in the other structure, there was no door. the space seemed to be but one story in height, although that had the effect of a cathedral. the whole of the ceiling, irregularly arched in a curious, pointed manner, was ornamented with grotesque figures; while the walls were also partially formed of squat, semi-human statues, set upon huge, triangular shafts. in the spaces between these outlandish pilasters there had once been some sort of decorations, a great many photos were taken here. as for the floor, it was divided in all directions by low walls. about five and a half feet in height, these walls separated the great room into perhaps a hundred triangular compartments, each about the size of an ordinary living room. broad openings, about five feet square, provided free access from one compartment to any other. the men from the earth, by standing on tiptoes, could see over and beyond this system. "wonder if these walls were supposed to cut off the view?" speculated the doctor. "i mean, do you suppose that the mercurians were such short people as that?" his question had to go unanswered. they stepped into the nearest compartment, and were on the point of pronouncing it bare, when jackson, with an exclamation, excitedly brushed away some of the dust and showed that the presumably solid walls were really chests of drawers. shallow things of that peculiar metal, these drawers numbered several hundred to the compartment. in the whole building there must have been millions. once more the dust was carefully removed, revealing a layer of those curious rolls or reels, exactly similar to what had been found in the tool chest in the shell works. a careful examination of the metallic tape showed nothing whatever to the naked eye, although the doctor fancied that he made out some strange characters on the little boxes themselves. his view was shortly proved. finding drawer after drawer to contain a similar display, varying from one to a dozen of the diminutive ribbons, van emmon adopted the plan of gently blowing away the dust from the faces of the drawers before opening them. this revealed the fact that each of the shallow things was neatly labeled! instantly the three were intent upon this fresh clue. the markings were very faint and delicate, the slightest touch being enough to destroy them. to the untrained eye, they resembled ancient egyptian hieroglyphics; to the archeologist, they meant that a brand-new system of ideographs had been found. suddenly jackson straightened up and looked about with a new interest. he went to one of the square doorways and very carefully removed the dust from a small plate on the lintel. he need not have been so careful; engraved in the solid metal was a single character, plainly in the same language as the other ideographs. the architect smiled triumphantly into the inquiring eyes of his friends. "i won't have to eat my hat," said he. "this is a sure-enough city, all right, and this is its library!" smith was still busy on the little machine when they returned to the cube. he said that one part of it had disappeared, and was busily engaged in filing a bit of steel to take its place. as soon as it was ready, he thought, they could see what the apparatus meant. the three had brought a large number of the reels. they were confident that a microscopic search of the ribbons would disclose something to bear out jackson's theory that the great structure was really a repository for books, or whatever corresponded with books on mercury. "but the main thing," said the doctor, enthusiastically, "is to get over to the 'twilight band.' i'm beginning to have all sorts of wild hopes." jackson urged that they first visit the big "mansion" on the outskirts of this place; he said he felt sure, somehow, that it would be worth while. but van emmon backed up the doctor, and the architect had to be content with an agreement to return in case their trip was futile. inside of a few minutes the cube was being drawn steadily over toward the left or western edge of the planet's sunlit face. as it moved, all except smith kept close watch on the ground below. they made out town after town, as well as separate buildings; and on the roads were to be seen a great many of those octagonal structures, all motionless. after several hundred miles of this, the surface abruptly sloped toward what had clearly been the bed of an ocean. no sign of habitations here, however; so apparently the water had disappeared after the humans had gone. this ancient sea ended a short distance from the district they were seeking. a little more travel brought them to a point where the sun cast as much shadow as light on the surface. it was here they descended, coming to rest on a sunlit knoll which overlooked a small, buildingfilled valley. according to kinney's apparatus, there was about one-fortieth the amount of air that exists on the earth. of water vapor there was a trace; but all their search revealed no human life. not only that, but there was no trace of lower animals; there was not even a lizard, much less a bird. and even the most ancient-looking of the sculptures showed no creatures of the air; only huge, antediluvian monsters were ever depicted. they took a great many photos as a matter of course. also, they investigated some of the big, octagonal machines in the streets, finding them to be similar to the great "tanks" that were used in the war, except that they did not have the characteristic caterpillar tread; their eight faces were so linked together that the entire affair could roll, after a jolting, slab-sided, flopping fashion. inside were curious engines, and sturdy machines designed to throw the cannon-shells they had seen; no explosive was employed, apparently, but centrifugal force generated in whirling wheels. apparently these cars, or chariots, were universally used. the explorers returned to the cube, where they found that smith, happening to look out a window, had spied a pond not far off. the three visited it and found, on its banks, the first green stuff they had seen; a tiny, flowerless salt grass, very scarce. it bordered a slimy, bluish pool of absolutely still fluid. nobody would call it water. they took a few samples of it and went back. and within a few minutes the doctor slid a small glass slide into his microscope, and examined the object with much satisfaction. what he saw was a tiny, gelatinlike globule; among scientists it is known as the amoeba. it is the simplest known form of life--the so-called "single cell." it had been the first thing to live on that planet, and apparently it was also the last. v the closed door as they neared jackson's pet "mansion" each man paid close attention to the intervening blocks. for the most part these were simply shapeless ruins; heaps of what had once been, perhaps, brick or stone. once they allowed the cube to rest on the top of one of these mounds; but the skycar's great weight merely sank it into the mass. there was nothing under it save that same sandy dust. apparently the locality they were approaching had been set aside as a very exclusive residence district for the elite of the country. possibly it contained the homes of the royalty, assuming that there had been a royalty. at any rate the conspicuous structure jackson had selected was certainly the home of the most important member of that colony. when the three, once more in their helmets and suits, stood before the low, broad portico which protected the entrance to that edifice, the first thing they made out was an ornamental frieze running across the face. in the same bold, realistic style as the other sculpture, there was depicted a hand-to-hand battle between two groups of those half savage, half cultured monstrosities. and in the background was shown a glowing orb, obviously the sun. "see that?" exclaimed the doctor. "the size of that sun, i mean! compare it with the way old sol looks now!" they took a single glance at the great ball of fire over their heads; nine times the size it always seemed at home, it contrasted sharply with the rather small ball shown in the carvings. "understand?" the doctor went on. "when that sculpture was made, mercury was little nearer the sun than the earth is now!" the builder was hugely impressed. he asked, eagerly: "then probably the people became as highly developed as we?" van emmon nodded approvingly, but the doctor opposed. "no; i think not, jackson. mercury never did have as much air as the earth, and consequently had much less oxygen. and the struggle for existence," he went on, watching to see if the geologist approved each point as he made it, "the struggle for life is, in the last analysis, a struggle for oxygen. "so i would say that life was a pretty strenuous proposition here, while it lasted. perhaps they were--" he stopped, then added: "what i can't understand is, how did it happen that their affairs came to such an abrupt end? and why don't we see any--er--indications?" "skeletons?" the architect shuddered. next second, though, his face lit up with a thought. "i remember reading that electricity will decompose bone, in time." and then he shuddered again as his foot stirred that lifeless, impalpable dust. was it possible? as they passed into the great house the first thing they noted was the floor, undivided, dust-covered, and bare, except for what had perhaps been rugs. the shape was the inevitable equilateral triangle; and here, with a certain magnificent disregard for precedent, the builders had done away with a ceiling entirely, and instead had sloped the three walls up till they met in a single point, a hundred feet overhead. the effect was massively simple. in one corner a section of the floor was elevated perhaps three feet above the rest, and directly back of this was a broad doorway, set in a short wall. the three advanced at once toward it. here the electric torch came in very handy. it disclosed a poorly lighted stairway, very broad, unrailed, and preposterously steep. the steps were each over three feet high. "difference in gravitation," said the doctor, in response to jackson's questioning look. "easy enough for the old-timers, perhaps." they struggled up the flight as best they could, reaching the top after over five minutes of climbing. perhaps it was the reaction from this exertion; at all events each felt a distinct loss of confidence as, after regaining their wind, they again began to explore. neither said anything about it to the others; but each noted a queer sense of foreboding, far more disquieting than either of them had felt when investigating anything else. it may have been due to the fact that, in their hurry, they had not stopped to eat. the floor they were on was fairly well lighted with the usual oval windows. the space was open, except that it contained the same kind of dividing walls they had found in the library. here, however, each compartment contained but one opening, and that not uniformly placed. in fact, as the three noted with a growing uneasiness, it was necessary to pass through every one of them in order to reach the corner farthest, from the ladderlike stairs. why it should make them uneasy, neither could have said. when they were almost through the labyrinth, van emmon, after standing on tiptoes for the tenth time, in order to locate himself, noted something that had escaped their attention before. "these compartments used to be covered over," he said, for some reason lowering his voice. he pointed out niches in the walls, such as undoubtedly once held the ends of heavy timbers. "what was this place, anyhow? a trap?" unconsciously they lightened their steps as they neared the last compartment. they found, as expected, that it was another stairwell. van emmon turned the light upon every corner of the place before going any further; but except for a formless heap of rubbish in one corner, which they did not investigate, the place was as bare as the rest of the floor. again they climbed, this time for a much shorter distance; but jackson, slightly built chap that he was, needed a little help on the steep stairs. they were not sorry that they had reached the uppermost floor of the mansion. it was somewhat better lighted than the floor below, and they were relieved to find that the triangular compartments did not have the significant niches in their walls. their spirits rose perceptibly. at the corner farthest from the stairs one of the walls rose straight to the ceiling, completely cutting off a rather large triangle. the three paid no attention to the other compartments, but went straight to what they felt sure was the most vital spot in the place. and their feelings were justified with a vengeance when they saw that the usual doorway in this wall was protected by something that had, so far, been entirely missing everywhere else. it was barred by a heavy door. for several minutes the doctor, the geologist, and the architect stood before it. neither would have liked to admit that he would just as soon leave that door unopened. all the former uneasiness came back. it was all the more inexplicable, with the brilliant sunlight only a few feet away, that each should have felt chilled by the place. "wonder if it's locked?" remarked van emmon. he pressed against the dust-covered barrier, half expecting it to turn to dust; but evidently it had been made of the time-defying alloy. it stood firm. and to all appearances it was nearly air-tight. "well!" said the doctor suddenly, so that the other two started nervously. "the door's got to come down; that's all!" they looked around; there was no furniture, no loose piece of material of any kind. van emmon straightway backed away from the door about six feet, and the others followed his example. "all together!" grunted the geologist; and the three aluminum-armored monsters charged the door. it shook under the impact; a shower of dust fell down; and they saw that they had loosened the thing. "once more!" this time a wide crack showed all around the edge of the door, and the third attempt finished the job. noiselessly--for there was no air to carry the sound--but with a heavy jar which all three felt through their feet, the barrier went flat on the floor beyond. at the same instant a curious, invisible wave, like a tiny puff of wind, floated out of the darkness and passed by the three men from the earth. each noticed it, but neither mentioned it at the time. van emmon was already searching the darkness with the torch. apparently it was only an anteroom. a few feet beyond was another wall, and in it stood another door, larger and heavier than the first. the three did not stop; they immediately tried their strength on this one also. after a half dozen attempts without so much as shaking the massive affair--"it's no use," panted the geologist, wishing that he could get a handkerchief to his forehead. "we can't loosen it without tools." jackson was for trying again, but the doctor agreed with van emmon. they reflected that they had been away from smith long enough, anyhow. the cube was out of sight from where they were. van emmon turned the light on the walls of the anteroom, and found, on a shelf at one end, a neat pile of those little reels, eleven in all. he pocketed the lot. there was nothing else. jackson and kinney started to go. they retreated as far into the main room as their telephone wires would allow. still the geologist held back. "come on," said the doctor uneasily. "it's getting cold." next second they stopped short, nerves on edge, at a strange exclamation from van emmon. they looked around to see him pointing his light directly at the floor. even in that unnatural suit of mail, his attitude was one of horror. "look here," he said in a low, strained voice. they went to his side, and instinctively glanced behind them before looking at what lay in the dust. it was the imprint of an enormous human foot. the first thing that greeted the ears of the explorers upon taking off their suits in the sky-car, was the exultant voice of smith. he was too excited to notice anything out of the way in their manner; he was almost dancing in front of his bench, where the unknown machine, now reconstructed, stood belted to a small electric-motor. "it runs!" he was shouting. "you got here just in time!" he began to fumble with a switch. "what of it?" remarked the doctor in the bland tone which he kept for occasions when smith needed calming. "what will it do if it does run?" the engineer looked blank. "why--" then he remembered, and picked up one of the reels at random. "there's a clamp here just the right size to hold one of these," he explained, fitting the ribbon into place and threading its free end into a loop on a spool which looked as though made for it. but his excitement had passed; he now cautiously set a small anvil between himself and the apparatus, and then, with the aid of a long stick, he threw on the current. for a moment nothing happened, save the hum of the motor. then a strange, leafy rustling sounded from the mechanism, and next, without any warning, a high-pitched voice, nasal and plaintive but distinctly human, spoke from the big metal disk. the words were unintelligible. the language was totally unlike anything ever heard on the earth. and yet, deliberately if somewhat cringingly, the voice proceeded with what was apparently a recitation. there were modulations, pauses, sentences; but seemingly the paragraphs were all short and to the point. as the thing went on the four men came closer and watched the operation of the machine. the ribbon unrolled slowly; it was plain that, if the one topic occupied the whole reel, then it must have the length of an ordinary chapter. and as the voice continued, certain dramatic qualities came out and governed the words, utterly incomprehensible though they were. there was a real thrill to it. after a while they stopped the thing. "no use listening to this now," as the doctor said. "we've got to learn a good deal more about these people before we can guess what it all means." and yet, although all were very hungry, on jackson's suggestion they tried out one of the "records" that was brought from that baffling anteroom. smith was very much interested in that unopened door, and van emmon was in the midst of it when jackson started the motor. the geologist's words stuck in his throat. the disk was actually shaking with the vibrations of a most terrific voice. prodigiously loud and powerful, its booming, resonant bass smote the ears like the roll of thunder. it was irresistible in its force, compelling in its assurance, masterful and strong to an overpowering degree. involuntarily the men from the earth stepped back. on it roared and rumbled, speaking the same language as that of the other record; but whereas the first speaker merely used the words, the last speaker demolished them. one felt that he had extracted every ounce of power in the language, leaving it weak and flabby, unfit for further use. he threw out his sentences as though done with them; not boldly, not defiantly, least of all, tentatively, he spoke with a certainty and force that came from a knowledge that he could compel, rather than induce his hearers to believe. it took a little nerve to shut him off; van emmon was the one who did it. somehow they all felt immensely relieved when the gigantic voice was silenced; and at once began discussing the thing with great earnestness. jackson was for assuming that the first record was worn and old, the last one, fresh and new; but after examining both tapes under a glass, and seeing how equally clear cut and sharp the impressions all were, they agreed that the extraordinary voice they had heard was practically true to life. they tried out the rest of the records in that batch, finding that they were all by the same speaker. nowhere among the ribbons brought from the library was another of his making, although a great number of different voices was included; neither was there another talker with a fifth the volume, the resonance, the absolute power of conviction that this unknown colossus possessed. of course this is no place to describe the laborious process of interpreting these documents, records of a past which was gone before earth's mankind had even begun. the work involved the study of countless photos, covering everything from inscriptions to parts of machinery, and other details which furnished clue after clue to that superancient language. it was not deciphered, in fact, until several years after the explorers had submitted their finds to the world's foremost lexicographers, antiquarians and paleontologists. even today some of it is disputed. but right here is, most emphatically, the place to insert the tale told by that unparalleled voice. and incredible though it may seem, as judged by the standards of the peoples of this earth, the account is fairly proved by the facts uncovered by the expedition. it would be but begging the question to doubt the genuineness of the thing; and if, understanding the language, one were to hear the original as it fell, word for word from the iron mouth of strokor [footnote: translator's note--in the mercurian language, stroke means iron, or heart.] the great-hearing, one would believe; none could doubt, nor would. and so it does not do him justice to set it down in ordinary print. one must imagine the story being related by stentor himself; must conceive of each word falling like the blow of a mammoth sledge. the tale was not told--it was bellowed; and this is how it ran: part ii the story i the man i am strokor, son of strok, the armorer. i am strokor, a maker of tools of war; strokor, the mightiest man in the world; strokor, whose wisdom outwitted the hordes of klow; strokor, who has never feared, and never failed. let him who dares, dispute it. i--i am strokor! in my youth i was, as now, the marvel of all who saw. i was ever robust and daring, and naught but much older, bigger lads could outdo me. i balked at nothing, be it a game or a battle; it was, and forever shall be, my chief delight to best all others. 'twas from my mother that i gained my huge frame and sound heart. in truth, i am very like her, now that i think upon it. she, too, was indomitable in battle, and famed for her liking for strife. no doubt 'twas her stalwart figure that caught my father's fancy. aye, my mother was a very likely woman, but she boasted no brains. "i need no cunning," i remember she said; and he who was so unlucky in battle as to fall into her hands could vouch for the truth of it--as long as he lived, which would not be long. she was a grand woman, slow to anger and a match for many a good pair of men. often, as a lad, have i carried the marks of her punishment for the most of a year. and thus it seems that i owe my head to my father. he was a marvelously clever man, dexterous with hand and brain alike. moreover, he was no weakling; perchance i should credit him with some of my agility, for he was famed as a gymnast, though not a powerful one. 'twas he who taught me how to disable my enemy with a mere clutch of the neck at a certain spot. but strok, the armorer, was feared most because of his brain, and his knack of using his mind to the undoing of others. and he taught me all that he knew; taught me all that he had learned in a lifetime of fighting for the emperor, of mending the complicated machines in the armory, of contact with the chemists who wrought the secret alloy, and the chiefs who led the army. some of this he taught me when i was not yet a man. why he should have done so, i know not, save that he seemed to value my affection, and liked not my mother's demands that i heed her call, not his. at all events, i oft found his shop a place of refuge from her wrath; and i early came to value his teachings. when i became a man he abruptly ended the practice. i think he saw that i was become as dexterous as he with the tools of the craft, and he feared lest i know more than he. well he might; the day i realized this i laughed long and loud. and from that time forth he taught me, not because he chose to, but because i bent a chisel in my bare hands, before his eyes, and told him his place. many times he strove to trick me, and more than once he all but caught me in some trap. he was a crafty man, and relied not upon brawn, but upon wits. yet i was ever on the watch, and i but learned the more from him. "ye are very kind," i mocked him one morning. when i had taken my seat a huge weight had dropped from above and crushed my stool to splinters, much as it would have crushed my skull had i not leaped instantly aside. "ye are kinder than most fathers, who teach their sons nothing at all." he foamed at his mouth in his rage and discomfiture. "insolent whelp!" he snarled. "thou art quick as a cat on thy feet!" but i was not to be appeased by words. i smote him on the chest with my bare hand, so that he fell on the far side of the room. "let that be a warning," i told him, when he had recovered, some time later. "if ye have any more tricks, try them for, not on, me." which i claim to be a neat twist of words. it was not long after that when i saw a change in my father. he no longer tried to snare me; instead, he began, of his own free will, to train my mind to other than warlike things. at first, i was suspicious enough. i looked for new traps, and watched all the closer. i told him that his next try would surely be his last, and i meant it. but the time came when i saw that my father was reconciled to his master. i saw that he genuinely admitted my prowess; and where he formerly envied me, he now took great pride in all i accomplished, and claimed that it was but his own brains acting through my body. i let him indulge in the conceit. i grudged it not to him, so long as he taught me. in truth, he was so eager to add to my store of facts, so intent upon filling my head with what filled his, that at times i was fairly compelled to stop him, lest i tire. my mother opposed all this. "the lad needs none of thy wiles," she gibed. "he is no stripling; he is a man's man, and a fit son of his mother." "aye," quoth my father slyly. "he has thy muscle and thy courage. thank jon, he hath not thy empty head!" whereat she flew at him. had she caught him, she would have destroyed him, such was her rage; and afterwards she would have mourned her folly and mayhap have injured herself; for she loved him greatly. but he stepped aside just in the nick of time, and she crashed into the wall behind him with such force that she was senseless for a time. i remember it well. and yet, to give credit where credit is due, i must admit that i owe a great deal to that gray-beard, maka, the star-gazer. but for him, perchance, the name of strokor would mean but little, for 'twas he who gave me ambition. truly it was an uncommon affair, my first meeting with him. now that i shake my memory for it, it seems that something else of like consequence came to pass on the same occasion. curious; but i have not thought on it for many days. yes, it is true; i met maka on the very morn that i first laid eyes on the girl ave. i was returning from the northland at the time. a rumor had come down to vlama that one of the people in the snow country had seen a lone specimen of the mulikka. now these were but a myth. no man living remembers when the carvings on the house of learning were made, and all the wise men say that it hath been ages since any being other than man roamed the world. yet, i was young. i determined to search for the thing anyhow; and 'twas only after wasting many days in the snow that i cursed my luck, and turned back. i was afoot, for the going was too rough for my chariot. i had not yet quit the wilderness before, from a height, i spied a group of people ascending from the valley. knowing not whether they be friends or foes, i hid beside the path up which they must come; for i was weary and wanting no strife. yet i became alert enough when the three--they were two ditch-tenders, one old, one young, and a girl--came within earshot. for they were quarreling. it seemed that the young man, who was plainly eager to gain the girl, had fouled in a try to force her favor. the older man chided him hotly. and just when they came opposite my rock, the younger man, whose passion had got the better of him, suddenly tripped the older, so that he fell upon the ledge and would have fallen to his death on the rocks below had not the girl, crying out in her terror, leaped forward and caught his hand. at once the ditch-tender took the lass about the waist, and strove to pull her away. for a moment she held fast, and in that moment i, strokor, stood forth from behind the rock. now, be it known that i am no champion of weaklings. i have no liking for the troubles of others; enough of my own, say i. i was but angered that the ditch-tender should have done the trick so clumsily, and upon an old man, at that. i cared not for the gray beard, nor what became of the chit. i clapped the trickster upon the shoulder and spun him about. "ye clumsy coward!" i jeered. "have ye had no practice that ye should trip the old one no better than that?" "who are ye?" he stuttered, like the coward he was. i laughed and helped the chit drag maka--for it was he--up to safety. "i am a far better man than ye," i said, not caring to give my name. "and i can show ye how the thing should be done. come; at me, if ye are a man!" at that he dashed upon me; and such was his fear of ridicule--for the girl was laughing him to scorn now--he put up a fair, stiff fight. but i forgot my weariness when he foully clotted me on the head with a stone. i drove at him with all the speed and suddenness my father had taught me, caught the fellow by the ankle, and brought him down atop me. the rest was easy. i bent my knee under his middle, and tossed him high. in a flash i was upon my feet, and caught him from behind. and in another second i had rushed him to the cliff; and when he turned to save himself, i tripped him as neatly as father himself could have done it, so that the fellow will guard the ditch no more, save in the caverns of hofe. i laughed and picked up my pack. my head hurt a bit from the fellow's blow, but a little water would do for that. i started to go. "ye are a brave man!" cried the girl. i turned carelessly, and then, quite for the first time, i had a real look at her. she was in no way like any woman i had seen. all of them had been much like the men: brawny and close-knit, as well fitted for their work as are men for war. but this chit was all but slender; not skinny, but prettily rounded out, and soft like. i cannot say that i admired her at first glance; she seemed fit only to look at, not to live. i was minded of some of the ancient carvings, which show delicate, lightly built animals that have long since been killed off; graceful trifles that rested the eye. as for the old man: "aye, thou art brave, and wondrous strong, my lad," said he, still a bit shaky from his close call. i was pleased with the acknowledgment, and turned back. "it was nothing," i told them; and i recounted some of my exploits, notably one in which i routed a raiding party of men from klow, six in all, carrying in two alive on my shoulders. "i am the son of strok, the armorer." "ye are strokor!" marveled the girl, staring at me as though i were a god. then she threw back her head and stepped close. "i am ave. this is maka; he is my uncle, but best known as a star-gazer. my father was durok, the engine-maker." she watched my face. "durok?" i knew him well. my father had said that he was quite as brainy as himself. "he were a fine man, ave." "aye," said she proudly. she stepped closer; i could not but see how like him she was, though a woman. and next second she laid a hand on my arm. "i am yet a free woman, strokor. hast thou picked thy mate?" and her cheeks flamed. now, 'twas not my first experience of the kind. many women had looked like that at me before. but i had always been a man's man, and had ever heeded my father's warning to have naught whatever to do with women. "they are the worst trick of all," he told me; and i had never forgot. belike i owe much of my power to just this. but ave had acted too quickly for me to get away. i laughed again, and shook her off. "i will have naught to do with ye," i told her, civilly enough. "when i am ready to take a woman, i shall take her; not before." at that the blood left her face; she stood very straight, and her eyes flashed dangerously. were she a man i should have stood on my guard. but she made no move; only the softness in her eyes gave way to such a savage look that i was filled with amaze. and thus i left them; the old man calling down the blessing of jon upon me for having saved his life, and the chit glaring after me as though no curses would suffice. a right queer matter, i thought at the time. i guessed not what would come of it; not then. ii the vision 'twas a fortnight later, more or less, when next i saw maka. i was lumbering along in my chariot, feeling most uncomfortable under the eyes of my friends; for one foot of my machine had a loose link, and 'twas flapping absurdly. and i liked it none too well when maka stopped his own rattletrap in front of mine, and came running to my window. next moment i forgot his impertinence. "strokor," he whispered, his face alive with excitement, "thou art a brave lad, and didst save my life. now, know you that a party of the men of klow have secreted themselves under the stairway behind the emperor's throne. they have killed the guards, and will of a certainty kill the emperor, too!" "'twould serve the dolt right," i replied, for i really cared but little. "but why have ye come to me, old man? i am but a lieutenant in the armory; i am not the captain of the palace guard." "because," he answered, gazing at me very pleasingly, "thou couldst dispose of the whole party single handed--there are but four--and gain much glory for thyself." "by jon!" i swore, vastly delighted; and without stopping to ask maka whence he had got his knowledge, i went at once to the spot. however, when i got back, i sought the star-gazer--i ought to mention that i had no trouble with the louts, and that the emperor himself saw me finishing off the last of them--i sought the star-gazer and demanded how he had known. "hast ever heard of edam?" he inquired in return. "edam?" i had not; the name was strange to me. "who is he?" "a man as young as thyself, but a mere stripling," quoth maka. "he was a pupil of mine when i taught in the house of learning. of late he has turned to prophecy; and it is fair remarkable how well the lad doth guess. at all events, 'twas he, strokor, who told me of the plot. he saw it in a dream." "then edam must yet be in vlama," said i, "if he were able to tell ye. canst bring him to me? i would know him." and so it came about that, on the eve of that same day, maka brought edam to my house. i remember it well; for 'twas the same day that the emperor, in gratitude of my little service in the anteroom, had relieved me from my post in the armory and made me captain of the palace guard. i was thus become the youngest captain, also the biggest and strongest; and, as will soon appear, by far the longest-headed. i was in high good humor, and had decided to celebrate with a feast. so when my two callers arrived, i sat them down before a meal such as cost a tenth [footnote: since mercury had no moon, its people never coined a word to correspond with our "month," and for the same reason they never had a week. their time was reckoned only in days, years, and fractions of the two.] of my year's salary. i served not only the usual products of the field, variously prepared, but as a special gift from the emperor's own stock, a piece of mulikka meat, frozen, which had been found in the northland by some geologists a few years aback. it had been kept in the palace icing-room all this time, and was in prime condition. maka and i enjoyed it overmuch, but edam would touch it not. he was a slightly built lad, not at all the sturdy man that i am, but of less than half the weight. his head, too, was unlike mine; his forehead was wide as well as tall, and his eyes were mild as a slave's. "ye are very young to be a prophet," i said to him, after we were filled, and the slaves had cleared away our litter. "tell me: hast foretold anything else that has come to pass?" "aye," he replied, not at all boldly, but what some call modestly. "i prophesied the armistice which now stands between our empire and klow's." "is this true?" i demanded of maka. the old man bowed his head gravely and looked upon the young man with far more respect than i felt. he added: "tell strokor the dream thou hadst two nights ago, edam. it were a right strange thing, whether true or no." the stripling shifted his weight on his stool, and moved the bowl closer. then he thrust his pipe deep into it, and let the liquid flow slowly out his nostrils. [footnote: a curious custom among the mercurians, who had no tobacco. there is no other way to explain some of the carvings. doubtless the liquid was sweet-smelling, and perhaps slightly narcotic.] "i saw this," he began, "immediately before rising, and after a very light supper; so i know that it was a vision from jon, and not of my own making. "i was standing upon the summit of a mountain, and gazing down upon a very large, fertile valley. it was heavily wooded, dark green and inviting. but what first drew my attention was a great number of animals moving about in the air. they were passing strange affairs, some large, some small, variously colored, and all covered with the same sort of fur, quite unlike any hair i have ever seen." "in the air?" i echoed, recovering from my astonishment. then i laughed mightily. "man, ye must be crazy! there is no animal can live in the air! ye must mean in the water or on land." "nay," interposed the star-gazer. "thou hast never studied the stars, strokor, or thou wouldst know that there be a number of them which, through the enlarging tube, show themselves to be round worlds, like unto our own. "and it doth further appear that these other worlds also have air like this we breathe, and that some have less, while others have even more. from what edam has told me," finished the old man, "i judge that his vision took place on jeos, [footnote: the mercurian word for earth.] a world much larger than ours according to my calculations, and doubtless having enough air to permit very light creatures to move about in it." "go on," said i to edam, good-humoredly. "i be ever willing to believe anything strange when my stomach is full." the dreamer had taken no offense. "then i bent my gaze closer, as i am always able, in visions. and i saw that the greenery was most remarkably dense, tangled and luxuriant to a degree not ever seen here. and moving about in it was the most extraordinary collection of beings that i have ever laid these eyes upon. "there were some huge creatures, quite as tall as thy house, strokor, with legs as big around as that huge chest of thine. they had tails, as had our ancient mulikka, save that these were terrific things, as long and as big as the trunk of a large tree. i know not their names. [footnote: probably the dinosaur.] "and then, at the other extreme, was a tiny creature of the air, which moved with a musical hum. it could have hid under thy finger-nail, strokor, yet it had a tiny sharp-pointed bill, with which it stung most aggravatingly. and between these two there were any number of creatures of varying size and shape. "but nowhere was there a sign of a man. true, there was one hairy, grotesque creature which hung by its hands and feet from the tree-tops, very like thee in some way, strokor; but its face and head were those of a brainless beast, not of a man. nowhere was a creature like me or thee. "and the most curious thing was this: although there were ten times as many of these creatures, big and little, to the same space as on our world, yet there was no great amount of strife. in truth, there is far more combat and destruction among we men than among the beasts. "and," he spoke most earnestly, as though he would not care to be disbelieved, "i saw fathers fight to protect their young!" i near fell from my stool in my amaze. never in all my life had i heard a thing so far from the fact. "what!" i shouted. "ye sit there like a sane man, and tell me ye saw fathers fight for their young?" he nodded his head, still very gravely. i fell silent for want of words, but maka put in a thought. "it would appear, strokor, that it be not so much of an effort for beings to live, there on jeos, as here. perchance 'tis the greater amount of vegetation; at all accounts, the animals need not prey upon one another so generally; and that, then, would explain why some have energy enough to waste in the care of their young." "i can understand," i said, very slowly. "i can understand why a mother will fight for her babes; 'tis reasonable enough, no doubt. but as for fathers doing the same--edam, dost mean to say that all creatures on jeos do this?" "nay; only some. it may be that fewer than half of the varieties have the custom. howbeit, 'tis a beautiful one. when the vision ended i was right loath to go." "faugh!" i spat upon the ground. "such softness makes me ill! i be glad i were born in a man's world, where i can take a man's chances. i want no favoring. if i am strong enough to live, i live; if not, i die. what more can i ask?" "aye, my lad!" said maka approvingly. "this be a world for the strong. there is no room here for others; there is scarce enough food for those who, thanks to their strength, do survive." he slipped the gold band from off his wrist, and held it up for jon to see. "here, strokor, a pledge! a pledge to--the survival of the fittest!" "a neat, neat wording!" i roared, as i took the pledge with him. then we both stopped short. edam had not joined us. "edam, my lad," spake the old man, "ye will take the pledge with us?" the stripling's eyes were troubled. well he knew that, once he refused such an act, he were no longer welcome in my house, nor in maka's. but when he looked around it were bravely enough. "men, i have neither the strength of the one nor the brains of the other of ye. i am but a watchmaker; i live because of my skill with the little wheels. "i have no quarrel with either of ye." he got to his feet, and started to the door. "but i cannot take the pledge with ye. "i have seen a wondrous thing, and i love it. and, though i know not why--i feel that jon has willed it for jeos to see a new race of men, a race even better than ours." i leaped to my feet. "better than ours! mean ye to say, stripling, that there can be a better man than strokor?" i full expected him to shrink from me in fear; i was able to crush him with one blow. but he stood his ground; nay, stepped forward and laid a hand easily upon my shoulder. "strokor--ye are more than a man; ye are two men in one. there is no finer--i say it fair. and yet, i doubt not that there can be, and will be, a better!" and with that such a curious expression came into his face, such a glow of some strange land of warmth, that i let my hand drop and suffered him to depart in peace--such was my wonder. besides, any miserable lout could have destroyed the lad. maka sat deep in thought for a time, and when he did speak he made no mention of the lad who had just quit us. instead, he looked me over, long and earnestly, and at the end he shook his head sorrowfully and sighed: "thou art the sort of a son i would have had, strokor, given the wits of thy father to hold a woman like thy mother. and thou didst save my life." he mused a little longer, then roused himself and spake sharply: "thou art a vain man, strokor!" "aye," i agreed, willingly enough. "and none has better cause than i!" he would not acknowledge the quip. "thou hast everything needful to tickle thy vanity. thou hast the envy of those who note thy strength, the praise of them who love thy courage, and the respect of they who value thy brains. all these thou hast--and yet ye have not that which is best!" i thought swiftly and turned on him with a frown: "mean ye that i am not handsome enough?" "nay, strokor," quoth the star-gazer. "there be none handsomer in this world, no matter what the standard of any other, such as edam's jeos. "it is not that. it is, that thou hast no ambition." i considered this deeply. at first thought it was not true; had i not always made it a point to best my opponent? from my youth it had been ever my custom to succeed where bigger bodies and older minds had failed. was not this ambition? but before i disputed the point with maka, i saw what he meant. i had no final ambition, no ultimate goal for which to strive. i had been content from year to year to outdo each rival as he came before me; and now, with mind and body alike in the pink of condition, i was come to the place where none durst stand before me. "ye are right, maka," i admitted, not because i cared to gratify his conceit, but because it were always for my own good to own up when wrong, that i might learn the better. "ye are right; i need to decide upon a life-purpose. what have ye thought?" the old man was greatly pleased. "our talk with edam brought it all before me. know you, strokor, that the survival of the fittest is a rule which governs man as well as men. it applies to the entire population, strokor, just as truly as to me or thee. "in fine, we men who are now the sole inhabitants of this world, are descended from a race of people who survived solely because they were fitter than the mulikka, fitter than the reptiles, the fittest, by far, of all the creatures. "that being the case, it is plain that in time either our empire, or that of klow's, must triumph over the other. and that which remains shall be the fittest!" "hold!" i cried. "why cannot matters remain just as they now are--and forever?" "that" he said rapidly, "is because thou knowest so little about the future of this world. but i am famed as a student of the heavens; and i tell thee it is possible, by means of certain delicate measuring instruments, together with the highest mathematics, to keep a very close watch upon the course of our world. and we now know that our year is much shorter than it was in the days of the mulikka." i nodded my head. "rightly enough, since our days are become steadily longer, for some mysterious reason." "a reason no longer a mystery," quoth maka. "it is now known that the sun is a very powerful magnet, and that it is constantly pulling upon our world and bringing it nearer and nearer to himself. that is why it hath become slightly warmer during the past hundred years; the records show it plain. and the same influence has caused the lengthening of our day." he stopped and let me think. soon i saw it clearly enough; a time must come when the increasing warmth of the sun would stifle all forms of vegetable life, and that would mean the choking of mankind. it might take untold centuries; yet, plainly enough, the world must some day become too small for even those who now remained upon it. suddenly i leaped to my feet and strode the room in my excitement. "ye are right, maka!" i shouted, thoroughly aroused. "there cannot always be the two empires. in time one or the other must prevail; jon has willed it. and--" i stopped short and stared at him--"i need not tell ye which it shall be!" "i knew thou wouldst see the light, strokor! thou hast thy father's brains." i sat me down, but instantly leaped up again, such was my enthusiasm. "maka," i cried, "our emperor is not the man for the place! it is true that he were a brave warrior in his youth; he won the throne fairly. and we have suffered him to keep it because he is a wise man, and because we have had little trouble with the men of klow since their defeat two generations agone. "but he, today, is content to sit at his ease and quote platitudes about live and let live. faugh! i am ashamed that i should even have given ear to him!" i stopped short and glared at the old man. "maka--hark ye well! if it be the will of jon to decide between the men of klow and the men of vlamaland, then it is my intent to take a hand in this decision!" "aye, my lad," he said tranquilly; and then added, quite as though he knew what my answer must be: "how do ye intend to go about it?" "like a man! i, strokor, shall become the emperor!" iii the throne a small storm had come up while maka and i were talking. now, as he was about to quit me, the clouds were clearing away and an occasional stroke of lightning came down. one of these, however, hit the ground such a short distance away that both of us could smell the smoke. my mind was more alive than it had ever been before. "now, what caused that, maka? the lightning, i mean; we have it nearly every day, yet i have never thought to question it before." "it is no mystery, my lad," quoth maka, dodging into his chariot, so that he was not wet. "i myself have watched the thing from the top of high mountains, where the air is so light that a man can scarce get enough to fill his lungs; and i say unto you that, were it not for what air we have, we should have naught save the lightning. the space about the air is full of it." he started his engine, then leaned out into the rain and said softly: "hold fast to what thy father has taught thee, strokor. have nothing to do with the women. 'tis a man's job ahead of thee, and the future of the empire is in thy hands. "and," as he clattered off, "fill not thy head with wonderings about the lightning." "aye," said i right earnestly, and immediately turned my thoughts to my new ambition. and yet the thing maka had just told me kept coming back to my mind, and so it does to this very day. i know not why i should mention it at all save that each time i think upon maka, i also think upon the lightning, whether i will or no. i slept not at all that night, but sat [footnote: it seems to have been the custom among the soldiers never to lie down, but to take their sleep sitting or standing; a habit not hard to form where the gravitation was so slight. no doubt this also explains their stunted legs.] till the dawn came, thinking out a plan of action. by that time i was fair convinced that there was naught to be gained by waiting; waiting makes me impatient as well. i determined to act at once; and since one day is quite as good as the next, i decided that this day was to see the thing begun. i came before the emperor at noon and received my decorations. within the hour i had made myself known to the four and ninety men who were to be my command; a picked company, all of a height and weight, with bodies that lacked little of my own perfection. never was there a finer guard about the palace. my first care was to pick a quarrel with the outgoing commander. twere easy enough; he was green with envy, anyhow. and so it came about that we met about mid afternoon, with seconds, in a well-frequented field in the outskirts. before supper was eaten my entire troop knew that their new captain had tossed his ball-slinger away without using it, had taken twenty balls from their former commander's weapon, and while thus wounded had charged the man and despatched him with bare hands! needless to say, this exploit quite won their hearts; none but a blind man could have missed the respect they showed me when, all bandaged and sore, i lined them up next morning. afterward i learned that they had all taken a pledge to "follow strokor through the gates of hofe itself!" 'twere but a week later that, fully recovered and in perfect fettle, i called my men together one morn as the sun rose. by that time i had given them a sample of my brains through ordering a rearrangement of their quarters such as made the same much more comfortable. also, i had dealt with one slight infraction of the rules in such a drastic fashion that they knew i would brook no trifling. all told, 'tis hard to say whether they thought the most of me or of jon. "men," said i, as bluntly as i knew, "the emperor is an old man. and, as ye know, he is disposed to be lenient toward the men of klow; whereas, ye and i well know that the louts are blackguards. "now, i will tell ye more. it has come to me lately that klow is plotting to attack us with strange weapons." i thought best, considering their ignorance, not to give them my own reasons. "of course i have told the emperor of it; yet he will not act. he says to wait till we are attacked." i stopped and watched their faces. sure enough; the idea fair made them ache. each and every one of these men was spoiling for a fight. "now, tell me; how would ye like to become the emperor's body-guard?" i did not have to wait long; the light that flared in their faces told me plainly. "and--how would ye like to have me for your emperor?" at that their tongues were loosed, and i hindered them not. they yelled for pure joy, and pressed about me like a pack of children. i saw that the time was ripe for action. "up, then!" i roared, and, of course, led the way. we met the emperor's guard on the lower stairs; and from that point on we fair hacked our way through. well, no need to describe the fight. for a time i thought we were gone; the guards had a cunningly devised labyrinth on the second floor, and attacked us from holes in a false ceiling, so that we suffered heavily at first. but i saw what was amiss, and shouted to my men to clear away the timbers; and after that it was clear work. i lost forty men before the guard was disposed of. the emperor i finished myself; he dodged right spryly for a time, but at last i caught him and tossed him to the foot of the upper stairs. and there he still lies for none of my men would touch him, nor would i. we covered him with quicklime and some earth. as soon as we had taken care of those who were not too far gone, i called the men together and caused a round of spirits to be served. then we all feasted on the emperor's store, and soon were feeling like ourselves. "men," i said impressively, "i am proud of ye. never did an emperor have such a dangerous gang of bullies!" at that they all grinned happily, and i added: "and 'tis a fine staff of generals that ye'll make!" need i say more? those men would have overturned the palace for me had i said the word. as it was, they obeyed my next orders in such a spirit that success was assured from the first. first, using the dead emperor's name, i caused the various chiefs to be brought together at once to the court chamber. at the same time i contrived, by means i need not go into here, to prevent any word of our action from getting abroad. so, when the former staff faced me the next morning, they learned that they were to be executed. i could trust not one; they were all friends of the old man. with the chiefs out of the way, and my own men taking their commands, the whole army fell into my hands. true, there were some insurrections here and there; but my men handled them with such speed and harshness that any further stubbornness turned to admiration. by this time the fame of strokor was spread throughout the empire. and thus it came about that, within a week of the night that old maka first put the idea into my head, strokor, son of strok, reigned throughout vlamaland. and, to make it complete, the army celebrated my accession by taking a pledge before jon: "to strokor, the fittest of the fit!" iv the assault now, out of a total population of perhaps three million, i had about a quarter-million first-class fighters in my half of the world. klow, by comparison, had but two-thirds the number; his land was not a rich one. but he had the advantage of knowing, some while in advance, of the new ruler in vlama; and shortly my spies reported that his armories were devising a new type of weapon. 'twas a strange verification of my own fiction to my men. i could learn nothing, however, about it. meanwhile i caused a vast number of flat-boats to be built, all in secret. each of them was intended for a single fighter and his supplies; and each was so arranged, with side paddle wheels, that it would be driven by the motor in the soldier's chariot, and thus give each his own boat. again discarding all precedent, i packed not all my forces together, as had been done in the past, but scattered them up and adown the coast fronting the land of klow; and at a prearranged time my quarter-million men set out, a company in each tiny fleet. some were slightly in advance of the rest, who had the shorter distance to travel. and, just as i had planned, we all arrived at a certain spot on klow's coast at practically the same hour, although two nights later. 'twas a brilliant stroke. the enemy looked not for a fleet of waterants, ready to step right out of the sea into battle. their fleet was looking for us, true, but not in that shape. and we were all safely ashore before they had ceased to scour the seas for us. i immediately placed my heavy machines, and just as all former expeditions had done, opened the assault at once with a shower of the poison shells. i relied, it will be seen, upon the surprise of my attack to strike terror into the hearts of the louts. but apparently they were prepared for anything, no matter how rapid the attack. my bombardment had not proceeded many moments before, to my dismay, some of their own shells began to fall among us. soon they were giving as good as we. "now, how knew they that we should come to this spot?" i demanded of maka. i had placed him in my cabinet as soon as i had reached the throne. the old man stroked his beard gravely. "perchance it had been wrong to come to the old landing. they simply began shelling it as a matter of course." "ye are right again," i told him; and forthwith moved my pieces over into another triangle. (previously, of course, all my charioteers had gone on toward the capital). however, i took care to move my machines, one at a time, so that there was no let-up in my bombardment. but scarce had we taken up the new position before the enemy's shells likewise shifted, and began to strike once more in our midst. i swore a great oath and whirled upon maka in wrath. "think ye that there be a spy among us?" i demanded. "how else can ye explain this thing? my men have combed the land about us; there are none of the louts secreted here; and, even so, they could not have notified klow so soon. besides, 'tis pitch dark." i were sorely mystified. all we could do was to fling our shells as fast as our machines would work and dodge the enemy's hail as best we could. thus the time passed, and it were near dawn when the first messengers [footnote: messengers; no telegraph or telephone, much less wireless. in a civilization as strenuous as that of mercury, there was never enough consideration for others to lead to such socially beneficial things as these, no more than railroads or printing presses. civilization appears to be in exact proportion to the ease of getting a living, other conditions being equal.] returned. "they have stopped us just outside the walls of the city," was the report. it pleased me that they should have pushed so far at first; i climbed at once into my chariot. "now is the time for strokor to strike!" i gave orders for the staff to remain where it was. "i will send ye word when the city is mine." but before i started my engine i glanced up at the sky, to see if the dawn were yet come; and as i gazed i thought i saw something come between me and a star. i brushed the hair away from my eyes, and looked again. to my boundless surprise i made out, not one, but three strange objects moving about swiftly in the air! "look!" i cried, and my whole staff craned their necks. in a moment all had seen, and great was their wonder. i blamed them not for their fears. 'twas maka who spoke first. "they are much too large to be creatures of jon," he muttered. "they must be some trick of the enemy. "dost recall edam's vision of the creatures in the air of jeos?" he went on, knowing that i would not hinder him. "now, as i remember it, he said they flew with great speed. were it not possible, strokor, for suitable engines to propel very light structures at such high speed as to remain suspended in the air, after the manner of leaves in a storm? i note these strangers move quite fast." it was even so; and at that same instant one of them swung directly above our heads, so close that i could hear the hum of a powerful engine. so it was only a trick! i shook myself together. "attention!" my staff drew up at the word. "they are but few; fear them not! we waste no more time here! pack up the machines, and follow!" and thus we charged upon klow. i found that my men had entirely surrounded the city. klow's men were putting up a plucky fight, and showing no signs of fearing us. seeing this, i blew a blast on my engine's whistle, so that my bullies might know that i had come. immediately the word ran up and down the line, so that within a few minutes klow was facing a roaring crowd of half-mad terrors. i myself set the example by charging the nearest group of the enemy, all of whom were mounted within the rather small and perfectly circular chariots which they preferred. they were quick, but slippery. also, they could not stand before a determined rush, as several of them learned after vainly trying to slip some balls through my windows and, failing in that, striving to get away from me. but i ran them down, and toppled them over, and dropped suffocation bombs into their little cages with such vigor and disregard of their volleys that my men could not resist the example. we charged all along that vast circular line, and we cheered mightily when the whole front broke, turned tail, and ran before us. but scarce had they got away before a queer thing happened. a flock of those great air-creatures, some eight altogether, rose up from the middle of the city. it was now fairly light, and we could see well. one of them had some sort of engine trouble, so that it had to return at once; but the other seven came out to the battle-line and began to circle the city. as they did so they dropped odd, misshapen parcels, totally unlike materials of war; but when they struck they gave off prodigious puffs of a greenish smoke, of so terribly pungent a nature that my men dropped before it like apples from a shaken tree. 'twas a fearful sight; lucky for us that the louts had had no practice, else few of us should be alive to tell the tale. and so they swept around the great circle, many triangles in area; and everywhere the unthinkable things smote the hearts of my men with a fear they had never known. only one of the devices suffered; it was brought down by a chance fling of a poison shell. the rest, after loosing their burdens, returned to the city for more. i am no fool. i saw that we could do nothing against such weapons, but must use all our wits if we escaped even. "return!" i commanded, and instantly my staff whistled the code. the men obeyed with alacrity, making off at top speed with the men of klow in hot pursuit, although able to do little damage. aye, it were a sorrowful thing, that retreat. the best i could do was to remain till the very last, having to deal with a number of persistent louts who all but suffocated me, at that. but i managed to empty my slinger into some of them and to topple the rest. i was mainly angry that klow had not showed himself. by the time i had reached the seashore, most of my men were in their boats. again i stayed till the last, although i could see the enemy's fleet bearing down hard upon us from the north. in truth we would have all been lost, had we come in the manner of former campaigns, all together in big transports. but because we could scatter every which way, the fleet harmed us little; and four-fifths of us got safely back. happily, none of the air-machines had range enough to reach vlamaland. as soon as i could get my staff together, i gave orders such as would insure discipline. then, reminding my hearties that klow, knowing our helplessness, would surely attack as soon as fully equipped, i made this offer: "to the man who shall suggest the best way of meeting their attack, i shall give the third of my empire!" so they knew that the case was desperate. as for myself, i slept not a bit, but paced my sleep-chamber and thought deeply. now, a bit of a shell, from an enemy slinger, had penetrated my arm. till now, i had paid no attention to it. but it began to bother me, so i pulled the metal from my arm with my teeth. and quite by chance i placed the billet on the table within a few inches of the compass i had carried on my boat. to my intense surprise the needle of the compass swung violently about, so that one end pointed directly at the fragment of metal. i moved them closer together; there was no doubt that they were strongly attracted. the enemy's shells were made of mere iron! the moment i fully realized this, i saw clearly how we might baffle the men of klow. i instantly summoned some men gave the orders much as though i had known for years what was to be done, and in a few moments had the satisfaction of seeing my messengers hurrying north and south. and so it came about that, within three days of our shameful retreat, a tenth of my men were at work on the new project. as yet there was no word from my spies across the sea; but we worked with all possible haste. and this, very briefly, is what we did: we laid a gigantic line of iron clear across the empire. from north to south, from snow to snow; one end was bedded in the island of pathna, where the north magnetic-pole is found, while the other stopped on the opposite side of the world, in a hole dug through the ice into the solid earth of the south polar plain. and every foot of that enormous rod-'twas as big around as my leg--was insulated from the ground with pieces of our secret non-magnetic alloy! not for nothing had our chemists sought the metal which would resist the lightning. and not for nothing did my bullies piece the rod together, all working at the same time, so that the whole thing were complete in seven days. that is, complete save for the final connecting link; and that lay, a loglike roll of iron, at the door of my palace, ready to be rolled into place when i were but ready. and on the morrow the klow reached our shores. v the victory my first intent was to let them advance unhampered; but maka pointed out that such a policy might give them suspicions, and so we disputed their course all the way. i gave orders to show no great amount of resistance; and thus, the louts reached vlama in high feather, confident that the game was theirs. i stood at the door of the palace as klow himself rolled up to the edge of the parade-ground. my men, obeying orders, had given way to him; his crews swarmed the space behind and on all sides of him, while my own bullies were all about and behind the palace. never did two such giant armies face one another in peace; for i had caused my banner to be floated wrong end to, in token of surrender. first, a small body of subordinates waited upon me, demanding that i give up the throne. i answered that i would treat with none save klow himself; and shortly the knave, surrounded by perhaps fifty underlings, stepped up before me. "hail, stroker!" he growled, his voice shaking a bit with excitement; not with fear, for he were a brave man. "hail to thee and to thine, and a pleasant stay in hofe for ye all!" "hail, klow!" replied i, glancing up meaningly at the air monsters wheeling there. "i take it that ye purpose to execute us." "aye," he growled savagely. "thou didst attack without provocation. thy life is forfeit, and as many more as may be found needful to guarantee peace." "then," i quoth, my manner changing, "then ye have saved me the trouble of deciding what shall be thy fate. execution, say you? so be it!" and i strode down to the great log of iron which lay ready to fill the gap. klow looked at me with a peculiar expression, as though he thought me mad. true, it looked it; how could i do him harm without myself suffering? but i kicked the props which held the iron, and gave it a start with my foot. the ends of the pole-to-pole rod lay concealed by brush, perchance fifty yards away. in ten seconds that last section had rolled completely between them; and only a fool would have missed seeing that, the last ten feet, the iron was fair jerked through the air. as this happened we all heard a tremendous crackling, like that of nearby lightning, while enormous clouds of dust arose from the two concealed ends, which were now become connections. and at the same time a loud, steely click, just one and no more, sounded from the intruding host. for a moment klow was vastly puzzled. then he snarled angrily: "what means this foolery, strokor? advance, and give up thy ax!" for answer i turned me about, so as to face my men, and held up my hand in signal. instantly the whistles sounded, and my hearties came bounding into the field. "treachery!" shouted klow; and his officers ran here and there, shouting: "to arms! charge and destroy! no quarter!" but i paid little attention to the hubbub. i were gazing up at those infernal creatures of the air; and my heart sang within me as i saw them, circling erratically but very surely down to the earth. and as they came nearer, my satisfaction was entire; for their engines were silent! at the same time consternation was reigning among our visitors. not a man of all klow's thousands was able to move his car or lift a weapon. every slinger was jammed, as though frozen by invisible ice; all their balls and shells were stuck together, like the work of a transparent glue. even their side arms were locked in their scabbards; and all their tugging could budge them not! but none of my men were so handicapped. each man's chariot was running as though naught had happened; they thundered forward, discharging their balls and shells as freely as they had across the sea. their charge was a murderous one; not a man of klow's was able to resist, save with what force he could put into his bare hands. klow saw all this from the middle of his group of officers. none were able to more than place his body 'twixt us and their chief. in a very few moments they saw that the unknown magic had made them as children in our hands; they were utterly lost; and klow turned away from the sight with a black face. again he faced me. "what means this, ye huge bundle of lies? what mean ye by tricking us with yon badge of surrender, only to tie our hands with thy magic of hofe? is this the way to fight like a man?" i had stood at ease in my door since rolling the iron. now, i looked about me still more easily; my men were running down the louts, who had jumped from their useless chariots and taken to their heels. 'twere but a matter of time before the army of klow would be no more, at that rate. "klow," i answered him mildly; "ye are right; this is not the way to fight like a man. neither," i pointed out one of the fallen air-cars; "neither is that the way, flitting over our heads like shadows, and destroying us with filthy smoke! shame on ye, klow, for stooping to such! and upon thy own head be the blame for the trick i have played upon ye!" "you attacked us without provocation," he muttered, sourly. "aye, and for a very good reason," i replied. "yet i see thy viewpoint, and shalt give thee the benefit of the doubt." i turned to my whistlers and gave an order; so that presently the great slaughter had stopped. my men and klow's alike struggled back to see what were amiss. i handed klow an ax. "throw away thine own, scabbard and all," i told him. "it is useless, for 'tis made of iron. ours, and all our tools of war, are formed of an alloy which is immune from the magic." he took the ax in wonderment. "what means it, strokor?" asked he again, meanwhile stripping himself in a businesslike fashion that it were good to see. "it means," said i, throwing off my robe, "that i have unchained the magnetism of this world. know you, klow, that all of the children of the sun are full of his power; it is like unto that of the tiny magnet which ye give children for to play; but it is mighty, even as our world is mighty." "good jon!" he gasped; for his was not a daring mind. "what have ye done, ye trifler?" "i have transformed this empire into one vast magnet," i answered coolly. then i showed him a boulder on the summit of a distant hill; through the tube, klow could see some of my men standing beside it. "place one of thy own men on the roof of the palace," i told klow, "and give him orders to lower my banner should ye give him the word. "for upon the outcome of this fight 'twixt me and thee, klow, hinges the whole affair! if thou dost survive, down comes my banner; and my men on the hill shall topple the boulder which shall rush down the slope and burst the iron rod and break the spell. stand, then, and defend thyself!" and it did me good to see the spirit fly into his eyes. he saw that his empire lived or died as he lived or died, and he fought as he had never fought before. small man that he was beside myself, he were wondrous quick and sure in his motions; before i knew it, he had bit his ax deep into my side. and in another moment or two it was over. for, as soon as i felt the pain of that gash, i flung my own blade away; and with a roar such as would have shaken a stouter heart than his, i charged the man, took a second fearful blow full on my chest and heeding it not at all i snatched the ax from his hands. then, as he turned to run, i dropped that tool also. and i ran him down, and felled him, and broke his head with my hands. vi the fittest [footnote: this chapter was originally as long as the others, but an unfortunate accident of mr. smith's, before he was thoroughly familiar with the machine, mutilated a large portion of the tape so badly that it was made worthless. this explains why something appears to be missing from the account, and also why this chapter begins in the middle of a sentence.] slaves; but the most were slain. neither could we bother with their women and others left behind. now, by this time the empire was as one man in its worship of me. i had been emperor but a year, and already i had made it certain that only the men of vlamaland, and no others, should live in the sight of jon. so well thought they of me, i might fair have sat upon my reputation, and have spent my last days in feasting like the man before me. but i was still too young and full of energy to take my ease. i found myself more and more restless; i had naught to do; it had all been done. at last i sent for old maka. "ye put me up to this, ye old fraud," i told him, pretending to be wrathful. "now set me another task, or i'll have thy head!" he knew me too well to be affrighted. he said that he had been considering my case of late. "strokor, thy father was right when he told thee to have naught to do with women. that is to say, he were right at the time. were he alive today"--i forgot to say that my father was killed in the battle across the sea--"he would of a certainty say that it were high time for thee to pick thy mate. "remember, strokor; great though thou art, yet when death taketh thee thy greatness is become a memory. methinks ye should leave something more substantial behind." it took but little thought to convince me that maka were right once more. fact; as soon as i thought upon it, it were a woman that i was restless for. the mere notion instantly gave me something worth while to look forward to. "jon bless thee!" i told the old man. "ye have named both the trouble and the remedy. i will attend to it at once." he sat thinking for some time longer. "has thought of any woman in special, strokor?" said he. i had not. the idea was too new to me. "the best in the world shall be mine, of course," i told him. "but as for which one--hast any notion thyself?" "aye," he quoth. "'tis my own niece i have in mind. perchance ye remember her; a pretty child, who was with me when thou didst save my life up there on the mountainside." i recalled the chit fairly well. "but she were not a vigorous woman, maka. think you she is fit for me?" "aye, if any be," he replied earnestly. "ave is not robust, true, but her muscles are as wires. it is because of what lies in her head, however, that i commend her. i have taught her all i know." "so!" i exclaimed, much pleased. "then she is indeed fit to be the empress. and as i recall her, she were exceedingly good to look at." "say no more. ave shall be the wife of strokor!" and so it was arranged. well, and there ye have the story of strokor, the mightiest man in the world, and the wisest. more than this i shall not tell with my own lips; i shall have singers recite my deeds until half the compartments in the house of words is filled with the records thereof. but it were well that i should tell this much in mine own way. my ambition is fulfilled. let the hand of jon descend upon our world, if it may; i care not if presently the sun come nearer, and the water dry up, and the days grow longer and longer, till the day and the year become of the same length. i care not; my people, such as be left of them, shall own what there is, and shall live as long as life is possible. i shall leave behind no race of weaklings. every man shall be fit to live, and the fittest of them all shall live the longer. and he, no matter how many cycles hence, shall look back to strokor, and to ave, his wife, and shall say: "i am what i am, the last man on the world, because strokor was the fittest man of his time!" aye; my fame shall live as long as there be life. tonight, as i speak these things into the word machine, my heart is singing with the joy of it all. thank jon, i were born a man, not a woman! tomorrow i go to fetch ave. i shall not send for her; i cannot trust her beauty to the hands of my crew. the more i think of her, the more i see that mine whole life hath been devised for this one moment. i see that, insignificant though she be, ave is a needed link in the chain. i have come to want her more than food; i am become a lovesick fool! aye! i can afford to poke fun at myself. i can afford anything in this world; for i be its greatest man. its greatest man! here is the place to stop. there is no more i can say, the story is done; the story of strokor, the greatest man in the whole world! vii the going 'tis several years since last i faced this machine, many and many a day since i said that my story was done, and placed the record on the shelf of my anteroom, my heart full of satisfaction. and today i must needs add another record, perhaps two, to the pile. when i set out for the highlands on the morn following what i last related i took with me but two or three men; not that i had any need for guards, but because it looketh not well for the emperor to travel without retainers, however few. practically, i was alone. i reached the locality as the sun went down. the sky was a brilliant color; i remember it well. darkness would come soon, though not as quickly as farther south. commonly, i think not upon such trifles; but i were nearing my love, and tender things came easily to my mind. my chariot kept to the road which lay alongside the irrigating flume, a stone trough which runs from the snow-covered hills to the dry country below. i had already noted this flume where it emptied into the basin in the valley below; for it had had a new kind of a spillway affixed to it, a broad, smooth platform with a slightly upward curve, over which the water was shooting. i saw no sense in the arrangement, and made up my mind to ask maka about it; for the empire prized this trough most highly. it ran straight and true, over expensive bridges where needed, with scarce a bend to hold back the flow. when i stopped my car outside the house i was surprised that none should come out to greet me. maka had sent word of my coming; all should have been in readiness. but i was forced to use my whistle. there was no stir. i became angry; i told my bullies to stay where they were, and myself burst in the door. the house was a sturdy stone affair of one floor, set against the side of the mountain, a short distance above the flume. i looked about the interior in surprise; for not a soul was in sight in any of the compartments. there were signs that people had been there but a few moments before. i called it strange, for i had seen no one leave the house as i approached. at last, as i was inspecting the eating place, i noted a small door let into the outer wall. it was open; and by squeezing i managed to get through. i found that it let into a long, dark passage. i followed this, going steadily down a flight of stairs, and all of a sudden bumped into an iron grating. at the same moment i saw that the passageway made a turn just beyond; and by craning my neck and straining my eyes i could see a faintly lighted chamber just a few feet away. and before my eyes could scarce make out the figures of some people in the middle of the place, a voice came to my ear. "hail, strokor!" it said; and great was my astonishment as i recognized the tones of edam, the young dreamer whom maka had brought to my house. "edam!" i cried. "what do ye here? come and open these bars!" he made no reply, save to laugh in a way i did not like. i shook the grating savagely, so that i felt it give. "edam!" i roared. "open this grating at once; and tell me, where is ave?" "i am here," came another voice; and i stopped in sheer surprise, to peer closer and to see, for the first time, that it were really the dreamer and the chit, these two and no more, who sat there in the underground chamber. they seemed to be sitting in some sort of a box, with glass windows. "ave--come here!" i spoke much more gently than to edam; for my heart was soft with thoughts of her. "it is thy lord, strokor, the emperor, who calls thee. come!" "i stay here," said she in the same clear voice, entirely unshaken by my presence. "edam hath claimed me, and i shall cleave to him. i want none of ye, ye giant!" for a moment i was minded to throw my weight against the barrier, such was my rage. then i thought better on it, and closely examined the bars. two were loose. "ave," said i, contriving to keep my voice even, although my hands were busy with the bars as i spake. "ave--ye do wrong to spite me thus. know ye not that i am the emperor, and that these bars cannot stand before me? i warn ye, if i must call my men to help me, and to witness my shame, it will go hard with ye! better that ye should come willingly. ye are not for such as edam." "no?" quoth the young man, speaking up for the chit. "ye are wrong, strokor. we defy thee to do thy worst; we are prepared to flee from ye at all costs!" i had twisted one of the bars out of my way without their seeing it. i strove at the next as i answered, still controlling my voice: "'twill do ye no good to flee, edam; ye know that. and as for ave--she shall wish she had never been born!" "so i should," she replied with spirit, "if i were to become thy woman. but know you, strokor, that ave, the daughter of durok, would rather die than take the name of one who had spurned her, as ye did me!" so i had; it had slipped my mind. "but i want thee now, ave," said i softly, preparing to slip through the opening i had made. "surely ye would not take thine own life?" "nay," she answered, with a laugh in her voice. "rather i would go with edam here. i would go," she finished, her voice rising in her excitement, "away from this horrible man's world; away from it all, strokor, and to jeos! hear ye? to jeos! and--" but at that instant i burst through the grating. without a sound i charged straight for the pair of them. and without a sound they slipped away from before my grasp. next second i was gazing stupidly at the rushing, swirling water of the flume. and i saw that they had been sitting in the cabin of a tiny boat, and that they had got away! there was an opening into the outer air; i rushed through, and stared in the growing twilight down the black furrow of the flume. far in the distance, and going like a streak, i spied the glittering glass windows of the little craft. once i made out the flutter of a saucy hand. "we shall get them when they reach the valley!" i shouted to the men. then i reached for my tube, and sighted it on the lower end of the flume, far, far below, almost too far away to be clear to the naked eye. in an incredibly short time the craft reached the end. it traveled at an extraordinary rate; perchance 'twas weighted; i marveled that its windows could stand the force of the air. and i scarce had time to fear that the twain should be destroyed on that upturned spillway before it was there. and then an awesome thing happened. as the boat struck the incline it shot upward into the air at a steep slant. up, up it went; my heart jumped into my mouth; for surely they must be crushed when they came down. but the craft did not come down. it went on and on, up and up; its speed scarcely slackened; 'twas like that of a shooting star. and in far less time than it takes to tell it, the little boat was high up among the stars, going higher every instant, and farther away from me. and suddenly the sweat broke cold on my forehead; for dead ahead, directly in line with their travel, lay the bluish white gleam of jeos. so great was my rage over the escape of the dreamer with my woman, at first i felt no sorrow. later, after days and days of search in and about the basin, i came to grieve most terribly over my loss. when i came home to the palace, i was well-nigh ill. in vain did i make the most generous of rewards. the whole empire turned out to search for the missing ones, but nothing came of it all. yet i never ceased to hope, especially after my talk with maka. "aye," he said, when i questioned him, "it were barely possible that they have left this world for all time. i have calculated the speed which their craft might have attained, had it the right proportions, and, in truth, it might have left the spillway at such a speed that it entirely overcame the draw of the ground. "but i think it were a slim chance. it is more than likely, strokor, that ave shall return to thee." was i not the fitter man? surely edam's purpose could not succeed; jon would not have it so. the woman was mine, because i had chosen her; and she must come back to me, and in safety, or i should tear edam into bits. but as time went on and naught transpired, i became more and more melancholy. life became an empty thing; it had been empty enough before i had craved the girl, but now it was empty with hopelessness. after a while i got to thinking of some of the things maka had told me. the more i thought of the future, the blacker it seemed. true, there were many other women; but there had been only one ave. no such beauty had ever graced this world before. and i knew i could be happy with no other. now i saw that all my fame had been in vain. i had lost the only woman that was fit for me, and when i died there would be naught left but my name. even that the next emperor might blot out, if he chose. it had all been in vain! "it shall not be!" i roared to myself, as i strode about my compartment, gnawing at my hands in my misery. and in just such a fit of helpless anger the great idea came to me. no sooner conceived than put into practice. i will not go closely into details; i will relate just the outstanding facts. what i did was to select a very tall mountain, located almost on the equator, and proclaimed my intention to erect a monument to jon upon its summit. i caused vast quanities of materials to be brought to the place; and for a year a hundred thousand men labored to put the pieces together. when they had finished, they had made a mammoth tower partly of wood and partly of alloy. it was made in sections so that it might be placed, piece upon piece, one above another high into the sky. it was an enormous task. when it was complete, i had a tower as high as the mountain itself erected upon its summit. and next i caused section after section of the long, iron, pole-to-pole rod, which had tricked klow, to be hauled up into the tower. i was only careful to begin the process from the top and work downward. i gave word that the last three sections be inserted at midday at a given day. and at that hour i was safe inside a non-magnetic room. i know right well when the deed was done. there was a most terrific earthquake. all about me, though i could see nothing at all, i could hear buildings falling. the din was appalling. at the same time the air was fairly shattered with the rattle of the lightning. never have i heard the like before. the rod had loosed the wrath of the forces above our air! and as suddenly the whole deafening storm ended. perchance the rod was destroyed by the lightning; i never went to see. for i know, the electricity split the very ground apart. but i gazed out of a window in the top of my palace, and saw that i had succeeded. not a soul but myself remained alive. none but buildings made of the alloy were standing. not only man, but most of his works had perished in that awful blast. i, alone, remained! i, strokor, am the survivor! i, the greatest man; it were but fit that i should be the last! no man shall come after me, to honor me or not as he chooses. i, and no other, shall be, the last man! and when ave returns--as she must, though it be ages hence--when she comes, she shall find me waiting. i, strokor, the mighty and wise, shall be here when she returns. i shall wait for her forever; here i shall always stay. the stars may move from their places, but i shall not go! for it is my intention to make use of another secret maka taught me. in brief--[footnote: the record ends here. it may be that strokor left the machine for some trivial reason, and forgot to finish his story. at all events, it is necessary to refer to the further discoveries of the expedition in order to learn the outcome of it all.] part iii the survivor provided with a sledge-hammer, a crowbar, and a hydraulic jack, and even with drills and explosives as a last resort, jackson, kinney, and van emmon returned the same day to the walled-in room in the top of that mystifying mansion. the materials they carried would have made considerable of a load had not smith removed enough of the weights from their suits to offset their burden. they reached the unopened door without special exertion, and with no mishap. they looked in vain for a crack big enough to hold the point of the crowbar; neither could the most vigorous jabbing loosen any of the material. they dropped that tool and tried the sledge. it got no results; even in the hands of the husky geologist, the most vigorous blows failed to budge the door. they did not even dent it. so they propped the powerful hydraulic jack, a tool sturdy enough to lift a house, at an angle against the door. then, using the crowbar as a lever, the architect steadily turned up the screw, the mechanism multiplying his very ordinary strength a hundredfold. in a moment it could be seen that he was getting results; the door began to stir. van emmon struck one edge with the sledge-hammer, and it gave slightly. in another minute the whole door, weighing over a ton, had been pushed almost out of its opening. the jack overbalanced, toppled over; they did not readjust it, but threw their combined weight upon the barrier. there was no need to try again. with a shiver the huge slab of metal slid, upright, into the space beyond, stood straight on end for a second or so, then toppled to the floor. and this time they heard the crash. for, as the door fell, a great gust of wind rushed out with a hissing shriek, almost overbalancing the men from the earth. they stood still for a while, breathing hard from their exertion, trying in vain to peer into the blackness before them. under no circumstances would either of them have admitted that he was gathering courage. in a minute the architect, his eyes sparkling with his enthusiasm for the antique, picked up the electric torch and turned it into the compartment. as he did so the other two stepped to his side, so that the three of them faced the unknown together. it was just as well. outlined in that circle of light, and not six feet in front of them, stood a great chair upon a wide platform; and seated in it, erect and alert, his wide open eyes staring straight into those of the three, was the frightful mountainous form of strokor, the giant, himself. for an indeterminable length of time the men from the earth stood there, speechless, unbreathing, staring at that awful monster as though at a nightmare. he did not move; he was entirely at ease, and yet plainly on guard, glaring at them with an air of conscious superiority which held them powerless. instinctively they knew that the all-dominating voice in the records had belonged to this hercules. but their instinct could not tell them whether the man still lived. it was the doctor's brain that worked first. automatically, from a lifelong habit of diagnosis, he inspected that dreadful figure quite as though it were that of a patient. bit by bit his subconscious mind pieced together the evidence; the man in the chair showed no signs of life. and after a while the doctor's conscious mind also knew. "he is dead," he said positively, in his natural voice; and such was the vast relief of the other two that they were in no way startled by the sound. instantly all three drew long breaths; the tension was relaxed; and van emmon's curiosity found a harsh and unsteady voice. "how under heaven has he been preserved all this time? especially," he added, remembering, "considering the air that we found in the room?" the doctor answered after a moment, his reply taking the form of advancing a step or two and holding out a hand. it touched glass. for the first time since the discovery, the builder shifted the light. he had held it as still as death for a full minute. now he flashed it all about the place, and they saw that the huge figure was entirely encased in glass. the cabinet measured about six feet on each of its sides, and about five feet in height; but such were the squat proportions of the occupant that he filled the whole space. a slight examination showed that the case was not fixed to the platform, but had a separate bottom, upon which the stumplike chair was set. also, they found that, thanks to the reduced pull of the planet, it was not hard for the three of them to lift the cabinet bodily, despite its weight of almost a thousand pounds. they left the tools lie there, discarded as much weight as they could, and proceeded to carry that ages-old superman out into the light. here they could see that the great man was all but a negro in color. it was equally clear, however, from an examination of his mammoth cranium and extraordinary expression, that he was as highly developed along most mental lines as the greatest men on earth. it was the back of his head, however, so flat that it was only a continuation of his neck, or, rather, shoulders, that told where the flaw lay. that, together with the hardness of his eye, the cruelty of his mouth, and the absolute lack of softness anywhere in the ironlike face or frame--all this condemned the monster for what he was; inhuman. it was not easy to get him down the two flights of stairs. more than once they had to prop the case on a step while they rested; and at one time, just before they reached that curious heap of rubbish at the foot of the upper stairs, jackson's strength gave way and it looked as though the whole thing would get away from them. van emmon saved it at the cost of a bruised shoulder. once at the bottom of the lower flight, the rest was easy. within a very few minutes the astonished face of the engineer was peering into the vestibule; he could hardly wait until the air-tight door was locked before opening the inner valves. he stared at the mammoth figure in the case long and hard, and from then on showed a great deal of respect for his three friends. of course, at that time the members of the expedition did not understand the conditions of mercury as they are now known. they had to depend upon the general impression they got from their first-hand investigations; and it is remarkable that the doctor should have guessed so close to the truth. "he must have made up his mind to outlast everybody else," was the way he put it as he kicked off his suit. he stepped up to the cabinet and felt of the glass. "i wish it were possible, without breaking the case, to see how he was embalmed." his fingers still rested on the glass. suddenly his eyes narrowed; he ran his fingers over the entire surface of the pane, and then whirled to stare at a thermometer. "that's mighty curious!" he ejaculated. "this thing was bitter cold when we brought it in! now it's already as warm as this car!" smith's eyes lit up. "it may be," he offered, "that the case doesn't contain a vacuum, but some gas which has an electrical affinity for our atmosphere." "or," exclaimed the geologist suddenly, "the glass itself may be totally different from ours. it may be made of--" "god!" shouted the doctor, jerking his hand from the cabinet and leaping straight backward. at the same instant, with a grinding crash, all three sides of the case collapsed and fell in splinters to the floor. "look out!" shrieked jackson. he was staring straight into the now unhooded eyes of the giant. he backed away, stumbled against a stool, and fell to the floor in a dead faint. smith fumbled impotently with a hammer. the doctor was shaking like a leaf. but van emmon stood still in his tracks, his eyes fixed on the goliath; his fingernails gashed the palms of his hands but he would not budge. and as he stared he saw, from first to last, the whole ghastly change that came, after billions of years of waiting, to the sole survivor of mercury. a glaze swept over the huge figure. next instant every line in that adamant frame lost its strength; the hardness left the eyes and mouth. the head seemed to sink lower into the massive shoulders, and the irresistible hands relaxed. in another second the thing that had once been as iron had become as rubber. but only for an instant. second by second that huge mountain of muscle slipped and jellied and actually melted before the eyes of the humans. at the same time a curious acrid odor arose; smith fell to coughing. the doctor turned on more oxygen. in less than half a minute the man who had once conquered a planet was reduced to a steaming mound of brownish paste. as it sank to the floor of the case, it touched a layer of coarse yellow powder sprinkled there; and it was this that caused the vapor. in a moment the room was filled with the haze of it; luckily, the doctor's apparatus worked well. and thus it came about that, within five minutes from being exposed to the air of the sky-car, that whole immense bulk, chair and all, had vanished. the powder had turned it to vapor, and the purifying chemicals had sucked it up. nothing was left save a heap of smoking, grayish ashes in the center of the broken glass. van emmon's fingers relaxed their grip. he stirred to action, and turned briskly to smith. "here! help me with this thing!" between them they got the remains of the cabinet, with its gruesome load, into the vestibule. as for the doctor, he was bending over jackson's still unconscious form. when he saw what the others were doing, he gave a great sigh of relief. "good!" he helped them close the door. "let's get away from this damned place!" the outer door was opened. at the same time smith started the machinery; and as the sky-car shot away from the ground he tilted it slightly, so that the contents of the vestibule was slid into space. down it fell like so much lead. the doctor glanced through a nearby window, and his face brightened as he made out the distant gleam of another planet. he watched the receding surface of mercury with positive delight. "nice place to get away from," he commented. "and now, my friends, for venus, and then--home!" but the other's eyes were fixed upon a tiny sparkle in the dust outside the palace, where the vestibule had dropped its load. it was the sun shining upon some broken bits of glass; the glass which, for untold ages, had enclosed the throne of the death-lord. part iv the queen of life i next stop, venus! when he first got the idea of the sky-car, the doctor never stopped to consider whether he was the right man for such an excursion. personally, he hated travel. he was merely a general practitioner, with a great fondness for astronomy; and the sole reason why he wanted to visit the planets was that he couldn't see them well enough with his telescope. so he dabbled a little in magnetism and so forth, and stumbled upon the principle of the cube. but he had no mechanical ability, and was on the point of giving up the scheme when he met smith. he was instantly impressed by the engineer's highly commonplace face; he had had considerable experience with human contrariness, and felt sure that smith must be an absolute wonder, since he looked so very ordinary. kinney's diagnosis proved correct. smith knew his business; the machinery was finished in a hurry and done right. however, when it came to fitting the outfit into a suitable sky-car, kinney was obliged to call in an architect. that accounts for e. williams jackson. at the same time, it occurred to the doctor that they would need a cook. mrs. kinney had refused to have anything whatever to do with the trip, and so kinney put an ad in the paper. as luck would have it, van emmon, the geologist, who had learned how to cook when he first became a mountaineer, saw the ad and answered it in hope of adventure. the doctor himself, besides his training in the mental and bodily frailities of human beings, had also an unusual command of the related sciences, such as biology. smith's specialties have already been named; he could drive an airplane or a nail with equal ease. van emmon, as a part of his profession, was a skilled "fossilologist," and was well up in natural history. as for e. williams jackson--the architect was also the sociologist of the four. moreover, he had quite a reputation as an amateur antiquarian. nevertheless, the most important thing about e. williams jackson was not learned until after the visit to mercury, after the terrible end of that exploration, after the architect, falling in a faint, had been revived under the doctor's care. "gentlemen," said kinney, coming from the secluded nook among the dynamos which had been the architect's bunk; "gentlemen, i must inform you that jackson is not what we thought. "he--i mean, she--is a woman!" which put an entirely new face upon matters. the three men, discussing it, marveled that the architect had been able to keep her sex a secret all the time they were exploring at mercury. they did not know that none of e. williams jackson's fellow architects had ever guessed the truth. ambitious and ingenious, with a natural liking for house-planning, she had resolved that her sex should not stand in the way of success. and when she finally came to herself, there in her bunk, and suspected that her secret was out--instead of shame or embarrassment she felt only chagrin. she walked, rather unsteadily, across the floor of the great cube-shaped car to the window where the three were standing; and as they quietly made a place for her, she took it entirely as a matter of course, and without a word. the doctor had been speaking of the peculiar fitness of the four for what they were doing. "and if i'm not mistaken," he went on, "we're going to need all the brains we can pool, when we get to venus. "i never would have claimed, when we started out, that mercury had ever been inhabited. but now that we've seen what we've seen, i feel dead sure that venus once was peopled." the four looked out the triple-glazed vacuum-insulated window at the steadily growing globe of "earth's twin sister." half in sunlight and half in shadow, this planet, for ages the synonym for beauty, was now but a million miles away. she looked as large as the moon; but instead of a silvery gleam, she showed a creamy radiance fully three times as bright. "let's see," reflected the geologist aloud. "as i recall it, the brightness of a planet depends upon the amount of its air. that would indicate, then, that venus has about as much as the earth, wouldn't it?" remembering how the home planet had looked when they left it. the doctor nodded. "there are other factors; but undoubtedly we are approaching a world which is a great deal like our own. venus is nearly as large as the earth, has about nine-tenths the surface, and a gravity almost as strong. the main difference is that she's only two-thirds as far from the sun as we are." "how long is her day?" smith wanted to know. "can't say. some observers claim to have seen her clearly enough to announce a day of the same length as ours. others calculate that she's like mercury; always the same face toward the sun. if so, her day is also her year--two hundred and twenty-five of our days." van emmon looked disappointed. "in that case she would be blistering hot on one side and freezing cold on the other; except," remembering mercury, "except for the 'twilight zone,' where the climate would be neither one nor the other, but temperate." he pointed to the line down the middle of the disk before them, the line which divided the lighted from the unlighted, the day from the night. the four looked more intently. it should be remembered that the very brilliance of venus has always hindered the astronomers; the planet as a whole is always very conspicuous but its very glare makes it impossible to see any details. the surface has always seemed to be covered by a veil of hazy, faintly streaked vapor. smith gave a queer exclamation. for a moment or two he stared hard at the planet; then looked up with an apologetic grin. "i had a foolish idea. i thought--" he checked himself. "say, doesn't venus remind you of something?" the doctor slowly shook his head. "can't say that it does, smith. i have always considered venus as having an appearance peculiarly her own. why?" the engineer started to answer, stopped, thought better of it, and instead pointed out the half that was in shadow. "why is it that we can make out the black portion so easily?" kinney could answer this. "the fact is, it isn't really black at all, but faintly lighted. presumably it is star-shine." "star-shine!" echoed the architect, interested. "just that. you see," finished the doctor, "if that side is never turned toward the sun, then it must be covered with ice, which would reflect the star--" "ah!" exclaimed smith with satisfaction. "i wasn't so crazy after all! my notion was that the whole blamed thing is covered with ice!" it looked reasonable. certainly the entire sphere had a somewhat watery appearance. it prompted the geologist to say: "kinney--if that reflection is really due to ice, then there must be plenty of water vapor in the air. and if that's the case--" "not only is life entirely possible," stated the doctor quietly, "but i'll bet you this sky-car against an abandoned soap-stone mine that we find humans, or near-human beings there when we land tomorrow!" ii speaking of venus the architect was still dressed in the fashionably cut suit of men's clothes she had worn while in the car. van emmon thought of this when he said, somewhat awkwardly: "well, i'm going to fix something to eat. it'll be ready in half an hour, miss--er--jackson." she looked at him, slightly puzzled; then understood. "you mean to give me time to change my clothes? thanks; but i'm used to these. and besides," with spirit, "i never could see why women couldn't wear what they choose, so long as it is decent." there was no denying that hers were both becoming and "decent." modeled after the usual riding costume, both coat and breeches were youthfully, rather than mannishly, tailored; and the narrow, vertical stripe of the dark gray material served to make her slenderness almost girlish. in short, what with her poet-style hair, her independent manner and direct speech, she was far more like a boy of twenty than a woman nearing thirty. she walked with van emmon, dodging machinery all the way, across the big car to the little kitchenette over which he had presided. there, to his dismay, the girl took off her coat, rolled up her sleeves, and announced her intention of helping. "you're a good cook, van--i mean, mr.--" "let it go at van, please," said he hastily. "my first name is gustave, but nobody has ever used it since i was christened." "same with my 'edna,' she declared. "mother's name was williams, and i was nicknamed 'billie' before i can remember. so that's settled," with great firmness. the point is--van--you're a good cook, but everything tastes of bacon. i wish you'd let me boss this meal." he looked rebellious for an instant, then gave a sigh of relief. "i'm really tickled to death." a little later the doctor and smith, looking across, saw van emmon being initiated into the system which constructs scalloped potatoes. next, he was discovering that there is more than one way to prepare dried beef. "for once, we won't cream it," said e. billie jackson, dryly, as van emmon laid down the can-opener. "we'll make an omelet out of it, and see if anything happens." she was already beating the eggs. he cut up the meat into small pieces, and when he was finished, took the egg-beater away from her. he turned it so energetically that a speck of foam flew into his face. "go slow," she advised, nonchalantly reaching up with a dish-towel and wiping the fleck away. whereupon he worked the machine more furiously than ever. soon he was wondering how on earth he had come to assume, all along, that she was not a woman. he now saw that what he had previously considered boyishness in her was, in fact, simply the vigor and freshness of an earnest, healthy, energetic girl. it dawned upon him that her keen, gray eyes were not sharp, but alert; her mouth, not hard, but resolute; her whole expression, instead of mannish, just as womanly as that of any girl who has been thrown upon her own resources, and made good. he soon found that his eyesight did not suffer in any way because he looked at her. "now," she remarked, in her businesslike way, as she placed the brimming pan into the oven, "i suppose that i'll hear various hints to the effect that a woman has no business trying to do men's stunts. and i warn you right now that i'm prepared to put up a warm argument!" "of course," said the geologist, with such gravity that the girl knew he didn't mean it; "of course a woman's place is in the home. surrounded by seventeen or eighteen children, and cooking for that many more hired men besides, she is simply ideal. we realize that." "then, admitting that much, why shouldn't a woman be as independent as she likes? think what women did during the war; remember what a lot of women are doctors and lawyers! is there any good reason why i couldn't design a library as well as a man could?" "none at all," agreed van emmon, handing over the dish of chopped meat. the girl carefully folded the contents into the now spongelike omelet as he went on: "by the way, a neighbor of mine told me, just before i left, that he was having trouble with a broken sewer. how'd you like to--" "about as well as you'd like to darn socks!" she came back, evidently being primed for such comments. she took a look at the potatoes, and then permitted the geologist to open their sixth can of peaches. "i must say they're good," she admitted, as she noted the eagerness with which he obeyed. bread and butter, olives, coffee and cake completed that meal. the table was set with more care than usual, a clean cloth and napkins being unearthed for the occasion. when smith and kinney were called, both declared that they weren't hungry enough to do justice to it all. "it's just as well you weren't very hungry," commented billie, as she finished giving each of them a second helping of the potatoes. "there's barely enough left for me," and she took it. "say, i never thought of it before, miss--er--miss billie," said smith coloring; "but you eat just as much as a man!" "ye gods, how shocking!" she jeered. "come to think of it, smith, you eat more than a woman!" the doctor's face grew red with some suppressed emotion. after a while he said soberly: "i'll tell you what's worrying smith. he's afraid that women, having suddenly become very progressive, will forge entirely ahead of men. you understand--having started, they can't stop. and i must admit that i've thought seriously of it at times myself." "me too," added van emmon earnestly. "i have the same feeling about it that an elderly man must have when he sees a young one get on the job. instead of being glad that the women are making good, i sort of resent it." "i knew it!" exclaimed the girl delightedly. "but i never heard a man admit it before!" "perhaps it isn't as serious as we think," said the practical smith, scraping the bottom of the potato pan. "i believe that the progress of women may have a fine effect upon men, making us less self-satisfied, and more alert. for one thing," glancing about the cube, "we've got to clean up a bit, now that we know you're a woman!" the architect's eyes flashed. "because you know mighty well i'll light in and do it myself, if you don't; that's what you mean! please take notice that i'm to be respected, not because of what i am, but because of what i can do!" "in behalf of myself and companions, i surrender!" said the doctor gallantly. then he instantly added: "and yet, even when we are actually chivalrous, we are disregarding your desire to be appreciated for what you are worth. pardon me, miss billie; i'll not forget again. "at the same time, my dear," remembering that he had a daughter of his own, nearly the builder's age, "we men have come to think of women primarily as potential mothers, and secondarily as people of affairs. and considering that motherhood is something that is denied to us lords of the earth--" "for which we can thank a merciful providence," interjected the girl solemnly. "considering this--excuse my seriousness--really amazing fact, you can't blame us for expecting women to fulfil this vital function before taking up other matters." "yes?" remarked the girl, watching the peaches with anxious eye as van emmon helped himself. "funny; but i always understood that the first function of man was to father the race; yet, invariably the young fellows try to make names for themselves before, not after, they marry!" "scalped!" chuckled van emmon, as the doctor hid his discomfiture behind a large piece of cake. "you may know a lot about venus, doc, but you don't know much about women!" "speaking about venus," smith was reminded, "we may learn something bearing upon the very point we have been discussing if kinney's right about the inhabitants." the doctor nodded eagerly. "you see, if there's people still alive on the planet, they're probably further advanced than we on the earth. other things being equal, of course. being a smaller planet than ours, she cooled off sooner, and thus became fit for life earlier. and having been made from the same 'batch,' to use van's expression, that mercury and all the rest were, why, in all likelihood evolution has taken place there much the same as with us, only sooner. "i should expect," he elaborated largely, "that we shall find the inhabitants much the same as we humans, only extremely civilized. it may be that they are as far above us as we are above monkeys." smith broke in by quoting an astronomer who contended that venus kept only one face toward the sun. "maybe she always did, kinney." the doctor shook his head. "see how perfectly round she is? no oblateness whatever. it proves that she once revolved, otherwise she'd be pear-shaped, from the sun's pull." there was a short silence, during which billie concluded that the only scraps left would be the coffee-grounds. then van emmon pushed away from the table, got to his feet, stretched a little to relieve his nerves, and said: "well, whatever we find on venus, i hope the women do the cooking!" iii the first venusian when the sky-car was within a thousand miles of the surface, smith adjusted the currents so that the floor was directed downward. the four changed from the window to the deadlight, and watched the approaching disk with every bit of the excitement and interest they had felt when nearing mercury. the doctor had warned them that the heavy atmosphere which venus was known to possess would prevent seeing as clearly as in the case of the smaller planet. all were much disappointed, however, to find that they were still unable to make out a single definite detail. the great halfshining, half-black world showed nothing but that vaguely streaked, icelike haze. there was something very queer about it all. "strange that we should see no movement in those clouds," mused the doctor aloud. "that is, if they really are clouds." van emmon already doubted it. "just what i was thinking. there ought to be terrific winds; yet, so far as i have seen, there's been nothing doing anywhere on the surface since we first began to observe it." after a while the doctor put away his binoculars and rubbed his eyes. "we might as well descend faster, smith. can't see a thing from here." unhindered by air to impede its progress the sky-car had been hurtling through space at cometary speed. now, however, smith added the power of the apparatus to the pull of the planet, so that the disk began to rush toward them at a truly alarming rate. after a few seconds of it billie found herself unconsciously moving to the side of the geologist. he looked down at her, understood, and flushed with pleasure. "there's no danger," he confidently assured her, with the result that, her courage fortified, the girl moved back to her place again. van emmon inwardly kicked himself. so deceptive was that peculiar fogginess smith throttled their descent as soon as they had reached the point where the planet's appearance changed from round to flat. they were headed for the line which marked the boundary of the shadow. this gray "twilight zone" was three or four hundred miles in width; on the right of it--to the east--the dazzling surface of that sunlit vapor contrasted sharply with the all but black mistiness of the starward side. clearly the zone ought to be temperate enough. down they sank. as they came nearer a curious pinkish tint began to show beneath them. shortly it became more noticeable; the doctor gave a sudden grunt of satisfaction, and smith stopped the car. a minute later the doctor had taken a sample of the surrounding ether through his laboratory test-vestibule; and shortly announced that they were now floating in air instead of space. "good deal like ours back home, too"--exultingly. "pretty thin, of course." he made a short calculation, referring to the aneroid barometer which was mounted on the outer frame of a window, and said he judged that their altitude was about five miles. the descent continued, smith using the utmost caution. the other three kept their eyes glued to the deadlight; and their mystification was only equaled by their uneasiness as that motionless, bleary glaze failed absolutely to show anything they had not seen a thousand miles higher. not a single detail! "it reminds me," said the girl in a low voice, "of something i once saw from the top of a hill. it was the reflection of the sun from the surface of a pond; not clear water, but covered with--" "good heavens!" interrupted van emmon, struck with the thought. "can it be that the whole planet is under water?" beyond a doubt his guess was justified. there was an oily smoothness about that dazzling haze which made it remarkably like a lake of still and rather dirty water under a bright sun. but the doctor said no. "any water i ever heard of would make clouds," said he; "and we know there's air enough to guarantee plenty of wind. yet nothing seems to be in motion." he was frowning continually now. it was billie who first declared that she saw the surface. "stop," she said to smith evenly, and he instantly obeyed. all four gathered around the deadlight, and soon agreed that the peculiarly elusive skin of the planet was actually within sight. however, it was like deciding upon the distance of the moon--as easy to say that it were within arm's reach as a long ways off. the doctor went to a window. there he could look out upon the sun, a painfully bright object much larger than it looks from the earth. it was just "ascending," and half of it was below the horizon. a blinding streak of light was reflected from a point on the surface not far from the cube. shading his eyes with his hand the doctor could see that the mysterious crust was absolutely smooth. on the opposite side of the car the horizon ended in a sunrise glow of a slightly greenish radiance. from that side the pinkish tint of the surface was quite pronounced. before going any lower the doctor, struck with an idea, declared: "we always want to remember that this car is perfectly soundproof. suppose we open the outer door of the vestibule. i imagine we'll learn something peculiar." it was possible to open this door without touching the inner valves, using mechanism concealed within the walls. the moment it was done--the door faced the "north"--pandemonium itself broke loose. a most terrific shrieking and howling came from the outside; it was wind, passing at a rate such as would make a hurricane seem a mere zephyr. the doctor closed the door so that they could think. "it's the draft," he concluded; "the draft from the sun-warmed side to the cold side." as for van emmon, he was getting out a rope and a heavy leaden weight. on the rope he formed knots every five feet, about twenty of them; and after getting into one of the insulated, aluminum-armored and oxygenhelmeted suits with which they had explored mercury, he locked himself on the other side of the inner vestibule door and proceeded to "sound." to the amazement of all except billie "bottom" was reached in less than twenty feet. "i thought so," she said with satisfaction; but she was not at ease until van emmon had returned in safety from that booming, whistling turmoil. his first remark upon removing his helmet almost took them off their feet. "the point is," said he, throttling his excitement--"the point is, the rope was nearly jerked out of my hands! "understand what i mean? the surface is revolving!" this upset every idea they had had; it never occurred to any of them that the planet could revolve at such speed that it would appear stationary. smith went at once to the eastern window and watched closely, for fear some irregularity in that apparently perfect sphere might catch them unawares. they did not learn till later that venus's day is a little less than twenty-five hours, and therefore, since they had approached her near the equator, the wind they had encountered was moving at nearly nine hundred miles per hour! bit by bit, though, the cube answered to the wind-pressure. soon they noted the sun rising slowly; and by the time it was two hours high the surface, which had been whizzing under them like some highly polished top, became entirely motionless: the cube had "stopped." one minute later the car touched the level. smith very slowly reduced the repelling current so that the immense weight of the cube was but gradually shifted to the unknown surface beneath. ton after ton was added until-"stop!" came from the doctor. he had noted through the window a slight curvature in the material. so the machinery was left in action. "at any rate," said smith, "we know that the confounded stuff isn't antimagnetic, whatever it is." of course this was true--even though the gelatinlike shell could not support the cube's weight, yet it did not insulate the planet from the repelling current. the thermometer registered three hundred and thirty-five degrees fahrenheit. "two hundred and eighty degrees higher than it would be at home in the same latitude," remarked the doctor. "we'll have to use the suits." he took it for granted that exploration should begin at once. no one stayed behind. the machines could be relied upon, as they knew from nearly two weeks of use, and certainly there was nothing in sight which could possibly interfere with the cube. nevertheless, the matterof-fact engineer took care to remove part of the door-operating apparatus when he left the vestibule, and nobody commented upon it. it seemed the sensible thing to do; that was all. there was just about enough additional weight in their suits to balance the slightly reduced gravitation, so they moved about, four misshapen, metallic hulks, with as much freedom as though back home. always they kept within a few feet of each other so as to throw no strain on their interconnecting telephone wires. the big, glass-faced helmets gave a remarkable sense of security. they made a complete circuit of the cube, and at the end of it looked at each other in perplexity. never, save in the middle of an ocean, in the doldrums, did any man ever see such a totally barren spot. not a tree, much less a sign of human occupation; there was not even the slightest mound. the planet was, in actual fact, as smooth and as bare as a billiard ball! moreover, the surface itself remained as mysterious as before. of course they did not touch it with bare hands--all wore insulated mittens--but the dazzling stuff was certainly as hard as steel and as highly polished. it was neither transparent nor opaque, but translucent, "like pink mother-of-pearl," as billie suggested. she was the first to propose that they move to another spot. "we ought to try a place where it's not yet dawn," said she, shielding her eyes from the glare. (it will be remembered that the suits protected them from the heat itself.) "can't see anything." "hush!" hissed the doctor. they turned and followed his gaze to a spot not thirty feet from where they stood. at the same instant they felt a faint jar in the material under their feet. and next second they saw that a large section of the supposedly solid surface was in motion. a portion about ten feet square was being lifted bodily in front of their eyes, and before another word was said this block of the unknown substance was raised until they could see that it was all of a yard thick. up it went at the same deliberate rate; and the four involuntarily moved closer together as they saw that there was something underneath. it was a cage, for all the world like that of an elevator except that it was made of clear glass. another second and it had stopped, with its floor level with the surface; and the people from the earth saw that it contained a man. he was quite tall, slenderly built, and dressed in a queer satiny material which fitted him like an acrobat's suit. he was extremely thin as to legs, narrow as to shoulders, deep in the chest and short in the waist. all this, however, they saw after their inspection of his head. it was human! marvelously refined in every detail, yet it was set upon a graceful neck, and modeled upon much the same lines as that of any man. it was not that of a brute, nor yet that of a bird; it was--human! he stood at ease, resting slightly on one foot, and dispelled any notion that he might be unreal by shifting his weight occasionally. meanwhile he watched the four with a grave, interested smile; and they, in turn, came closer. his chin was small, even retreating; but his mouth was wide and curved into an exaggerated cupid's bow. even as he continued to smile the curves did not leave his lips; they, however, were thin rather than thick. his nose was quite small, with a decidedly irish cast; but his eyes, set far apart above quite shallow cheekbones, were exceedingly large and of a brilliant blue. in fact, it was mainly his eyes that gave character to his face; although none could overlook his breadth of forehead, running back to a cranium that fairly bulged over the ears, and seemed ready to rise like a tightly inflated balloon. his skin was pure white. and so they stood for uncounted minutes. at last the doctor noted that the stranger was eying them with far less interest than they showed in him; he stood as though he felt on display; and the doctor gave an exclamation of perplexity that broke the spell. the four impulsively drew up to the glass; van emmon touched it with his mitten; and that is how the four explorers came to receive the vibrations that came next. for the man in the cage, in turn, put out his hand and touched the glass opposite van emmon. then he opened his mouth. "i am very glad to see you," said he in a soft, pulsating voice--and in the best of english. iv a puzzled world for a moment blank amazement gripped the four. then amazement gave way to genuine apprehension. were they insane to imagine that this man of another world had spoken to them in their own language? each looked at the other, and was astounded to see that all had heard the same thing. presently the stranger spoke again; if anything, the kindly smile on his face became even broader. "suppose we postpone explaining how i am able to use your tongue. it will be easier for you to understand after you have been with us a while." he spoke slowly and carefully, yet with a faint lisp, much as some infant prodigy might speak. but there was no doubt that he had really done it. the doctor managed to clear his throat. "you are right," said he, with vastly less assurance than the amazing stranger. "we will try to understand things in the order you think best to present them. you--should know best." kinney introduced himself by name and profession, also the other three. the stranger nodded affably to each. "you may call me estra," said he, pronouncing it "ethtra." "there is no occupation on the earth corresponding with mine, but in my spare moments i am an astronomer like yourself." the doctor silently marveled. he had not told the stranger about his hobby. meanwhile the architect attempted to break the ice even finer. "we take it for granted," said she rather nervously, "that your people are somewhat further advanced than us on the earth. however, we expect to be given credit for having visited your planet before you visited ours!" she said this with an engaging smile which won an instant response; the venusian's lips almost lost their curves in his generous effort. "you will find that we greatly respect all that you have accomplished," he declared earnestly. "as for your apparatus"--glancing at the cube-"you have the advantage on the earth of certain chemical elements which are entirely lacking here, otherwise we should have called upon you long ago." he slipped a panel of glass to one side. "step in quickly!" he exclaimed, gasping; and the four obeyed him without thought. it was only when the panel was replaced that they noticed the floor of the cage; it was of clear glass, like the sides, and looked totally incapable of bearing their combined weight. the venusian smiled at smith's worried look. "the material is amply strong enough," said he. "i am only concerned about your machine there. is it safe to be left alone?" "so far as we know, yes," answered van emmon, who did not feel quite as much confidence in the stranger as the rest. "then we can go down at once." with these words the man in satin turned to a small black box in one wall of the elevator and touched a button. [footnote: for details of this and other matters of an electrical and mechanical nature, the technical reader is referred to mr. smith's reports to the a. s. m. e.] instantly the car began to descend, at first slowly and then with swiftly increasing velocity. by the time the explorers had accustomed their eyes to the sudden semi-darkness, the cage was dropping at such a speed that the air fairly sang past its sides. far overhead was a square, black shadow in the waxlike crust which they had left; it was the shadow of the cube. all about them was a dimly lit network of braces, arches and semitransparent columns; to all appearances the system seemed to support the crust. billie whirled upon the venusian: "i've got it now! the whole globe is covered with glass!" estra smiled his approval. "for thousands upon thousands of centuries, my friend. the thing was done when our ancestors first suspected that our planet was doomed to come so near the sun. it was the only way we could protect ourselves from the heat." "great!" exploded the doctor, admiration overcoming regret that he had not thought of it himself. but smith had other thoughts: "how long did it take to finish the job? and what did it cost?" "two centuries; and about twice the cost of your last war. i need only suggest to you that we colored the material so as to reflect most of the heat. that is why the material looks blue from below, although pink from above." "say"--from billie--"how long are we to keep on dropping like this?" "we will arrive in a moment or two," answered the smiling one. "the roof is raised several miles above the sea-level in order to cover all the mountains." by this time the four were able to make out things pretty well. they saw that the dimness was only relative; the venusian world was actually as well lighted as any part of the earth on a cloudy day. and they saw that they were descending in a locality of astonishing beauty. the stranger halted the car so that they could inspect the scene as though from an airplane. in no way did the landscape resemble that of the earth. to begin with, pillars of huge dimensions were placed every quarter-mile or so; it was these that supported the intricate archwork above. they were made of the same translucent stuff as the crust, but had a light topaz tint. the venusian said: "you will not need to be told that the science of metallurgy has advanced quite far with us. all our metals can be made transparent, if we like; those pillars are colored variously in different regions so as to be clearly distinguishable and prevent collisions of flying apparatus." but van emmon and billie were both more interested in what lay between the columns. they scarcely noticed that there were no people in sight at the time. the ground was covered with an indescribable wealth of color; and it was only by a close examination that the buildings could be distinguished as such. for they were all made of that semi-transparent stuff. of every conceivable tint and shade, the structure showed an utter lack of uniformity in size, shape or arrangement. moreover, the ground was absolutely packed with them; they spread as far as the eye could reach. but if there was profusion, there also was confusion--apparently. streets ran anywhere and everywhere; there was no visible system to anything. and where there was no space for a building, invariably there was a shrub, a bush or a small tree of some kind, all in full flower. the only sign of regularity to be seen was in the roofs--practically all of them were flat. whether the building was some rambling, loosely gathered agglomeration of vari-colored wings, or a single, towering skyscraper of one tint, almost inevitably it was crowned with a perfectly level surface. "i see," said van emmon, thoughtfully. "you have no rain." "precisely"--from estra. "we have the air completely under our control. we give our vegetation artificial showers when we think it should have it, not when nature wills; and similarly we use electricity instead of sunlight that we may stimulate its growth." "in short"--van emmon put it as the car slid slowly down the remaining distance--"in short, you have abolished the weather." the venusian nodded. "and i'll save you the trouble of suggesting," he added, "that we are nothing more nor less than hothouse people!" v the human conservatory "but there is this difference," he cautioned as they stepped out of the elevator into a sort of a plaza, "that, whereas you people on the earth have only begun to use the hothouse principle, we here have perfected it. "i suggest that you waste no time looking for faults." van emmon stared at the doctor. "how does this idea fit your theory, kinney--that venus is simply the earth plus several thousand extra generations of civilization?" "fit?" echoed the doctor. "fits like a glove. we humans are fast becoming a race of indoor-people despite all the various "back-tonature" movements. look at the popularity of inclosed automobiles, for example. "the only thing that surprises me"--turning to their guide--"is that you use your legs for their original purpose." estra smiled, and pointed out something standing a few feet away. it was a small, shuttle-shaped air-craft, with clear glass sides which had actually made them overlook it at first. peering closer they saw that the plaza and surrounding streets were nearly filled with these all but invisible cars. the venusian explained. "you marvel that i use my legs and walk the same as you do. i am glad you have brought up this point, because it is a fact that our people use mechanisms instead of bodily energy, almost altogether. these cars you see are universally used for transportation. i am one of the very few who appreciate the value of natural exercise." "do you mean to say," demanded van emmon, "that the average venusian does no walking?" "not a mile a year," said estra gravely. "just what he is obliged to do indoors from room to room." and he involuntarily glanced down at his own extremely thin legs. the architect's eyes widened with a growing understanding. "i see now," she murmured. "that's why there was no one else to greet us." the venusian smiled gratefully. "we thought it best. you'd have been shocked outright, i am sure, had you been introduced to a representative venusian without any explanation." they fell silent. still, without moving from the point where they had left the elevator, the four from the earth examined the surrounding buildings in a renewed effort to see some system in their arrangement. directly in front of them was a particularly large structure. like all the rest, it was of hopelessly irregular design, yet it had a large domed central portion which gave it the appearance of an auditorium; and the effect was further borne out by a subdued humming sound which seemed to come from it. smith asked estra if it were a hall. "yes and no," was the answer. "it fills the purpose of a hall, but is not built on the hall plan." and smith tried to stare through the translucent walls of the thing. the other buildings within immediate reach were of every possible appearance. some would have passed for cottages, others for stores, still others for the most fanciful of studios. and nowhere was there such a thing as a sign, even at the street corners, much less on a building. "not that we would be able to read your signs, if you had them," commented the doctor, "but i'd like to know how your people find their way without something of that kind to guide them." estra's smile did not change. "that is something you will understand better before long," said he, "provided you feel ready to explore a little further." the four looked at each other in question, and suddenly it struck them all that they were a rather pugnacious-looking crew in their cumbersome suits of armor and formidable helmets. the doctor turned to estra. "you ought to know"--he appealed--"whether we can take off these suits now." "it would be best," was the reply. "you will find the air and temperature decidedly more warm and moist than what you have been used to, but otherwise practically the same. there is a slightly larger proportion of oxygen; that is all. just imagine you are in a hothouse." smith and the doctor were already discarding their suits. van emmon and billie followed more slowly; the one, because he did not share the doctor's confidence in their guide; the other, because of a sudden shyness in his presence. the venusian noted this. "you need not feel any embarrassment," said he to billie's vast astonishment. "there is no distinction here between the dress of the two sexes." and again all four marveled that he should know so much about them. once out of the armor the visitors felt much more at ease. the slightly reduced gravitation gave them a sense of lightness and freedom which more than balanced the junglelike oppressiveness of the air. they found themselves guarding against a certain exuberance; perhaps it was the extra oxygen, too. they strode toward the large structure directly ahead. at its entrance-a wide, square portal which opened into a fan-shaped lobby--estra paused and smiled apologetically--as he mopped his forehead and upper lip with a paper handkerchief, which he immediately dropped into a small, trapcovered opening in the wall at his side. these little doors, by the way, were to be seen at frequent intervals wherever they went. incidentally not a scrap of paper or other refuse was to be noted anywhere--streets and all were spotless. as for estra--"i am not accustomed to moving at such speed," he explained his discomfort. "if you do not mind, please walk a little more leisurely." they took their time about passing through this lobby. for one thing, estra said there would have to be a small delay; and for another, the walls and ceilings of the space were most remarkably ornamented. they were fairly covered with what appeared, at first glance, to be absolutely lifelike paintings and sculptures. they were so arranged as to strengthen the structural lines of the place, and, of course, they were of more interest to billie than to the others. [footnote: the specialist in architecture and related subjects is referred to e. williams jackson's report to the a.i.a., for details of these basrelief photographs.] desiring to examine some of the work far overhead, billie clambered up on a convenient pedestal in order to look more closely. she took the strength of things for granted, and put her weight too heavily on a molding on the edge of the pedestal; with the result that there was a sharp crack; and the girl struck the floor in a heap. she got to her feet before van emmon could reach her side, but her face was white with pain. "sprained--ankle," said she between set lips, and proceeded to stump up and down the lobby, "to limber up," as she said, although her three companions offered to do anything that might relieve her. to the surprise of all, estra leaned against a pillar and watched the whole affair with perfect composure. he made no offer of help, said nothing whatever in sympathy. in a moment he noticed the looks they gave him--their stares. "i must beg your pardon," he said, still smiling. "i am sorry this happened; it will not be easy to explain. "but you will find all venusians very unsympathetic. not that we are hard hearted, but because we simply lost the power of sympathy. "we do not know what pity is. we have eliminated everything that is disagreeable, all that is painful, from our lives to such an extent that there is never any cause for pity." the three young people could say nothing in answer. the doctor, however, spoke thoughtfully: "perhaps it is superfluous; but--tell me--have you done away with injustice, estra?" "that is just the point," agreed the venusian. "justice took the place of pity and mercy; it was so long ago i am barely able to appreciate your own views on the subject." billie, her ankle somewhat better, turned to examine other work; but at the moment another venusian approached from the upper end of the lobby. walking slowly, he carried four small parcels with a great deal of effort, and the explorers had time to scrutinize him closely. he was built much like estra, but shorter, and with a little more flesh about the torso. his forehead bulged directly over his eyes, instead of above his ears, as did estra's; also his eyes were smaller and not as far apart. his whole expression was equally kind and affable, despite a curiously shriveled appearance of his lips; they made the front of his mouth quite flat, and served to take attention away from his pitifully thin legs. estra greeted him with a cheery phrase, in a language decidedly different from any the explorers were familiar with. in a way, it was spanish, or, rather, the pure castilian tongue; but it seemed to be devoid of dental consonants. it was very agreeable to listen to. estra, however, had taken the four parcels from his comrade, and now presented him to the four, saying that his name was kalara, and that he was a machinist. "he cannot use your tongue," said the venusian. "few of us have mastered it. there are difficulties. "as for these machines"--unwrapping the parcels--"i must apologize in advance for certain defects in their design. i invented them under pressure, so to speak, having to perfect the whole idea in the rather short time that has elapsed since you, doctor, began the sky-car." "and what is the purpose of the machines?" from billie, as she was about to accept the first of the devices from the venusian. for some reason he appeared to be especially interested in the girl, and addressed half of his remarks to her; and it was while his smiling gaze was fixed upon her eyes that he gave the answer: "they are to serve"--very carefully--"partly as lexicons and partly as grammars. in short, they are mechanical interpreters." vi the translating machines "first, let me remind you," said the venusian, "of our lack of certain elements that you are familiar with on the earth. we have never been able to improve on the common telephone. that is why we must still assemble in person whenever we have any collective activity; while on the earth the time will come when your wireless principle will be developed to the point of transmitting both light and sound; and after that there will be little need of gatherings of any sort." then he explained the apparatus. it consisted of a miniature headtelephone, connected to a small, metallic case the size of a cigar-box, the cover of which was a transparent diaphragm. estra did not open the case, but showed the mechanism through the cover. "essentially, this is a 'word-for-word' device," said he, pointing to a swiftly revolving dial within the box. "on one face of that dial are some ten thousand word-images, made by vibration, after the phonograph method. directly opposite, on the other face, are the corresponding words in the other language. the disk is rotating at such an enormous speed that, for all practical purposes, any word which may chance to be spoken will be translated almost instantaneously." he indicated two delicate, many-tentacled "feelers," as he called them, one on each face of the disk. one of these "felt" the proper word-image as it whirled beneath, while the other established an electrical contact with the corresponding waves beneath, at the same time exciting a complicated-looking talking machine. "that," commented estra, "is not so easy to explain. it transforms this literal translation into an idiomatic one. perhaps you will understand its workings a little later when you learn how and why i am able to use your own language." by this time the four had reached the point where nothing could surprise them. they were becoming accustomed to the unaccustomed. had they been told that the venusians had abolished speech altogether, they would have felt disappointed, but not incredulous. however, the doctor thought of something. "have you any extra 'records,' to be used in case we visit some other nations while we are here?" for just a second the venusian was puzzled; then his smile broadened. "the one record will do," said he, "wherever you go." "a universal language!" billie's eyes sparkled with interest. "long, long ago," estra said. "it was established soon after our league of nations was formed." "does the league actually prevent war and promote peace?" demanded van emmon. this had been a disputed question when the four left the earth. "we no longer have a league of nations," said their guide slowly. and instantly the four were eying him eagerly. this was really refreshing, to find that the venusians were actually lacking in something. "so it didn't work?" commented the doctor, disappointed. but the venusian's smile was still there. "it worked itself out," said he. "we have no further use for a league. we have no more nations. we are now--one." and he helped them adjust the machines. the cases were slung over their shoulders and the telephones clamped to their ears. when all ready, estra began to talk, and his voice came nearly as sharp and clear through the apparatus as before. it was modified by a metallic flatness, together with a certain amount of mechanical noise in which a peculiar hissing was the most noticeable. otherwise he said: "i am now using my own language. if i make any mistakes, you must not blame the machine. it is as nearly perfect as i was able to make it." he then asked them what blunders they noted. billie, who was the most enthusiastic about the thing, declared that they would have no trouble in understanding; whereupon estra quietly asked: "do you feel like going now to try them out?" once more an exchange of glances between the four from the earth. clearly the venusians were extremely considerate people, to leave their visitors in the care of the one man, apparently, who was able to make them feel at home. there seemed to be no reason for uneasiness. but van emmon still had his old misgivings about estra. there was something about the effeminate venusian which irritated the big geologist; it always does make a strong man suspicious to see a weaker one show such self-confidence. van emmon drew the doctor and billie aside, while smith and estra went on with the test. said van emmon: "it just occurred to me that the cube might look pretty good to these people. you remember what this chap said about their lack of some of our chemicals. what do you think--is it really safe to put ourselves entirely in their power?" "you mean," said the doctor slowly, "that they might try to keep us here rather than lose the cube?" van emmon nodded gravely, but billie had strong objections. "estra doesn't look like that sort," she declared vehemently. "he's too good natured to be a crook; he needs a guardian rather than a warden." it flashed into the doctor's mind that many a woman had fallen in love with a man merely because he seemed to be in need of some one to take care of him. that is, the self-reliant kind of woman; and billie certainly was selfreliant. something of the same notion came vaguely to the geologist at the same time; and with a vigor that was quite uncalled for, he urged: "i say, 'safety first.' we shouldn't have left the cube unguarded. i propose that one of us, at least, return to the surface while the others attend this meeting--or trap, for all we know." "all right," said billie promptly. "get estra to show you how to use the elevator, and wait for us in the vestibule." van emmon's face flamed. "that isn't what i meant!" hotly. "if anybody goes to the cube, it should be you, billie!" if billie did not notice the use of her nickname, at least the doctor did. the girl simply snorted. "if you think for one second that i'm going to back out just because i'm a woman, let me tell you that you're very badly mistaken!" van emmon turned to the doctor appealingly, but the doctor took the action personally. he shook his head. "i wouldn't miss this for anything, van. estra looks safe to me. go and ask smith; maybe he is willing to be the goat." the geologist took one good look at the engineer's absorbed, unquestioning manner as he listened to the venusian, and gave up the idea with a sigh. for a moment he was sour; then he smiled shyly. "i'm more than anxious to meet the bunch myself," he admitted; and led the way back to estra. the venusian looked at him with no change of expression, although there was something very disconcerting in the precocious wisdom of his eyes. their very kindliness and serenity gave him an appearance of superiority, such as only aggravated the geologist's suspicions. but there was nothing to do but to trust him. they followed him through two sets of doors, which slid noiselessly open before them in response to some mechanism operated by the venusian's steps. this brought them to another of the glass elevators, in which they descended perhaps ten feet, stepping out of it onto a moving platform; this, in turn, extended the length of a low dimly lighted passageway about a hundred yards long. when they got off, they were standing in a small anteroom. the venusian paused and smiled at the four again. "do you feel like going on display now?" he asked; then added: "i should have said: 'do you feel like seeing venus on display, for we all know more or less about you already.'" but the visitors were braced for the experience. estra looked at each approvingly, and then did something which made them wonder. he stood stock still for perhaps a second, his eyes closed as though listening; and then, without explanation, he led the way through an opal-glass door into a brilliantly lighted space. next moment the explorers were standing in the midst of the people of venus. vii the ultimate race the four were at the bottom of a huge, conelike pit, such as instantly reminded the doctor of a medical clinic. the space where they stood was, perhaps, twenty feet in diameter, while the walls enclosing the whole hall were many hundreds of feet apart. and sloping up from the center, on all sides, was tier upon tier of the most extraordinary seats in all creation. for each and every one of those thousands of venusians was separately enclosed in glass. nowhere was there a figure to be seen who was not installed in one of those small, transparent boxes, just large enough for a single person. moreover--and it came somewhat as a shock to the four when they noted it--the central platform itself was both covered and surrounded with the same material. "make yourselves at home," estra was saying. he pointed to several microphones within easy reach. "these are provided with my translators, so when you are ready to open up conversation, go right ahead as though you were among your own people." and he made himself comfortable in a saddlelike chair, as much as to say that there was no hurry. for a long time the explorers stood taking it in. the venusians, without exception, stared back at them with nearly equal curiosity. and despite the extraordinary nature of the proceeding, this mutual scrutiny took place in comparative silence; for while the glass gave a certain sense of security to the newcomers, it also cut off all sound except that low humming. the nearest row of the people got their closest attention. without exception, they had the same general build as estra; slim, delicate, and anemic, they resembled a "ward full of convalescent consumptives," as the doctor commented under his breath. not one of them would ever give a joke-smith material for a fat-man anecdote; at the same time there was nothing feverish, nervous, or broken down in their appearance. "a pretty lot of invalids," as billie added to the doctor's remark. many observers would have been struck, first, by the extreme diversity in the matter of dress. all wore skin-tight clothing, and much of it was silky, like estra's. but there was a bewildering assortment of colors, and the most extraordinary decorations, or, rather, ornaments. so far as dress went, there was no telling anything whatever about sex. "are they all men?" asked billie, wondering, of estra. the venusian shook his head with his invariable smile. "nor all women either," said he enigmatically. but in many respects they were astonishingly alike. almost to a soul their upper lips were withered and flat. one and all had short, emaciated-looking legs. each and every one had a crop of really luxuriant hair; the shades varied between the usual blonde and brunette, with little of the reddishness so common on the earth; but there were no bald people at all. on the other hand, there were no beards or mustaches in the whole crowd; every face was bare! "like a lot of chinamen," said van emmon in an undertone; "can't tell one from another." but billie pointed out that this was not strictly true; a close inspection of the faces showed an extremely wide range of distinction. no two chins in the crowd were exactly alike, although not one of them showed any of the resolute firmness which is admired on the earth. all were weak, yet different. neither were there any prominent noses, although there were none that could have been called insignificant. and while every pair of eyes in the place was large, as large as estra's, yet there was every desirable color and expression. to sum it all up, and to use the doctor's words: "they've developed a standard type, all right, just as the characteristic american face is the standard earth type; but--did you ever see such variations?" nevertheless, the most striking thing about these people to the eyes of the visitors was their mutual resemblance. for one thing, there seemed to be no nervous people present. there were many children in the crowd, too; yet all sat very still, and only an occasional movement of the hands served to indicate consciousness. in this sense, they were all remarkably well bred. in another, they were remarkably rude. at any given moment a good half of the people were eating, or, rather, sipping liquids of various sorts from small tumblers. probably every person in the house, before the affair was over, had imbibed two or three ounces of fluid; but not once was the matter apologized for, nor the four invited to partake. "so this may be the outcome of our outrageous habit of eating sweetmeats at theaters," muttered the doctor. and again noting the hairless faces: "just what i said when men first began using those depilatories instead of shaving--no more beards!" but it was billie who explained the invariable crop of hair. "no use to look for baldness; they don't wear hats! why should they, since there's neither sun nor rain to protect their heads from?" mainly, however, the architect was interested in the building itself. to her, the most striking feature was not the tremendously arched dome, nor yet the remarkable system of bracing which dispensed with any columns in all that vast space. it was something simpler--there were no aisles. "now, what do you make of that?" the girl asked van emmon. "how do they ever get to their places?" but he could not suggest anything more than to recall an individual elevator scheme once proposed. to smith, one object of interest was the telephone system. remarkably like those used on the earth, one was located in each of the tiny glass cages. he was likewise puzzled to account for the ventilation system; each cage was apparently air-tight, yet no venusian showed any discomfort. but the geologist, for want of anything strictly within his professional range, interested himself in trying to fathom the moral attitude of these people. he was still suspicious of them, notwithstanding a growing tendency to like every one of their pleasant, really agreeable faces. there was neither solemnity, sourness, nor bitterness to be seen anywhere; at the same time, there was no sign of levity. in every countenance was the same inexplicable mixture of wisdom and benevolence that distinguished estra. nowhere was there hostility, and nowhere was there crudity. somehow, the big geologist would have felt more at home had he seen something antagonistic. essentially, van emmon was a fighter. at last the four felt their attention lagging. novelties always pall quickly, no matter how striking. estra sensed the feeling and inquired: "which of you will do the honors?" instinctively the three younger folk turned to the doctor. he made no protest, but stepped at once to one of the microphones, put on his most impressive professional face, and began: "my friends"--and van emmon noted a pleased look come into every face about them--"my friends, i do not need to state how significant this meeting is to us all. from what estra has said, i gather that you have informed yourselves regarding us, in some manner which he has promised to make clear. at all events, i am exceedingly anxious to see your astronomical apparatus." at this a broad smile came to many of the faces before him; but he went on, unnoticing: "certainly there is not much i could tell you which you do not already know; estra's use of our language proves this. i only need to assure you that we will be glad to answer any questions that may occur to you. it goes without saying that we, of course, are filled with delight to find your planet so wondrously and happily populated, especially after our experience on mercury, of which, i presume, you are informed." apparently they were. the doctor went on: "you may be sure that we are fairly bursting with questions. however, we are content to become informed as estra sees fit to guide us. "there is just one thing, more than any other, which i would like to know at this time. why is it that, although you all show a great lack of exercise, and are continually eating, you never appear to be healthy?" instantly a venusian in the fifth row, to the doctor's right, touched his phone and replied: "it is a matter of diet. we have nothing but 'absolute' foods; if you understand what that means." and from that time on, despite the fact that the explorers asked questions which, at home, would have found hundreds ready and able to answer, on venus only one person answered any given question, and always without any apparent prearrangement. for a long time they could not account for this. the doctor motioned for smith to take his place. the engineer looked a little embarrassed, but cleared his throat noisily and said: "i am especially struck with the fact that each of you sits in a separate glass pew, or case. why is this?" the reply came from one of the few people present who showed any signs of age. he was, perhaps, sixty, and his hair was fast whitening. he said: "for reasons of sanitation. it is not wise to breathe the breath of another." "also," supplemented someone from the other side of that vast pit-"also, each is thereby enabled to surround himself with the electrical influences which suit him best." smith stepped back, pondering. the doctor looked to the geologist to take his place, but van emmon made way for billie. at any other time she would have resented his "woman-first" attitude; now she quickly found voice. "how are you able to get along without aisles? it may seem a foolish question, to you; but on earth we would consider a hall without aisles about as convenient as a room without a door." immediately a venusian directly in front of her, and on a level with her eyes, called out: "watch me, madam." and quite without an effort beyond touching a button or two, the fellow rose straight into the air, glass and all, and then floated gently over toward the middle of the hall. "it probably appears complicated to you," explained the venusian whose side he had just left. "we make use of elements not found on your earth." billie's sang froid was not shaken. instantly she came back energetically: "apparently your method overcomes gravitation. why haven't you tried to travel away from your planet?" and she looked around with the air of one who has uttered a poser, only to have another of the satin-clad people reply, from a point which she was not able to locate: "because enough such power cannot be safely concentrated." as billie retired, van emmon noted with growing irritation that the continuously affable aspect of the venusians had not altered in any way, unless it was to become even more genial and sure. the big man strode energetically to the microphone, and the other three noted a general movement of interest and admiration as the people inspected him. "why," demanded he, "do we see no signs of contention? if you are familiar with conditions on the earth, you surely know that rivalry, in one form or another, is the accepted basis of life. but all of you, here, appear to be perfectly happy, and at the same time entirely sure of yourselves. "we have just come from a planet where we have seen the principle of combat, of competition, carried so far that it seems to have wrecked the race; so you will pardon my curiosity, i am sure. from your faces, one would conclude that you had abolished self-interest altogether. just why are you so--well, extraordinarily self-complacent?" and he thrust out his aggressive jaw as though to make up for the lack of chins about him. "because there is nothing for us to combat, save within ourselves." this from a wide-faced chap in a bluish-white suit. "but surely you have rivalry of some sort?" "no." another voice added: "rivalry is the outgrowth of getting a livelihood; on earth it is inevitable, because men do the work. here, everything is done by machines." still another put in: "discontent is the mother of ambition, but we are all content, because each possesses all he desires." but the geologist was far from satisfied. "then," said he vigorously, "if you have eliminated all contention, you have nullified the great law of contrasts. you say you are all rich. how do you know, if you have no poverty to contrast it with? "on earth, we appreciate warmth because we have experienced cold; pleasure, because we know pain; happiness, because we have always had misery with us. if we have not had the one, we cannot value the other. "if you have never been discontented, how do you know that you are content?" viii the key-note for a minute or two it looked as though van emmon had raised an unanswerable question. there was no immediate reply. even estra looked around, as though in wonder at the silence, and seemed on the point of answering of his own accord when a voice came from a man far up on the left. he said: "a little explanation may be wise. to begin with, you will agree that black is black because white is white; but it doesn't follow that blue is blue because green is green, or red is red. blue is blue because it is neither green nor red nor any other color. it is blue, not because it contrasts with these other colors, but because it merely differs from them. "now, we on venus do not need poverty, in order to appreciate wealth. instead, each of us is blessed with his own particular choice of wealth. each is blessed in a different way; some with children, some with intellect, some with other matters; and the question of mere quantity never enters." "we do not need pain or misery," spoke up someone else, "any more than you people on the earth require an additional color, in order to appreciate the variety you already have." and then, from a venusian with an especially strong voice: "that we are really content, we know absolutely. for each of us, in his own distinctive way, is wholly and peculiarly satisfied." and it only added to the geologist's irritation to have these striking statements made in a good-humored, impersonal fashion which totally disarmed all opposition. that the venusians were perfectly sure of their ground, was undeniable; but they had such a cheerful way of looking at it, as though they didn't care a rap whether van emmon agreed or not, that--if they'd only have shown some spirit! van emmon would have liked it infinitely better if one of them had only become hot about it. at this point estra rose in his chair. "i think you had best approach us from a fresh viewpoint," said he in his unfailingly agreeable manner. the doctor nodded vigorously, and again estra closed his eyes in that odd, hesitating way. immediately every one in the place, with the exception of a single person in the lowest row, took flight in his or her little glass pew. in a moment the great vault overhead was fairly swarming with people; and in less than a minute the last of them had floated out through one of the arches in the walls. estra opened a panel in the central cage, and admitted the venusian who had stayed behind. she--for it appeared to be a young woman--walked with about the same facility as estra; but as soon as she had entered the space, took the seat estra had vacated, and waited. the action rather disappointed the doctor. he removed the interpreting telephone from his head, and asked: "i rather thought we were going to meet one of your officials, estra. we'd hate to go back home without having met your president, or whatever you call your chief executive." the two venusians exchanged smiles, and to the surprise of the explorers the woman gave the reply, in language as good as estra's, but an even sweeter expression: "there is no such thing as a chief executive on venus, friends." "i meant," explained the doctor, rattled, "the chairman of your cabinet, or council, or whatever it is that regulates your affairs. perhaps," with an inspiration, "i should have said, the speaker of your congress." the venusian shook her head, still smiling. she hesitated while selecting the best words; and the four noted that, while her features were quite as delicate as estra's, her face was proportionately larger, and her whole figure better filled out. no one would have said that she was pretty, much less beautiful; but none would deny that she was very good-looking, in a wholesome, intelligent, capable sort of a way. her name, estra told them later, was myrin; and he explained that he and she were associated solely because of their mutual interest in the same planet--the earth. said myrin: "you are accustomed to the idea of government. we, however, have outgrown it. "if you stop to think, you will agree that the purpose of government is to maintain peace, on the one hand, and to wage war, on the other. now, as to war--we haven't even separate nations, any more. so we have no wars. and as for internal conflict--why should we ever quarrel, when each of us is assured all that he can possibly want?" "so you have abolished government?" "a very long time ago. you on the earth will do the same, as soon as your people have been educated up to the point of trusting each other." "you haven't even a congress, then?" myrin shook her head. "all questions such as a congress would deal with, were settled ages ago. you must remember that the material features of our civilization have not changed for thousands of generations. the only questions that come up now are purely personal ones, which each must settle for himself." van emmon, as before, was not at all satisfied. "you say that machinery does your work for you. i presume you do not mean that literally; there must be some duties which cannot be performed without human direction, at least. how do you get these duties accomplished, if you have no government to compel your people to do them?" myrin looked at a loss, either for the answer itself or for the most suitable words. estra gave the reply: "every device we possess is absolutely automatic. there is not one item in the materials we use but that was constructed, exactly as you see it now, many thousands of years ago." smith was incredulous. "do you mean to say that those little glass pews have been in use all that time?" estra nodded, smiling gently at the engineer's amazement. "like everything else, they were built to last. you must remember that we do not have anything like an 'investment,' here; we do not have to consider the question of 'getting our capital back.' so, if any further improvements were to be made, they also would be done in a permanent fashion." billie gave an exclamation of bewilderment. "i don't understand! you say that nothing new has been built, or even replaced, for centuries. how do you take care of your increase in population?" thinking of the great crowd that had just left. myrin was the one who answered this. as she did so, she got slowly to her feet; and speaking with the utmost care, watched to be sure that the four understood her: "ever since the roof was put on, our increase of population has been exactly balanced by our death rate!" the four followed their guides in silence as they led the way into the plaza. now, the space was alive with venusians. the little cages were everywhere floating about in the air; some of the people were laboriously shifting themselves into their aircraft; others were guiding their "pews" direct to nearby houses. the visitors got plenty of curious stares from these quiet miracle-workers, who seemed vastly more at home in the air than on the ground. "as thick as flies," van emmon commented. estra and myrin, walking very slowly, took them to a side street, where two of the cigar-shaped cars were standing. billie and smith got in with estra, while van emmon and the doctor were given seats beside the venusian woman. the two cars were connected by telephone, so that in effect the two parties were one. by this time, the visitors had become so accustomed to the transparent material that they felt no uneasiness as the ground receded below them. smith, especially, was tremendously impressed with estra's declaration that the glass was, except for appearance, nothing more nor less than an extremely strong, steel alloy. propelled by the unexplained forces which the two drivers controlled by means of buttons in black cases, the two cars began to thread their way through the great roof-columns; and as they proceeded, the four grew more and more amazed at the great extent of the city. for miles upon miles that heterogeneous collection of buildings stretched, unbroken and without system, until the eye tired of trying to make out the limits of it. "what is the name of this city?" asked billie, secretly hoping that it might bear some resemblance to "new york." it struck her fancy to assume that this supermetropolis represented what gotham, in time, might become. estra did not take his attention from what he was doing, but answered as readily as ever. "i do not blame you for mistaking this for a city. the fact is, however, that we have no such thing." billie stared at him helplessly. "you've abolished cities, too?" "not exactly. in the same sense that we have abolished nations, yes. likewise we have abolished states, also counties. neither have we such a thing as 'the country,' now. "my friends, venus is simply one immense city." ix the survival of all somehow all four were unwilling to press this question. it did not seem possible that estra was right, or, if he was, that they could possibly understand his explanation, should he give it. the cars flew side by side for perhaps a hundred miles, while the visitors put in the time in examining the landscape with the never-ending interest of all aeronauts. here and there, in that closely-packed surface, a particularly large building was to be noted every half mile or so. "factories?" asked billie of estra, but he shook his head. "i'll show you factories later on," said he. "what you see are schools." but most observers would have considered the structures severely plain for their purpose. after a long silence: "i'm still looking for streams," said van emmon to myrin. "are your rivers as large as ours?" "we have no rivers," was the calm reply. "rivers are entirely too wasteful of water. all our drainage is carried off through underground canals." "you haven't done away with your oceans, too, have you?" the geologist asked, rather sarcastically. but he was scarcely prepared for the reply he got. "no; we couldn't get along without them, i am afraid. however, we did the best we could in their case." and without signaling to estra she dove the machine towards the ground. smith looked for the telephone wires to snap, but estra seemed to know, and instantly followed myrin's lead. the doctor noticed, and wondered all the more. and then came another surprise. as the machines neared the surface, a familiar odor floated in through the open windows of the air-craft; and the four found themselves looking at each other for signs of irrationality. a moment, and they saw that they were not mistaken. for, although that kaleidoscopic expanse of buildings showed not the slightest break, yet they were now located on the sea. the houses were packed as closely together as anywhere; apparently all were floating, yet not ten square yards of open sea could be seen in any one spot. van emmon almost forgot his resentment in his growing wonder. "that gets me, myrin! those houses seem to be merely floating, yet i see no motion whatever! why are there no waves?" the doctor snorted. "shame on you, van! don't let our friends think that you're an absolute ignoramus." he added: "venus has no moon, and no wind, at least under the roof. therefore, no waves." smith put in: "that being the case, there is no chance to start a wavemotor industry here. neither," as he thought further, "neither for water-power. having no rain in your mountains, estra, where do you get your power?" but it was myrin who answered. "i suppose you are all familiar with radium? it is nothing more or less than condensed sunlight, which in turn is simply electromagnetic waves; although it may take your scientists a good many centuries to reach that conclusion. "well, every particle of the material which composes this planet, contains radioactivity of some sort; and we long ago discovered a way to release it and use it. one pound of solid granite yields enough energy to--well, a great deal of power." they had now been flying for two hours, and still no end to that thickly-housed, ever different appearance of the ground. also, although they saw a great many birds, they noted no animals. finally, billie could hold in no longer. "are we to understand," she demanded of estra, "that the whole of this planet is as densely populated as we see it?" "just that," replied the venusian. "why not? the roof makes our climate uniform from pole to pole, while our buildings are such that, whether on land or on sea, they are equally livable." "but--estra!" expostulated the girl. "venus is nearly as big as the earth. and it looks to be as thickly populated as--as rhode island! why, you must have a colossal population; let me see." and she scribbled away in her memorandum book. but both smith and the doctor had already worked it out. they looked up, blinking dazedly. "over three hundred billion," murmured the doctor, as though dizzy. the venusian checked smith's correction with, "you dropped one cipher, doctor. there are three and a half trillion of us!" "good lord!" whispered van emmon, all his antagonism gone for the moment. and again the explorers were silent for a long time. by and by, however--"we have just seen what it meant, there on mercury," said the doctor, in a low voice, "for the principle of 'the survival of the fit' to be carried to its logical end; for who is to decide what is fitness, save the fittest? one man, apparently, outlived every one else on the planet, and then he also died. "but here you have gone the limit in the other direction. of course, we might have known that you long ago abolished poverty, unearned wealth, pestilence, drunkenness and the other causes of premature death; but as for three and a half trillion!" "nevertheless," remarked myrin, "every last one of us, once born, lives to die of old age; and in most cases this means several hundred of your years." smith involuntarily rubbed his eyes; and they all laughed, a nervous sort of a laugh which left the visitors still in doubt as to their senses, and their guides' sanity. van emmon's suspicions came back with a rush, and he burst out: "say--you'll excuse me, but i can't swallow this! here you've shown us houses as thick as leaves; not a sign of a farm, much less an orchard! no vegetation at all, except for a few flowers! "three and a half trillion! all right; let it go at that!" out came his chin, and he brought one fist down upon the other as though he were cracking rocks with a hammer, and with every blow he uttered a word: "how--do--you--feed--them--all?" x loaves and fishes without a word myrin drove her machine toward the ground, and, as before, estra followed despite the lack of any visible signal. within a minute the two machines had come to rest, softly and without disturbance, on the roof of a handsome building, much like an apartment house. there was the usual transparent elevator, and a minute later the four were being introduced to the occupants of a typical venusian house. these two people, apparently man and wife, did not need to be told why the explorers had been brought there. they led the way from the dimly lighted hallway in which the elevator had stopped, into a group of brightly decorated rooms. here the four were given seats in the usual saddellike chairs, and then myrin answered van emmon's question: "i knew that this point would arise soon, and you will pardon me if i handle it in a prearranged fashion. i will admit that it is not an easy question mr. van emmon has put; not because the answer is at all complicated but, on the contrary, extremely simple." the four were listening unanimously. despite himself, van emmon was highly impressed by the venusian woman's serious manner. perhaps it was because, in her earnestness, she was not quite so affable as before. she went on: "from where you are sitting, you can see all the rooms in this house. you will look in vain for anything even remotely resembling a kitchen. there is not even a dining-room. "and yet you must not jump to the conclusion that we all use restaurants. we have no such thing as a public eating place. or rather," and here she spoke very carefully, "rather, every place is an eating place." the doctor looked myrin over as though she were a patient with a new kind of disease. "you do not mean that literally, of course," said he kindly. but she nodded gravely. "you must not misunderstand. remember, even on your own planet, the distribution of food is becoming more and more extensive, until you can now buy something to eat at every crossroads. we have merely carried the idea to its logical end, so that all venusians can obtain food at any time, and at any spot." she turned in her chair--all the chairs on venus were pivoted, estra said--and touched a button in the wall at her hand. a panel slid noiselessly aside, and revealed a tiny buffet. at least, billie labeled it a buffet, for want of a more accurate term. for it consisted of a silver bibb, something like the nozzle of a sodawater fountain above which was a board containing a large number of tiny, numbered push buttons. below the bibb was a space in which a cup might be set, and projecting from a tube at one side was a solid block of telescoping, transparent cups. "this," said myrin, "is the venusian nutrition system. there is a station like this in every room on the planet." and she proceeded to take a cup from the tube, filling each from the silver faucet while she pressed a variety of the buttons. the four watched in silence, and eagerly took what was given to them. it comprised liquids entirely; liquids of every degree of fluidity, from some as thin as water to others as thick as gruel. they varied even more as to color, ranging from actual transparency to a deep chocolate. "now, i warn you not to be shocked," said myrin, "although i fully expect that you will be. the fact is that we have no other kind of food than what you see; there are thousands upon thousands of different kinds and flavors, but they are all fluids. we have nothing whatever in solid form. "you see," she explained, "we have no teeth." all they could do was to stare at her as, with a return of her smile, she made a sudden gesture across the front of her mouth. next instant a set of false teeth lay in her hand! estra spoke up. "we are both obliged to wear them in order that we might use your language." he removed his own, to show a mouth as free of teeth as a newborn baby's. both venusians replaced their sets, and smiled afresh at the explorers' astonishment. "teeth will soon be a thing of the past with you on the earth, too," commented myrin. "dr. kinney will surely testify to that. your use of soft, cooked foods, instead of the coarse, hard articles provided by nature, is bound to have this effect in time. with us, it resulted in having teeth reduced to the standing of your appendix; and, like you, we resort to an operation rather than take chances on trouble. i may mention that the appendix is totally absent from all venusians, while we are beginning to lose all traces of either the first or second molars; just as you are beginning to lose your wisdom teeth. "however, suppose you try our diet while i explain." the four once more looked at each other. the doctor was the first to take a sip of one of the cups handed to him, and van emmon was the last; the geologist waited to see the effects upon the others before gingerly tasting of the thickest, darkest liquid of them all. another taste, and he discovered that it was very good, and that he was exceedingly hungry. "very delicately flavored," commented billie, after emptying her fourth glass, a golden fluid with a slightly oily appearance. "delicately is right," said the doctor. "this stuff is barely flavored at all, estra." the venusian was also "eating." "we much prefer them all that way," said he. "i suppose you would consider our tastes very finicky, on earth; but the fact is we are able to distinguish between minute variations in flavoring such as would escape all on earth except a humming-bird." "i suppose," remarked the doctor, smacking his lips over a reddish solution with a winelike flavor, "i suppose we can expect something of that sort on the earth, too, in time. originally mankind was only able to distinguish fresh from stale, and animal from vegetable flavors." after a while myrin went on: "you know, the processes of nutrition, as they take place among your people, are extremely wasteful. you have probably heard it said that 'the average human is only fifty per cent efficient.' that simply means that digestion, assimilation and excretion require half the energy which they secure from the food. "now, the articles you have just swallowed require very little work on the part of your digestive apparatus, and none at all upon your eliminating tract. the food is almost instantly transformed into fresh blood; if i am not mistaken, you already feel much refreshed." this was decidedly true. all four felt actually stimulated; van emmon instantly suspected the food of being alcoholic. as he continued to watch its effect, however, he saw that there was no harmful reaction as in the case of the notorious drug. "i think i can now tell you how we produce enough food for the three and a half trillion of us, despite our lack of farms and orchards," said myrin rising. returning to the air-craft, the four were taken a short distance in a new direction, and again descended, this time transferring to an elevator which dropped far below the surface. they came to a stop about ten floors down. "naturally," said myrin, "we reserve all the surface for residence purposes; although, it is possible to live down here in comparative comfort, since we have plenty of electrical energy to spare." and she operated a switch, flooding the place with a brilliant glow. thrown from concealed sources, this light was quite as strong as the subdued daylight which they had just left. "but unless we were free to fly about as much as we do, we should feel that life was a bore. nobody stays below any longer than is necessary. "now, this is where our food comes from." whereupon she showed them a series of automatic machines, all working away there in the solid rock of the planet; and of such an extraordinary nature that smith, the engineer, moved about in an atmosphere of supreme bliss. "you will understand," said myrin, "that the usual processes of nutrition, on the earth, depend entirely upon plant life. we, however, cannot spare room enough for any such system; so we had to devise substitutes for plants. "in effect, that is what these machines are. they convert bed-rock into loam, take the nitrates and other chemicals [footnote: the geology of venus is thoroughly described in mr. van emmon's reports to the a. m. e. a.] directly from this artificial soil, and by a pseudo-osmotic process secure results similar to those produced by roots. "likewise we have developed artificial leaves," pointing out a huge apparatus which none but a highly trained expert in both botany and mechanics could half understood. "this machine first manufactures chlorophyl--yes, it does," as the doctor snorted incredulously; "not an imitation, but real chlorophyl--and then transforms the various elements into starch, sugar, and proteids through the agency of the sunlight recovered from the granite. "in short, to answer your question, mr. van emmon, as to how we are all fed--we do not grow our food at all; we go straight to the practically unlimited supply of raw materials under our feet, and manufacture our food, outright!" xi the super-ambition billie was very quiet during their return to the surface. she said nothing until they had reached the two cars; and then pausing as she was about to step in, she said: "well, i never saw our old friend, the high cost of living, handled quite so easily! "if that's the way you do things here, estra," and the girl did not flinch at the gazes the others turned upon her, "if that's your way, it's good enough for me! i'm going to stay!" for the first time, estra looked astonished. he and myrin exchanged lightninglike glances; then the venusian's face warmed with the smile he gave the architect. "it is very good of you to say that," he said impressively. "i was afraid some of our--peculiarities--might arouse very different feelings." they stared at one another for a second or two, long enough for the doctor to notice, and to see how van emmon took it. the geologist, however, was smiling upon the girl in a big-brotherly fashion, which indicated that he thought she didn't mean what she had said. had he been looking up at her, however, instead of down upon her, he would have seen that her chin was most resolute. just as they were about to start again, both estra and myrin stopped short in their tracks, with that odd hesitation that had mystified the four all along; and after perhaps five seconds of silence turned to one another with grave faces. it was estra who explained. "it is curious how things do pile up," said he, a little conscious of having employed an idiom. "our planet has gone along for hundreds of generations without anything especially remarkable happening, so that recently many prophets have foretold a number of startling events to take place on a single day. and this seems to have come true. "you have been with us scarcely ten hours," and the visitors stared at each other in amazement that so much time had passed; "scarcely ten hours, and here comes an announcement which, for over a hundred years, has been looked forward to with--" he stopped abruptly. the doctor gently took him up: "'looked forward to with'--what, estra?" estra and myrin considered this for perhaps three seconds. it was the woman who replied: "the fact is, your approach to the planet has stimulated all sorts of research immensely. matters that had been hanging fire indefinitely were revived; this is one of them. in that sense, you are to blame." but she smiled as reassuringly as she could, allowing for a certain anxiety which had now come to her face. "don't you think you could make it clear to us?" asked billie encouragingly. at the same time all four noted that the air, which before had fairly thronged with machines, was now simply alive with them. people were flitting here and there like swarms of insects, and with as little apparent aim. both estra and myrin were extra watchful; also, they displayed a certain eagerness to get away, setting their course in still another direction. in a minute or two the congestion seemed relieved, and myrin began to talk slowly: "you have doubtless guessed, by this time, that we venusians have crossed what some call 'the animal divide.' we are predominatly intellectual, while you on the earth are, as a race, still predominantly animal. excuse me for putting it so bluntly." "it's all right," said the doctor, with an effort. "what you say is true--of most of us." he added: "most thinking people realize that when our civilization reaches the point where the getting of a living becomes secondary, instead of primary as at present, a great change is bound to come to the race." the venusian nodded. "under the conditions which now surround us, you can see, we have vastly more time for what you would call spiritual matters. only, we label them psychological experiences. "in fact, the 'supernatural' is the venusian's daily business!" there was another pause, during which both venusians, driving at high speed though they were, once more closed their eyes for a second or so. estra evidently thought it time to explain. "for instance, 'telepathy.' with us it takes the place of wireless; for we have developed the power to such a point that any venusian can 'call up' any other, no matter where either may be. that is why we need no signs or addresses. there are certain restrictions; for instance, no one can read another's thoughts without his permission. of course, we still have speech; speech and language are the abc's of the venusian; and we still keep the telephone, for the sake of checking up now and then. just now, we are driving for my own house, where there is apparatus which will enable you to both hear and understand an announcement which is shortly to be made." there was something decidedly satisfying, especially to van emmon, in being taken into the venusian confidence to this extent. when he put his question, it was with his former aggressiveness much modified. he said: "i should think that your people have pretty well exhausted the possibilities of the supernatural, by this time. progress having come to an end, i don't see what you find to interest you, myrin." "the fact is," billie put in, "we feel somewhat disappointed that your people have shown so little interest in us." and she gave a sidelong glance at estra, who returned the look with a direct, smiling gaze which sent a flood of color into the architect's face. "look out!" sharply, from van emmon; and with barely an inch to spare, estra steered his car past another which he had nearly overlooked. for another minute or two there was silence; then myrin said: "you wonder what there is to interest us. and yet, every time you look up at the stars, the answer is before your eyes. "you see, although we cannot read your thoughts without your permission, yet you on the earth cannot prevent us from 'overhearing' anything that may be said. under proper conditions, our psychic senses are delicate enough to feel the slightest whisper on the earth. "that is why estra and i are able to use your language; we have learned it together with an understanding of your lives and customs, by simply 'listening in.' i may add that we are also able to use your eyes; we knew, directly, what you people looked like before you arrived. "well, it is our ambition to visit, in spirit, every planet in the universe! "there are hundreds of millions of stars; every one is a sun; and each has planets. one in a hundred contains life; some very elementary, others much more advanced than we are. "so far, we have been able to study nearly two thousand worlds besides those in this solar system. do you still think, friend, we have nothing to interest us?" she raised a hand in a gesture of emphasis; and it was then that billie, her eyes on myrin's fingers, saw another sign of the great advancement these people had made--direct proof, in fact, of what myrin had just claimed. for there must have been a tremendous gain in the intellect to have caused such a drain upon the body as billie saw. in no other way could it be explained; the minds of the venusians had grown at a fearful cost to flesh and blood. not only were the fingernails entirely lacking from myrin's hand, but the lower joints of her four fingers, from the palm to the knuckles were grown smoothly together. xii the mental limit "make yourselves at home," said estra, as they stepped into his apartment. the cars just filled his balcony. "this is my 'workshop'; see if you can guess my occupation, from what you see. as for myrin and myself, we must make certain preparations before the announcement is made." they disappeared, and the four inspected the place. as in the other house they had entered, the room was provided with a double row of small windows; some being down near the floor and the others level with the eyes. these, in addition to two doors, all of which were of translucent material. on low benches about the room were a number of instruments, some of which looked familiar to the doctor. he said he had seen something much like them in psychology class, during his college days. for the most part, their appearance defied ordinary description. [footnote: physicians, biologists, and others interested in matters of this nature will find the above fully treated in dr. kinney's reports to the a. m. a.] but one piece of apparatus was given such prominence that it is worth detailing. it consisted of a hollow, cube-shaped metal framework; about a foot in either direction, upon which was mounted about forty long thumb-screws, all pointing toward the inside of the frame. the inner ends of the screws were provided with small silver pads; while the outer ends were so connected, each with a tiny dial, as to register the amount of motion of the screw. smith turned one of them in and out, and said it reminded him of a micrometer gage. then billie noted that the entire device was so placed upon the bench as to set directly over a hole, about ten inches in diameter. and under the bench was one of the saddlelike chairs. the architect's antiquarian lore came back to her with a rush, and she remembered something she had seen in a museum--a relic of the inquisition. "good heavens!" she whispered. "what is this--an instrument of torture?" it certainly looked mightily like one of the head-crushing devices billie had seen. thumb-screws and all, this appeared to be only a very elaborate "persuader," for use upon those who must be made to talk. but the doctor was thinking hard. a big light flashed into his eyes. "this," he declared, positively, "is something that will become a matter of course in our own educational system, as soon as the science of phrenology is better understood." and next second he had ducked under the bench, and thrust his head through the round hole, so that his skull was brought into contact with some of those padded thumb-screws. "get the idea?" he finished. "it's a cranium-meter!" it did not take smith long to reach the next conclusion. "then," said he, "our friend estra is connected with their school system. can't say what he would be called, but i should say his function is to measure the capacity of students for various kinds of knowledge, in order that their education may be adapted accordingly. "might call him a brain-surveyor," he concluded. "or a noodle-smith," added the geologist, deprecatingly. "rather, a career-appraiser!" indignantly, from billie. "people look to him to suggest what they should take up, and what they should leave alone. why, he's one of the most important men on this whole planet!" and again the doctor was a witness to a clash of eyes between the girl and the geologist. van emmon said nothing further, however, but turned to examine an immense book-case on the other side of the room. this case had shelves scarcely two inches apart, and about half as deep, and held perhaps half a million extremely small books. each comprised many hundreds of pages, made of a perfectly opaque, bluish-white material of such incredible thinness that ordinary india-paper resembled cardboard by comparison. they were printed much the same as any other book, except that the characters were of microscopic size, and the lines extremely close together. also, in some of the books these lines were black and red, alternating. billie eagerly examined one of the diminutive volumes under a strong glass, and pronounced the black-printed characters not unlike ancient gothic type. she guessed that the language was synthetic, like roman or esperanto, and that the alphabet numbered sixty or seventy. "the red lines," she added, not so confidently, "are in a different language. looks wonderfully like persian." by this time the others were doing the same as she, and marveling to note that, wherever the red and black lines were employed, invariably the black were in the same language; while the red characters were totally different in each book. suddenly smith gave a start, so vigorously that the other turned in alarm. he was holding one of the books as though it were white hot. "look!" he stuttered excitedly. "just look at it!" and no wonder. in the book he had chanced to pick up, the red lines were printed in english. "talk about your finds!" exclaimed billie, in an awe-struck tone. "why, this library is a literal translation of the languages of--" she fairly gasped as she recalled myrin's words--"thousands of planets!" after that she fell silent. plainly the discovery had profoundly affected and strengthened her notion of remaining on the planet. van emmon, watching her narrowly, saw her give the room an appraising glance which meant, plain as day, "i'd like to keep this place in spick and span condition!" and another, not so easy to interpret: "i'd like to show these people a thing or two about designing houses!" and the geologist's heart sank for an instant. he turned resolutely to the bookcase, and shortly found something which he showed to the doctor. it was a book printed all in "venusian." they carefully translated the title-page, using one of the interlinear english books as a guide; and saw that it was a complete text-book on astral development. "with these instructions," the doctor declared, "any one could do as the venusians do--visit other worlds in spirit!" just then estra and myrin returned. they were moving at what was, for them, a rapid pace; and to all appearances they were rather excited. "we were not able to make these records as perfect as we would like," said estra, holding up four disks similar to the ones which still lay in the explorers' translating machines. he proceeded to open the little black cases and make the exchange. "there will be words used which i did not see fit to incorporate in the original vocabulary, but which you will have to understand perfectly if this announcement is to mean anything to you." "thank you," said the doctor quietly. "and now, don't you think we had best know in advance, just what is to be the subject of--" "hush!" whispered estra; and next second they were listening to the telephone in amazement. xiii the war of the sexes "in accordance with my promise," stated a high-pitched effeminate voice, "i am going to demonstrate a juvenation method upon which i have worked for the past one hundred and twenty-two years." there was a brief pause, during which estra hurriedly explained that the man who was making the speech was located far on the other side of the planet, in a hall like the one the four had first visited; and that he was making the demonstration before a great gathering of scientists. "too bad you cannot see as we do," commented the venusian. "however, savarona may go into the details of--" "if the committeemen are entirely finished with their measurements," stated the unseen experimenter, "i would like to have the results compared with the recorded figures of pario camenol, who was born on the two hundred and fifteenth day of the year twenty-one thousand seven hundred and four." another rest, and estra said: "they are examining a boy who appears to be about twelve years of age." then came other voices: "as we all know, the craniums of us all are absolutely distinct; as much so as our finger-prints." "the measurements correspond identically with those of pario camenol, beyond a doubt." "this boy can be none other than pario." "then," the high-pitched voice went on, "then notice the formula i have written on this blackboard. using this solution, i have supplied nourishment to this lad from the hour of his birth. until a few days ago, i was not satisfied with the results; the patient showed a tiny variation from the allowable subconscious maximum, together with only nine-tenths the required motor reaction. "but i have corrected this. briefly, i have incorporated in pario camenol's standard diet certain elements which have hitherto been unsafe to combine. these elements are derivatives of the potash group, for the most part, together with phosphates which need a new classification. their effect," impressively, "has been to postpone age indefinitely!" there must have been a tremendous sensation in that hall. the speaker's voice shook with excitement as he went on: "we have sought in vain, friends, for a way to cheat death of his due. we have succeeded in postponing his advent until our average longevity is several times greater than on our neighboring planet. but so far, it has been a mere reprieve. "what i have done is to prevent age itself. this lad is a hundred and twenty-two years old, mentally, and still only twelve years old, as to body! "in short, i offer you the fountain of youth itself!" the speaker paused. there was no comment. evidently all had been as greatly impressed as the explorers. then the voice of the man savarona finished, very deliberately: "i regret to say that my treatment, despite all that i have been able to do, cannot be adapted to the female constitution. it would be fatal to any but males. i repeat--i can offer eternal youth, absolutely, but only to new-born males!" this time there was a definite response. from the telephone came a confused murmuring, at which van emmon's face lighted up with delight. the murmuring had an angry sound! "this is outrageous!" a loud contralto voice was raised above the rest. "you are unethical, savarona, to announce such a thing before adapting it to both sexes!" the high-pitched voice replied shortly, and with more than a hint of malice: "if a woman had discovered this, instead of me, i dare say you would have no objections!" the murmuring grew louder, angrier, more confused. the four from the earth looked at each other in some slight uneasiness. at the same time they noted that estra, his eyes tightly closed and his fists clenched in the intensity of his concentration, suddenly gave a sigh of relief. next second he began to speak into the telephone, in a voice so loud as to silence all the clamor. "savarona, and the people of venus! listen! "the prophets were right when they said today would witness many great things! i have just learned of another experiment which transcends even that of savarona!" an instant's pause; then: "first let me remind you that we have been doing all we could to elevate our spiritual selves. we are daily trying to eliminate all that is animal, all that is gross and bemeaning in us, even to the extent of reducing the flavors of our foods to the lowest tolerable point. and despite all this, we have not been able to get rid of sex jealousy! "we still have the beast within us! no matter how pure our love may be, it is always tainted with rivalry! always the husband and wife are held down by this mutual envy, forever dragging at their heels, constantly holding them back from the lofty heights of spiritual power to which they aspire!" he paused, and savarona's voice broke in, triumphantly: "you are right, estra! you are right, except you did not mention that this jealousy becomes less and less as one grows older! "now, my discovery will put an end to your beast, estra! my experiments took this lad before he had become a man, and allowed his brain to develop, while his body stopped growing! he is a man in mentality, and an innocent boy in body! "estra, i have done the thing you wish! this boy will never know jealousy, because he will never know love!" the man in the room with the four answered in a flash: "so you have, savarona, but only for men! no female can benefit by what you have done!" "but i tell you that, within the past few minutes, a child has been born under circumstances which can be repeated at any time, and for any sex!" "in this case," the venusian's voice changed curiously; "in this case, however, it was a girl; for the mother controlled the sex in the customary manner." at this, the doctor's interest became acute. at the same time, the other three felt a tremendous, inexplicable thrill. "friends"--and extra's face shone in his enthusiasm--"friends, for the first time in creation the human male germ has been dispensed with! the intellect has done what the laboratory could not do! "i have the honor to announce that my sister, amra, has just given birth"--his voice fairly rang--"has just given birth to a girl baby, whose only father was her mother's brain!" xiv estra this time there was no drowning the confusion. the telephone fairly shook with innumerable cries, shouts, imprecations. the four gave up trying to hear, and watched the two venusians. myrin was facing estra now. her expression had lost a great deal of its good humor, and there was a certain sharpness in her voice as she exclaimed: "estra--if your sister has done this, and i see no reason to doubt it, then she has made man superfluous! if women can produce children mechanically, and govern the sex at will, the coming race need be nothing but females!" estra nodded gravely. "that is what it amounts to, myrin!" for a moment the two stared at one another challengingly. on the earth, their attitude would have indicated some unimportant tiff. none would have dreamed that the most momentous question in their lives had come up, and had found them at outs. next instant myrin turned, and without another word walked from the room. estra followed slowly to the door, where he stood looking after her with an expression of the keenest concern on his sensitive, highstrung features. the three men from the earth, after a glance, studiously avoided looking at him; but billie walked up and laid a hand on his arm. "are you really in favor of this--scheme?" she inquired, in a curiously tender voice. at the same time she gazed intently into estra's eyes. he turned, and the smile came back to his face. he took billie's hand and laid it between both his own. his voice was even gentler than before. "most certainly i do favor my sister's method, billie. it will be the greatest boon the race has ever known. we can look forward, now"--and his face shone again--"can look forward to generation upon generation of people whose spirituality will be absolute!" the girl moved closer to him. she spoke with feverish earnestness. "there may be some hitch in the idea, estra. if god meant for man to become--to become obsolete, he would not have hidden the method all this time. suppose some flaw should develop--later on?" in the cube, billie jackson would not have stumbled over such a speech. she would have ignored the fact that estra was holding her hand all this time, and gazing deep into her eyes; she would have been filled with what she was saying and not with what she was seeing. on the other side of the room, van emmon watched and glowered; he could not hear. the venusian lifted his head suddenly. the voices from the telephone had subsided; only an occasional outburst came from the instrument. estra closed his eyes again for a second, and when he opened them again, his manner was astonishingly alert, and his speech swift and to the point. "so far as we know, billie, the method has no flaws. it gives us the chance to throw off our lower selves; and if by so doing, we reduce the race to a single sex, only--" he stopped short, as though at a sound; and with a word of apology stepped from the room. he opened another door, far down the corridor; and as he passed through, the wail of a new-born infant came faintly to the four. "wonder what's up?" said smith. van emmon, who had gone to the window, whirled upon the engineer and motioned him to his side. "look at the people!" smith saw that the nearby houses were almost concealed by a throng which had gathered, silently and without confusion, during the past few minutes. their numbers were increasing swiftly, fresh arrivals packing the background. people filled the streets; the space below estra's balcony was already crowded as closely as it could be. except for a lowvoiced buzzing, there was no disturbance. billie came up. she seemed to divine the temper of the mob. she caught her breath sharply, and then said, very simply: "it reminds me of--bethlehem." but the words had scarcely left her mouth before an uproar sounded from one end of the street below. a crowd of excited venusians was pushing its way determinedly toward the house, their passage obstructed by shouting, protesting individuals. van emmon's breast began to heave; he fancied he saw blows struck. "by george!" he exclaimed, next second. "they're fighting!" it was true; a hand-to-hand battle was going on less than a block away. the people below the window surged in the direction of the fight; all were shouting, now; the clamor was deafening. "live and let live!" came one of the shouts. it was taken up by the group that was doing the attacking, and made into a cheer. then came other cries from them. smith made out something like "down with sex monopoly!" "don't you see?" shouted smith, above the din. "these people below are estra's friends; those newcomers are backing savarona! get the idea?" he repeated. "if estra wins out, the old boy with the fountain of youth will never get another boy baby to experiment on!" "what!" the doctor leaped to their sides. he took it in at a glance; then whirled to the door. "we ought to warn estra!" "he knows it already!" reminded billie swiftly. a great shout came from below; the attackers had forced their way through the crowd of estra's friends. "well!" van emmon stood squarely in the middle of the room. "so far as i'm concerned, estra and his sister can face that crowd alone! i don't approve of the scheme!" the doctor eyed him thoughtfully. "i'm not so sure, van. this is a tremendous thing; we ought to--" "van is--right!" exploded billie. her voice rose to a shriek as a crash shook the house. next instant myrin, for once in a hurry, broke into the room. she glanced about, missed estra, looked slightly puzzled, and then frowned angrily as the venusian himself stepped in: "you fooled me!" she shot at him. but he smiled apologetically. he was carrying a large package of leaflets, closely printed in venusian; there seemed to be several thousand in the lot. he said, by way of explanation: "i had to get ready. savarona's people will be here any moment; they have destroyed the elevator, and--" a wave of clamor burst from below. "they've broken the barrier," remarked estra calmly; he turned to the door, then whirled at a crash which sounded from above. "through the roof," he added. he did not even glance at the balcony, where the two cars barred the way against any attack from that direction. next second he again quit the room. myrin hesitated a moment, irresolute, and then followed him thoughtfully. they never saw her again. as for estra, he came back in a moment carrying a small, white bundle, which stirred in his arms. he unhesitatingly handed the child to billie. his mouth moved soundlessly as a muffled shriek arose from the other end of the corridor; there was a thud, a metallic crash, and a great roar of voices. the mob had broken in, and up, through the back of the house. the first of the attackers thrust his head and shoulders into sight not ten feet away. estra touched something with his foot, and a door shot across the corridor. there was an instant's silence; then, the thunder of the mob, hurling itself against the door. the people were fairly snarling now. estra closed the inner door. "estra!" shrilly, from billie. she laid the baby down, and strode to the venusian. "let's get out of here! the car's on the balcony; nobody's in the way to interfere! why not--" a grinding, ripping jar from above, and estra shook his head. the smile was gone, and his mouth was set and grim. "they'd catch us before we went a mile," he said, glancing at the infant, who had begun to cry, in a stifled, gasping way that tore at the nerves. "estra!" billie pleaded; but he turned away. the doctor strode up to him and gripped his shoulder. "what's the good, estra? what can you accomplish even if you--" the venusian tapped his forehead. "i can tell!" he exclaimed, with a return of that exalted flush. "just give me a chance to offer my sister's discovery to the world, and i shall be satisfied!" he touched the package of leaflets. "these are not written as clearly as they should be; but if i cannot hold them back, then these"--fingering the papers--"these go to the friends down below!" he moved closer to the window, but his eyes were on the door. a rending crash told that the corridor was now open to the mob. there was a rush, and then the storm of the people battering the last door. "van! doc! billie!" smith had the window open, and was stepping into one of the cars. kinney and the geologist were at his side in an instant. the girl held back. "estra!" she begged. she picked up the baby, and with her free hand tugged at the venusian's arm. "come on! don't sacrifice yourself!" the door bulged under the attack. the noise was ear-splitting. nevertheless estra heard, and shook his head without looking at the woman from the earth. she dashed to the window, then came back. "hurry! there's a chance!" he stood unmoved, watchful and ready. "estra! i want you to come!" her face flamed. "can't you see? can't you see that i--i want you?" she gasped as the door shrieked under the strain. "come--if you're a man!" the venusian's face changed. he turned, and stared at the girl with eyes that held nothing but blank amazement. the grimness left his mouth, his lips partly opened. he took a step forward and threw an arm about her shoulders. "billie--i'm sorry! i never thought!" a crack showed at the edge of the door, and a roar smote their ears. estra backed to the window. "go!" he shouted. "go quickly, while you can!" billie stood stock still, gazing at him. "i'm going to stay!" she screamed. "i'll take my chances with--" he thrust her through the window. "you don't understand!" he shouted, and took the baby away from her, despite all her strength. then a wonderfully tender light came into his eyes. he gripped billie's hands, and spoke sorrowfully: "billie--i'm not what you thought! i'm not a man--i'm a woman!" xv back! by the time smith had driven the strange craft fifty yards, he had it under control. billie glanced back; estra was out on the balcony, now, and the mob was surging against the windows she had locked against them. she shifted the baby to the hollow of one arm while with the other she broke the cord of the packet. at the sight, the crowd in the street gave voice. "let us have it!" they were crying; they drowned out the uproar within the house. estra did not even look at the other car. then the windows gave way. like the breaking of a dam, a flood of venusians poured and tumbled at estra's feet. she raised her hand, and shouted something billie could not hear; then, scarcely without pause, the crowd bore down upon her. and even as she was crushed against the railing, with one hand she dropped the baby to eager, upstretched arms below; and with the other she tossed the package high in the air. there it broke apart, the air caught it, and the thousands of leaflets fluttered down upon that street full of sympathizers. leaflets, each of which described a discovery which was to give to women the power of abolishing the opposite sex, of making venus a world not only one in country, one in industry and one in thought, but--one in sex! the thunderous meaning of estra's last action almost made billie forget that it was, in truth, the woman's last act. for next moment her lifeless form was being crushed beneath the feet of that supremely cultured, marvelously civilized mob; for it was only a mob, despite its astounding advancement; a mob which had retained all the brute's fanaticism, and all the male jealousy of the female. for they were all men. the four had been on venus almost twenty-four hours when smith, knowing the condition of the machinery in the cube, warned the others that they must return. secretly, he was tired of the venusians' continual smiling; for they had fairly outdone each other to show the visitors all that could be shown. but it was van emmon who thought to ask for estra's wonderful library. "these chemicals and metals you are giving us," he said, making a regular speech of it, "are extremely welcome; they will enable us to perform experiments otherwise out of our reach. "but estra's books will mean still more to the people of the earth. if there is no one else with more need for them, who is going to put in a claim, then why not let us have them?" apparently the venusians did not like the idea very well. "they must have thought it was like letting a monkey play with a rifle," the doctor afterward put it. but, for lack of a leader with any motive for objecting, and because estra had no living relatives to claim the library, somehow that incredible collection of intellectual gems got into the possession of the four. nothing was said about it during the quiet leave-taking, and when the cube finally rose away from the roof, van emmon's face beamed with happiness and a great sigh of satisfaction escaped him. "well"--looking at the books--"they kind of make up for the fact that the folks didn't ask us to call again!" and he turned and went straight to the kitchenette, where he proceeded with great speed and efficiency to set out the following: canned soup. canned baked beans. fried bacon and egg. coffee. peaches. "come and get it!" he shouted. the doctor tore himself away from the books; smith crawled out from the beloved machines; billie came out shortly from her cubby-hole, and slipped into her seat in a highly excited manner. there was a brightness in her cheeks, and a noticeable change in her usually assured manner. this timidity, so utterly new to the girl, seemed most pronounced whenever van emmon chanced to look at her; which was quite often. all four were ravenous. they had been away from the cube a day and a night, and "all we had to eat was something to drink," as smith complained. nothing whatever was said except "please pass that" and "thanks," for fully fifteen minutes. at last they were satisfied. the doctor went back to the books; smith returned to his oil-can and wrench. but billie stood by the table, and began helping van emmon to clear up. in a moment they were face to face. "van," she said softly, and looked up at him wistfully. "van--do you like me better this way?" her eyes were almost piteous. into the man's face there came a look of amazement followed by one of admiration, and another of genuine delight he gave a little laugh, and unconsciously threw out his hands. "much better, billie." neither of them cared a particle whether smith or the doctor saw that billie, very simply and naturally, walked right into van emmon's arms. "much better. besides, you're really too graceful to wear anything else." the revolt on venus the tom corbett space cadet stories by carey rockwell stand by for mars! danger in deep space on the trail of the space pirates the space pioneers the revolt on venus [illustration: frontispiece] a tom corbett space cadet adventure the revolt on venus by carey rockwell willy ley _technical adviser_ grosset & dunlap _publishers_ new york copyright, 1954, by rockhill radio all rights reserved illustrations by louis glanzman printed in the united states of america +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | | | transcriber's note | | | | the dp team has failed to uncover any evidence that the | | copyright on this work was renewed. | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ illustrations _frontispiece_ "she tried to get farther into the cave" 54 they were completely surrounded by the jungle 57 astro kept his blaster aimed at the monsters 107 his eyes probed the jungle for further movement 115 "mr. sinclair!" cried tom, suddenly relieved 161 the solar guard troops landed on the rim of the canyon 189 sinclair wasn't able to get clear in time 210 the revolt on venus chapter 1 "emergency air lock open!" the tall, broad-shouldered officer, wearing the magnificent black-and-gold uniform of the solar guard, spoke into a small microphone and waited for an acknowledgment. it came almost immediately. "cadet corbett ready for testing," a voice crackled thinly over the loud-speaker. "very well. proceed." seated in front of the scanner screen on the control deck of the rocket cruiser _polaris_, captain steve strong replaced the microphone in its slot and watched a bulky figure in a space suit step out of the air lock and drift away from the side of the ship. behind him, five boys, all dressed in the vivid blue uniforms of the space cadet corps, strained forward to watch the lone figure adjust the nozzles of the jet unit on the back of his space suit. "come on, tom!" said the biggest of the five boys, his voice a low, powerful rumble as he rooted for his unit mate. "if tom makes this one," crowed the cadet next to him, a slender boy with a thick shock of close-cropped blond hair, "the _polaris_ unit is home free!" "this is the last test, manning," replied one of the remaining three cadets, the insigne of the _arcturus_ unit on the sleeve of his uniform. "_if_ corbett makes this one, you fellows deserve to win." aboard the rocket cruiser _polaris_, blasting through the black void of space two hundred miles above earth, six space cadets and a solar guard officer were conducting the final test for unit honors for the term. all other academy units had been eliminated in open competition. now, the results of the individual space orientation test would decide whether the three cadets of the _arcturus_ unit or the three cadets of the _polaris_ unit would win final top unit honors. roger manning and astro kept their eyes glued to the telescanner screen, watching their unit mate, tom corbett, drift slowly through space toward his starting position. the young cadet's task was basically simple; with his space helmet blacked out so that he could not see in any direction, he was to make his way back to the ship from a point a mile away, guided only by the audio orders from the examining officer aboard the ship. his score was measured by the time elapsed, and the amount of corrections and orders given by the examining officer. it was an exercise designed to test a cadet's steadiness under emergency conditions of space. the three members of the _arcturus_ unit had completed their runs and had returned to the ship in excellent time. roger and astro had also taken their tests and now it depended on tom. if he could return to the _polaris_ in less than ten minutes, with no more than three corrections, the _polaris_ unit would be victorious. seated directly in front of the scanner, captain steve strong, the examining officer, watched the space-suited figure dwindle to a mere speck on the screen. as the regular skipper of the _polaris_ crew, he could not help secretly rooting for tom, but he was determined to be fair, even to the extent of declaring the _arcturus_ unit the winner, should the decision be very close. he leaned forward to adjust the focus on the scanner, bringing the drifting figure into a close-up view, and then lifted the microphone to his lips. "stand by, corbett!" he called. "you're getting close to range." "very well, sir," replied tom. "standing by." behind strong, roger and astro looked at each other and turned back to the screen. as one, they crossed the fingers of both hands. "ready, corbett!" called strong. "you'll be clocked from the second you're on range. one hundred feet--seventy-five--fifty--twenty-five --ten--_time_!" as the signal echoed in his blacked-out space helmet, tom jerked his body around in a sudden violent move, and grasping the valve of the jet unit on his back, he opened it halfway. he waited, holding his breath, expecting to hear captain strong correct his course. he counted to ten slowly, and when no correction came over the headphones, he opened the valve wide and blindly shot through space. aboard the polaris, astro and roger shouted with joy and strong could not repress a grin. the tiny figure on the scanner was hurtling straight for the side of the _polaris_! as the image grew larger and larger, anxious eyes swiveled back and forth from the scanner screen to the steady sweeping hand of the chronometer. roger bit his lip nervously, and astro's hands trembled. when tom reached a point five hundred feet away from the ship, strong flipped open the audio circuit and issued his first order. "range five hundred feet," he called. "cut jets!" "you're already here, spaceboy!" yelled roger into the mike, leaning over strong's shoulder. the captain silenced him with a glare. no one could speak to the examinee but the testing officer. tom closed the valve of his jet unit and blindly jerked himself around again to drift feet first toward the ship. strong watched this approach closely, silently admiring the effortless way the cadet handled himself in weightless space. when tom was fifty feet away from the ship, and still traveling quite fast, strong gave the second order to break his speed. tom opened the valve again and felt the tug of the jets braking his acceleration. he drifted slower and slower, and realizing that he was close to the hull of the ship, he stretched his legs, striving to make contact. seconds later he felt a heavy thump at the soles of his feet, and within the ship there was the muffled clank of metal boot weights hitting the metal skin of the hull. "_time!_" roared strong and glanced at the astral chronometer over his head. the boys crowded around as the solar guard captain quickly computed tom's score. "nine minutes, fifty-one seconds, and two corrections," he announced, unable to keep the pride out of his voice. "we win! we win!" roared roger. "term honors go to the _polaris_!" roger turned around and began pounding astro on the chest, and the giant venusian picked him up and waltzed him around the deck. the three members of the _arcturus_ unit waited until the first flush of victory died away and then crowded around the two boys to congratulate them. "don't forget the cadet who did it," commented strong dryly, and the five cadets rushed below to the jet-boat deck to wait for tom. when tom emerged from the air lock a few moments later, roger and astro swarmed all over him, and another wild dance began. finally, shaking free of his well-meaning but violent unit mates, he grinned and gasped, "well, from that reception, i guess i did it." "spaceboy"--roger smiled--"you made the _arcturus_ unit look like three old men in a washtub counting toes!" "congratulations, corbett," said tony richards of the _arcturus_ crew, offering his hand. "that was really fast maneuvering out there." "thanks, tony." tom grinned, running his hand through his brown curly hair. "but i have to admit i was a little scared. wow! what a creepy feeling to know you're out in space alone and not able to see anything." their excitement was interrupted by strong's voice over the ship's intercom. "stand by, all stations!" "here we go!" shouted roger. "back to the academy--and leave!" "_yeeeeooooow!_" astro's bull-like roar echoed through the ship as the cadets hurried to their flight stations. as command cadet of the _polaris_, tom climbed up to the control deck, and strapping himself into the command pilot's seat, prepared to get under way. astro, the power-deck cadet who could "take apart a rocket engine and put it back together again with his thumbs," thundered below to the atomic rockets he loved more than anything else in the universe. roger manning, the third member of the famed _polaris_ unit, raced up the narrow ladder leading to the radar bridge to take command of astrogation and communications. while captain strong and the members of the _arcturus_ unit strapped themselves into acceleration cushions, tom conducted a routine check of the many gauges on the great control panel before him. satisfied, he flipped open the intercom and called, "all stations, check in!" "radar deck, aye!" drawled roger's lazy voice. "power deck, aye!" rumbled astro. "energize the cooling pumps!" ordered tom. "cooling pumps, aye!" the whine of the mighty pumps was suddenly heard, moaning eerily throughout the ship. "feed reactant!" the sharp hiss of fuel being forced into the rocket engines rose above the whine of the pumps, and the ship trembled. "stand by to blast," called tom. "standard space speed!" instantly the _polaris_ shot toward earth in a long, curving arc. moments later, when the huge round ball of the mother planet loomed large on the scanner screen, roger's voice reported over the intercom, "academy spaceport control gives us approach orbit 074 for touchdown on ramp twelve, tom." "074 ramp twelve," repeated tom. "got it!" "twelve!" roared astro suddenly over the intercom. "couldn't you make it closer to the academy than that, manning? we'll have to walk two miles to the nearest slidewalk!" "too bad, astro," retorted roger, "but i guess if i had to carry around as much useless muscle and bone as you do, i'd complain too!" "i'm just not as lucky as you, manning," snapped astro quickly. "i don't have all that space gas to float me around." "knock it off, fellows," interjected tom firmly. "we're going into our approach." lying on his acceleration cushion, strong looked over at tony richards of the _arcturus_ unit and winked. richards winked and smiled back. "they never stop, do they, sir?" "when they do," replied strong, "i'll send all three of them to sick bay for examination." "two hundred thousand feet to earth's surface," called tom. "stand by for landing operations." as tom adjusted the many controls on the complicated operations panel of the ship, roger and astro followed his orders quickly and exactly. "cut main drive rockets and give me one-half thrust on forward braking rockets!" ordered tom, his eyes glued to the altimeter. the _polaris_ shuddered under the sudden reverse in power, then began an upward curve, nose pointing back toward space. tom barked another command. "braking rockets full! stand by main drive rockets!" the sleek ship began to settle tailfirst toward its destination--space academy, u.s.a. in the heart of a great expanse of cleared land in the western part of the north american continent, the cluster of buildings that marked space academy gleamed brightly in the noon sun. towering over the green grassy quadrangle of the academy was the magnificent tower of galileo, built of pure titan crystal which gleamed like a gigantic diamond. with smaller buildings, including the study halls, the nucleonics laboratory, the cadet dormitories, mess halls, recreation halls, all connected by rolling slidewalks--and to the north, the vast area of the spaceport with its blast-pitted ramps--the academy was the goal of every boy in the year a.d. 2353, the age of the conquest of space. founded over a hundred years before, space academy trained the youth of the solar alliance for service in the solar guard, the powerful force created to protect the liberties of the planets. but from the beginning, academy standards were so high, requirements so strict, that not many made it. of the one thousand boys enrolled every year, it was expected that only twenty-one of them would become officers, and of this group, only seven would be command pilots. the great solar guard fleet that patrolled the space lanes across the millions of miles between the satellites and planets possessed the finest, yet most complicated, equipment in the alliance. to be an officer in the fleet required a combination of skills and technical knowledge so demanding that eighty per cent of the solar guard officers retired at the age of forty. high over the spaceport, the three cadets of the _polaris_ unit, happy over the prospect of a full month of freedom, concentrated on the task of landing the great ship on the academy spaceport. watching the teleceiver screen that gave him a view of the spaceport astern of the ship, tom called into the intercom, "one thousand feet to touchdown. cut braking rockets. main drive full!" the thunderous blast of the rockets was his answer, building up into roaring violence. shuddering, the great cruiser eased to the ground foot by foot, perfectly balanced on the fiery exhaust from her main tubes. seconds later the giant shock absorbers crunched on the ramp and tom closed the master switch cutting all power. he glanced at the astral chronometer over his head and then turned to speak into the audio log recorder. "rocket cruiser _polaris_ completed space flight one-seven-six at 1301." captain strong stepped up to tom and clapped him on the shoulder. "secure the _polaris_, tom, and tell astro to get the reactant pile from the firing chamber ready for dumping when the hot-soup wagon gets here." the solar guard officer referred to the lead-lined jet sled that removed the reactant piles from all ships that were to be laid up for longer than three days. "and you'd better get over to your dorm right away," strong continued. "you have to get ready for parade and full corps dismissal." tom grinned. "yes, sir!" "we're blasting off, sir," said tony richards, stepping forward with his unit mates. "congratulations again, corbett. i still can't figure out how you did it so quickly!" "thanks, tony," replied tom graciously. "it was luck and the pressure of good competition." richards shook hands and then turned to strong. "do i have your permission to leave the ship, sir?" he asked. "permission granted," replied strong. "and have a good leave." "thank you, sir." the three _arcturus_ cadets saluted and left the ship. a moment later roger and astro joined strong and tom on the control deck. "well," said strong, "what nonsense have you three planned for your leave? try and see liddy tamal. i hear she's making a new stereo about the solar guard. you might be hired as technical assistants." he smiled. the famous actress was a favorite of the cadets. strong waited. "well, is it a secret?" "it was your idea, astro," said roger. "go ahead." "yeah," said tom. "you got us into this." "well, sir," mumbled astro, turning red with embarrassment, "we're going to venus." "what's so unusual about going to venus?" asked strong. "we're going hunting," replied astro. "hunting?" "yes, sir," gulped the big venusian. "for tyrannosaurus." strong's jaw dropped and he sat down suddenly on the nearest acceleration cushion. "i expected something a little strange from you three whiz kids." he laughed. "it would be impossible for you to go home and relax for a month. but this blasts me! hunting for a tyrannosaurus! what are you going to do with it after you catch it?" he paused and then added, "if you do." "eat it," said astro simply. "tyrannosaurus steak is delicious!" strong doubled with laughter at the seriousness of astro's expression. the giant venusian continued doggedly, "and besides, there's a bounty on them. a thousand credits for every tyranno head brought in. they're dangerous and destroy a lot of crops." strong straightened up. "all right, all right! go ahead! have yourselves a good time, but don't take any unnecessary chances. i like my cadets to have all the arms and legs and heads they're supposed to have." he paused and glanced at his watch. "you'd better get hopping. astro, did you get the pile ready for the soup wagon?" "yes, sir!" "very well, tom, secure the ship." he came to attention. "unit, _stand--to_!" the three cadets stiffened and saluted sharply. "unit dismissed!" captain strong turned and left the ship. hurriedly, tom, roger, and astro checked the great spaceship and fifteen minutes later were racing out of the main air lock. hitching a ride on a jet sled to the nearest slidewalk, they were soon being whisked along toward their quarters. already, cadet units were standing around in fresh blues waiting for the call for final dress parade. at exactly fifteen hundred, the entire cadet corps stepped off with electronic precision for the final drill of the term. by threes, each unit marching together, with the _polaris_ unit walking behind the standard bearers as honor unit, they passed the reviewing stand. senior officers of the solar guard, delegates from the solar alliance, and staff officers of the academy accepted their salute. commander walters stood stiffly in front of the stand, his heart filled with pride as he recognized the honor unit. he had almost washed out the _polaris_ unit in the beginning of their academy training. major lou connel, senior line officer of the solar guard, stepped forward when the cadets came to a stop and presented tom, roger, and astro with the emblem of their achievement, a small gold pin in the shape of a rocket ship. he, too, had had his difficulties with the _polaris_ unit, and while he had never been heard to compliment anyone on anything, expecting nothing but the best all the time, he nevertheless congratulated them heartily as he gave them their hard-won trophy. after several other awards had been presented, commander walters addressed the cadet corps, concluding with "... each of you has had a tough year. but when you come back in four weeks, you'll think this past term has been a picnic. and remember, wherever you go, whatever you do, you're space cadets! act like one! but above all, have a good time! spaceman's luck!" a cadet stepped forward quickly, turned to face the line of cadets, and held up his hands. he brought them down quickly and words of the academy song thundered from a thousand voices. "_from the rocket fields of the academy to the far-flung stars of outer space, we're space cadets training to be ready for dangers we may face. up in the sky, rocketing past, higher than high, faster than fast, out into space, into the sun, look at her go when we give her the gun. we are space cadets, and we are proud to say our fight for right will never cease. like a cosmic ray, we light the way to interplanet peace!_" "_dis_-missed!" roared walters. immediately the precise lines of cadets turned into a howling mob of eager boys, everyone seemingly running in a different direction. "come on," said roger. "i've got everything set! let's get to the station ahead of the mob." "but what about our gear?" said tom. "we've got to get back to the dorm." "i had it sent down to the station last night. i got the monorail tickets to atom city last week, and reserved seats on the _venus lark_ two weeks ago! come on!" "only roger could handle it so sweetly," sighed astro. "you know, hotshot, sometimes i think you're useful!" the three cadets turned and raced across the quadrangle for the nearest slidewalk that would take them to the academy monorail station and the beginning of their adventure in the jungles of venus. [illustration] chapter 2 "the situation may be serious and it may not, but i don't want to take any chances." commander walters sat in his office, high up in the tower of galileo, with department heads from the academy and solar guard. behind him, an entire wall made of clear crystal offered a breath-taking view of the academy grounds. before him, their faces showing their concern over a report walters had just read, captain strong, major connel, dr. joan dale, and professor sykes waited for the commanding officer of the academy to continue. "as you know," said walters, "the resolution passed by the council in establishing the solar guard specifically states that it shall be the duty of the solar guard to investigate and secure evidence for the solar alliance council of any acts by any person, or group of persons, suspected of overt action against the solar constitution or the universal bill of rights. now, based on the report i've just read to you, i would like an opinion from each of you." "for what purpose, commander?" asked joan dale, the young and pretty astrophysicist. "to decide whether it would be advisable to have a full and open investigation of this information from the solar guard attachã© on venus." "why waste time talking?" snapped professor sykes, the chief of the nucleonics laboratory. "let's investigate. that report sounds serious." major connel leveled a beady eye on the little gray-haired man. "professor sykes, an investigation is serious. when it is based on a report like this one, it is doubly serious, and needs straight and careful thinking. we don't want to hurt innocent people." sykes shifted around in his chair and glared at the burly solar guard officer. "don't try to tell me anything about straight thinking, connel. i know more about the solar constitution and the rights of our citizens than you'll know in ten thousand light years!" "yeah?" roared connel. "and with all your brains you'd probably find out these people are nothing more than a harmless bunch of colonists out on a picnic!" the professor shot out of his chair and waved an angry finger under connel's nose. "and that would be a lot more than i'm finding out right now with that contraption of yours!" he shouted. connel's face turned red. "so that's how you feel about my invention!" he snapped. "yes, that's the way i feel about your invention!" replied sykes hotly. "i know three cadets that could build that gadget in half the time it's taken you just to figure out the theory!" commander walters, captain strong, and joan dale were fighting to keep from laughing at the hot exchange between the two veteran spacemen. "they sound like the _polaris_ unit," joan whispered to strong. walters stood up. "gentlemen! please! we're here to discuss a report on the activities of a secret organization on venus. i will have to ask you to keep to the subject at hand. dr. dale, do you have any comments on the report?" he turned to the young physicist who was choking off a laugh. "well, commander," she began, still smiling, "the report is rather sketchy. i would like to see more information before any real decision is made." walters turned to strong. "steve?" "i think joan has the right idea, sir," he replied. "while the report indicates that a group of people on venus are meeting regularly and secretly, and wearing some silly uniform, i think we need more information before ordering a full-scale investigation." "he's right, commander," connel broke in. "you just can't walk into an outfit and demand a look at their records, books, and membership index, unless you're pretty sure you'll find something." "send a man from here," strong suggested. "if you use anyone out of the venus office, he might be recognized." "good idea," commented sykes. joan nodded. "sounds reasonable." "how do you feel about it, connel?" asked walters. connel, still furious over sykes's comment on his spectrum recorder, shot an angry glance at the professor. "i think it's fine," he said bluntly. "who're you going to send?" walters paused before answering. he glanced at strong and then back at connel. "what about yourself?" "me?" "why not?" continued walters. "you know as much about venus as anyone, and you have a lot of friends there you can trust. nose around a while, see what you can learn, unofficially." "but what about my work on the spectrum recorder?" asked connel. "that!" snorted sykes derisively. "huh, that can be completed any time you want to listen to some plain facts about--" "i'll never listen to anything you have to say, you dried-up old neutron chaser!" blasted connel. "of course not," cackled sykes. "and it's the same bullheaded stubbornness that'll keep you from finishing that recorder." "i'm sorry, gentlemen," said walters firmly. "i cannot allow personal discussions to interfere with the problem at hand. how about it, connel? will you go to venus?" lou connel was the oldest line officer in the solar guard, having recommended the slightly younger walters for the post of commandant of space academy and the solar guard so that he himself could escape a desk job and continue blasting through space where he had devoted his entire life. while walters had the authority to order him to accept the assignment, connel knew that if he begged off because of his work on the recorder, walters would understand and offer the assignment to strong. he paused and then growled, "when do i blast off?" walters smiled and answered, "as soon as we contact venus headquarters and tell them to expect you." "wouldn't it be better to let me go without any fanfare?" mused the burly spaceman. "i could just take a ship and act as though i'm on some kind of special detail. as a matter of fact, higgleston at the venusport lab has some information i could use." "anything higgleston could tell you," interjected sykes, "i can tell you! you're just too stubborn to listen to me." connel opened his mouth to blast the professor in return, but he caught a sharp look from walters and he clamped his lips together tightly. "i guess that's it, then," said walters. "anyone have any other ideas?" he glanced around the room. "joan? steve?" dr. dale and captain strong shook their heads silently. strong was disappointed that he had not been given the assignment on venus. four weeks at the deserted academy would seem like living in a graveyard. walters sensed his feelings, and smiling, he said, "you've been going like a hot rocket this past year, steve. i have a specific assignment for you." "yes, sir!" strong looked up eagerly. "i want you to go to the sweet water lakes around new chicago--" "yes, sir?" "--go to my cabin--" "sir?" "--_and go fishing_!" strong grinned. "thanks, skipper," he said quietly. "i guess i could use a little relaxation. i was almost tempted to join corbett, manning, and astro. they're going hunting in the jungle belt of venus for a tyrannosaurus!" "blast my jets!" roared connel. "those boys haven't killed themselves in line of duty, so they go out and tangle with the biggest and most dangerous monster in the entire solar system!" "well," said joan with a smile, "i'll put my money on astro against a tyranno any time, pound for pound!" "hear, hear!" chimed in sykes, and forgetting his argument with connel, he turned to the spaceman. "say, lou," he said, "when you get to venus tell higgy i said to show you that magnetic ionoscope he's rigging up. it might give you some ideas." "thanks," replied connel, also forgetting the hot exchange of a few minutes before. he stood up. "i'll take the _polaris_, commander. she's the fastest ship available with automatic controls for a solo hop." "she's been stripped of her reactant pile, major," said strong. "it'll take a good eighteen hours to soup her up again." "i'll take care of it," said connel. "are there any specific orders, commander?" "use your own judgment, lou," said walters. "you know what we want and how far to go to get it. if you learn anything, we'll start a full-scale investigation. if not, we'll forget the whole matter and no one will get hurt." "and the solar guard won't get a reputation of being nosy," added strong. connel nodded. "i'll take care of it." he shook hands all around, coming to sykes last. "sorry i lost my temper, professor," he said gruffly. "forget it, major." sykes smiled. he really admired the gruff spaceman. the thick-set senior officer came to smart attention, saluted crisply, turned, and left the office. for the time being, the mysterious trouble on venus was his responsibility. * * * * * "atom city express leaving on track four!" a metallic voice boomed over the station loud-speaker, as last-minute passengers boarded the long line of gleaming white monorail cars, hanging from a single overhead steel rail. in the open doorway of one of the end cars, a conductor lifted his arm, then paused and waited patiently as three space cadets raced down the stairs and along the platform in a headlong dash for the train. they piled inside, almost one on top of the other. "thanks for waiting, sir," gasped tom corbett. "not at all, cadet," said the conductor. "i couldn't let you waste your leave waiting for another train." the elderly man flipped a switch in the narrow vestibule and the door closed with a soft hiss of air. he inserted a light key into a near-by socket and twisted it gently, completing a circuit that flashed the "go" light in the engineer's cab. almost immediately, the monorail train eased forward, suspended on the overhead rail. by the time the last building of space academy flashed past, the train was rolling along at full speed on its dash across the plains to atom city. the ride to the great metropolis of the north american continent was filled with excitement and anticipation for the three members of the _polaris_ crew. the cars were crowded with cadets on leave, and while there was a lot of joking and horseplay, the few civilian passengers were impressed with the gentlemanly bearing of the young spacemen. tom and roger finally settled down to read the latest magazines supplied by the monorail company. but astro headed for the dining car where he attracted a great deal of attention by his order of a dozen eggs, followed by two orders of waffles and a full quart of milk. finally, when the dining-car steward called a halt, because it was closing time, astro made his way back to tom and roger with a plastic bag of french fried potatoes, and the three boys sat, munching them happily. the countryside flashed by in a blur of summer color as the train roared on at a speed of two hundred miles an hour. a few hours and four bags of potatoes later, astro yawned and stretched his enormous arms, nearly poking roger in the eye. "hey, ya big ape!" growled roger. "watch the eye!" "you'd never miss it, manning," said astro. "just use your radar." "never mind, i like this eye just the way it is." "we're almost there," called tom. he pointed out the crystal window and they could see the high peaks of the rocky mountain range looming ahead. "we cut through the new tunnel in those mountains and we'll be in atom city in ten minutes!" there was a bustle of activity around them as other cadets roused themselves and collected their gear. once again conversation became animated and excited as the train neared its destination. flashing into the tunnel, the line of cars began to slow down, rocking gently. "we'd better go right out to the spaceport," said tom, pulling his gear out of the recessed rack under his seat. "our ship blasts off for venus in less than a half-hour." "boy, it'll be a pleasure to ride a spaceship without having to astrogate," said roger. "i'll just sit back and take it easy. hope there are some good-looking space dolls aboard." tom turned to astro. "you know, astro," he said seriously, "it's a good thing we're along to take care of this romeo. if he were alone, he'd wind up in another kind of hunt." "i'd like to see how manning's tactics work on a female dasypus novemcinctur maximus," said astro with a sly grin. "a female what?" yelled roger. "a giant armadillo, roger," tom explained, laughing. "very big and very mean when they don't like you. don't forget, everything on venus grows big because of the lighter gravity." "yeah," drawled roger, looking at astro. "big and dumb!" "what was that again?" bellowed the giant venusian, reaching for the flip cadet. the next moment, roger was struggling futilely, feet kicking wildly as astro held him at arm's length six inches off the floor. the cadets in the car roared with laughter. "atom city!" a voice over the intercar communicator boomed and the boys looked out the window to see the towering buildings of atom city slowly slide by. the train had scarcely reached a full stop when the three cadets piled out of the door, raced up the slidestairs, and jumped into a jet cab. fifteen minutes later they marched up to one of the many ticket counters of the atom city interplanetary spaceport. "reservations for cadets corbett, manning, and astro on the _venus lark_, please," announced tom. the girl behind the counter ran her finger down a passenger manifest, nodded, and then suddenly frowned. she turned back to tom and said, "i'm sorry, cadet, but your reservations have been pre-empted by a priority listing." "priority!" roared roger. "but i made those reservations two weeks ago. if there was a change, why didn't you tell us before?" "i'm sorry, sir," said the girl patiently, "but according to the manifest, the priority call just came in a few hours ago. someone contacted space academy, but you had already left." "well, is there another ship for venusport today?" "yes," she replied and picked up another manifest. glancing at it quickly, she shook her head. "there are no open reservations," she said. "i'm afraid the next flight for venusport with open reservations isn't for four days." "blast my jets!" growled roger disgustedly. "four days!" he sat down on his gear and scowled. astro leaned against the desk and stared gloomily at the floor. at that moment a young man with a thin face and a strained intense look pushed tom to one side with a curt "excuse me!" and stepped up to the desk. "you're holding three reservations on the _venus lark_," he spoke quickly. "priority number four-seven-six, s.d." tom, roger, and astro looked at him closely. they saw him nervously pay for his tickets and then walk away quickly without another look at the ticket girl. "were those our seats, miss?" asked tom. the girl nodded. the three cadets stared after the young man who had bumped them off their ship. "the symbol s.d. on the priority stands for solar delegate," said roger. "maybe he's a messenger." the young man was joined by two other men also dressed in venusian clothing, and after a few words, they all turned and stepped onto the slidewalk rolling out to the giant passenger ship preparing to blast off. "this is the most rocket-blasting bit of luck in the universe!" growled roger. "four days!" "cheer up, roger," said tom. "we can spend the four days in atom city. maybe liddy tamal is here. we can follow captain strong's suggestion." "even she doesn't make four days delay sound exciting," interrupted roger. "come on. we might as well go back to town or we won't even get a room." he picked up his gear and walked back to the jet cab-stand. astro and tom followed the blond-haired cadet glumly. the stand was empty, but a jet cab was just pulling up to the platform with a passenger. as the boys walked over to wait at the door, it opened and a familiar figure in a black-and-gold uniform stepped out. "captain strong!" [illustration] "corbett!" exclaimed strong. "what are you doing here? i thought you were aboard the _venus lark_." "we were bumped out of our reservation by an s.d. priority," said astro. "and we can't get out of here for another four days," added roger glumly. strong sympathized. "that's rough, astro." he looked at the three dour faces and then said, "would you consider getting a free ride to venus?" the three cadets looked up hopefully. "major connel's taking the _polaris_ to venus to complete some work with professor higgleston in the venus lab," explained strong. "if you can get back to the academy before he blasts off, he might give you a ride." "no, thanks!" said roger. "i'd rather sit here." "wait a minute, roger," said tom. "we're on leave, remember? and it's only a short hop to venus." "yeah, hotshot," added astro. "we'll get to venus faster than the _venus lark_, and save money besides." "o.k.," said roger. "i guess i can take him for a little while." strong suppressed a smile. roger's reluctance to go with connel was well founded. any cadet within hailing distance of the hard-bitten spaceman was likely to wind up with a bookful of demerits. "are you on an assignment, sir?" asked tom. "vacation," said strong. "four weeks of fishing at commander walters' cabin at sweet water lakes." "if you pass through new chicago," said tom, "you would be welcome to stop in at my house. mom and dad would be mighty happy to meet you. and i think billy, my kid brother, would flip a rocket." "thank you, tom. i might do that if i have time." he looked at his watch. "you three had better hurry. i'd advise taking a jetcopter back to the academy. you might not make it if you wait for a monorail." "we'll do that, sir," said tom. the three boys threw their gear into the waiting cab and piled in. strong watched them roar away, frowning in thought. an s.d. priority, the highest priority in space, was used only by special couriers on important missions for one of the delegates. he shrugged it off. "getting to be as suspicious as an old space hen," he said to himself. "fishing is what i need. a good fight with a trout instead of a space conspiracy!" chapter 3 "blast off--minus--five--four--three--two--one--_zero_!" as the main drive rockets blasted into life, tom fell back in his seat before the control panel of the _polaris_ and felt the growing thrust as the giant ship lifted off the ground, accelerating rapidly. he kept his eyes on the teleceiver screen and saw space academy fall away behind them. on the power deck astro lay strapped in his acceleration cushion, his outstretched hand on the emergency booster rocket switch should the main rockets fail before the ship could reach the free fall of space. on the radar bridge roger watched the far-flung stars become brighter as the rocket ship hurtled through the dulling layers of the atmosphere. as soon as the ship reached weightless space, tom flipped on the gravity generators and put the _polaris_ on her course to venus. almost immediately the intercom began to blast. "now hear this!" major connel's voice roared. "corbett, manning, and astro! i don't want any of your space-blasted nonsense on this trip! get this ship to venusport in the shortest possible time without burning out the pump bearings. and, manning--!" "yes, sir," replied the blond-haired cadet. "if i so much as hear one wisecrack between you and that overgrown rocket jockey, astro, i'll log both of you twenty-five demerits!" "i understand, sir," acknowledged roger lazily. "i rather appreciate your relieving me of the necessity of speaking to that space ape!" listening to their voices on the control deck, tom grinned and waited expectantly. he wasn't disappointed. "ape!" came a bull-like roar from the power deck. "why, you skinny moth-eaten piece of space junk--" "cadet astro!" "yes, sir?" astro was suddenly meek. "if you say one more word, i'll bury you in demerits!" "but, sir--" "no _buts_!" roared connel. "and you, manning--!" "yes, sir?" chimed in roger innocently. "keep your mouth shut!" "very well, sir," said roger. "corbett?" "yes, sir?" "i'm putting you in charge of monitoring the intercom. if those two space idiots start jabbering again, call me. that's an order! i'll be in my quarters working." connel switched off abruptly. "you hear that, fellows?" said tom. "knock it off." "o.k., tom," replied roger, "just keep him out of my sight." "that goes for me, too," added astro. "ape! just wait till i--" "astro!" tom interrupted sharply. "o.k., o.k.," groaned the big cadet. glancing over the panel once more and satisfying himself that the ship was functioning smoothly, tom sighed and settled back in his seat, enjoying the temporary peace and solitude. it had been a tough year, filled with intensive study in the quest for an officer's commission in the solar guard. space academy was the finest school in the world, but it was also the toughest. the young cadet shook his head, remembering a six-weeks' grind he, roger, and astro had gone through on a nuclear project. knowing how to operate an atomic rocket motor was one thing, but understanding what went on inside the reactant pile was something else entirely. never had the three cadets worked harder, or more closely together. but astro's thorough, practical knowledge of basic nucleonics, combined with roger's native wizardry at higher mathematics, and his own understanding of the theory, had enabled them to pull through with a grade of seventy-two, the highest average ever made by a cadet unit not specializing in physics. as the ship rocketed smoothly through the airless void of space toward the misty planet of venus, tom made another quick but thorough check of the panel, and then returned to his reflections on the past term. it had been particularly difficult since they had missed many valuable hours of classroom work and study because of their adventure on the new colony of roald (as described in _the space pioneers_), but they had come through somehow. he shook his head wondering how they had made it. forty-two units had washed out during the term. instead of getting easier, the courses of study were getting more difficult all the time, and in his speech on the parade grounds, commander walters had promised-"emergency!" roger's voice over the intercom brought tom out of his reverie sharply. "all hands," continued the cadet on the radar bridge hurriedly, "secure your stations and get to the jet-boat deck on the double! emergency!" as the sharp clang of the emergency alarm rang out, tom did not stop to question roger's sudden order. neutralizing all controls, he leaped for the hatch leading below. taking the ladder four steps at a time, tom saw major connel tear out of his quarters. the elder spaceman dived for the ladder himself, not stopping to ask questions. he was automatic in his reliance on the judgment of others. the few seconds spent in talk could mean the difference between life and death in space where you seldom got a second chance. tom and connel arrived on the jet-boat deck to find astro already preparing the small space craft for launching. as they struggled into space suits, roger appeared. in answer to their questioning looks, he explained laconically, "unidentifiable object attached to ship on fin parallel to steering vanes. thought we'd better go outside first and examine later." connel nodded his mute agreement, and thirty seconds later the tiny jet boat was blasting out of the escape lock into space. circling around the ship to the stern, the jet boat, under major connel's sure touch, stopped fifty feet from the still glowing, exhaust tubes. he and the three cadets stared out at a small metallic boxlike object attached to the underside of the stabilizer fin. "what do you suppose it is?" asked astro. "i don't know," replied roger, "but it sure doesn't belong there. that's why i rang the emergency on you." "you were absolutely right, manning," asserted connel. "if it's harmless, we can always get back aboard and nothing's been lost except a little time." he rose from the pilot's seat and stepped toward the hatch. "come with me, corbett. we'll have a look. and bring the radiation counter along." "aye, aye, sir!" tom reached into a near-by locker, and pulling out a small, rectangular box with a round hornlike grid in its face, plunged out of the hatch with major connel and blasted across the fifty-foot gap to the stabilizer fin of the _polaris_. connel gestured toward the object on the fin. "see if she's hot, corbett." the young cadet pressed a small button on the counter and turned the horn toward the mysterious box. immediately the needle on the dial above the horn jumped from white to pink and finally red, quivering against the stop pin. "hot!" exclaimed tom. "she almost kicked the pin off!" "get off the ship!" roared connel. "it's a fission bomb with a time fuse!" tom dove at the box and tried to pull it off the stabilizer, but major connel grabbed him by the arm and wrenched him out into space. "you space-blasted idiot!" connel growled. "that thing's liable to go off any second! get away from here!" with a mighty shove, the spaceman sent tom flying out toward the jet boat and then jumped to safety himself. within seconds he and the young cadet were aboard the jet boat again and, not stopping to answer astro's or roger's questions, he jammed his foot down hard on the acceleration lever, sending the tiny ship blasting away from the _polaris_. not until they were two miles away from the stricken rocket ship did connel bring the craft to a stop. he turned and gazed helplessly at the gleaming hull of the _polaris_. "so they know," he said bitterly. "they're trying to stop me from even reaching venus." the three cadets looked at each other and then at the burly spaceman, bewilderment in their eyes. "what's this all about, sir?" roger finally asked. "i'm not at liberty to tell you, manning," replied connel. "though i want to thank you for your quick thinking. how did you happen to discover the bomb?" "i was sighting on regulus for a position check and regulus was dead astern, so when i swung the periscope scanner around, i spotted that thing stuck to the fin. i didn't bother to think about it, i just yelled." [illustration] "glad you did," nodded connel and turned to stare at the _polaris_ again. "now i'm afraid we'll just have to wait until that bomb goes off." "isn't there anything we can do?" asked tom. "not a blasted thing," replied connel grimly. "thank the universe we shut off all power. if that baby had blown while the reactant was feeding into the firing chambers, we'd have wound up a big splash of nothing." "this way," commented astro sourly, "it'll just blast a hole in the side of the ship." "we might be able to repair that," said tom hopefully. "there she goes!" shouted roger. [illustration] staring out the windshield, they saw a sudden blinding flash of light appear over the stern section of the _polaris_, a white-hot blaze of incandescence that made them flinch and crouch back. "by the craters of luna!" exclaimed connel. before their eyes they saw the stabilizer fin melt and curl under the intense heat of the bomb. there was no sound or shock wave in the vacuum of space, but they all shuddered as though an overwhelming force had swept over them. within seconds the flash was gone and the _polaris_ was drifting in the cold blackness of space! the only outward damage visible was the twisted stabilizer, but the boys realized that she must be a shambles within. "i guess we'll have to wait a while before we go back aboard. there might be radioactivity around the hull," roger remarked. "i don't think so," said tom. "the _polaris_ was still coasting when we left her. we cut out the drive rockets, but we didn't brake her. she's probably drifted away from the radioactivity already." "corbett's right," said connel. "a hot cloud would be a hundred miles away by now." he pressed down on the acceleration lever and the jet boat eased toward the ship. edging cautiously toward the stern of the spaceship, they saw the blasted section of the fin already cooling in the intense cold of outer space. "think i'd better call a solar guard patrol ship, sir?" asked roger. "let's wait until we check the damage, manning," replied connel. "yeah," chimed in astro grimly, "if i can help it, i'm going to bring the _polaris_ in." he paused and then added, "if i have to carry her on my back." as soon as a quick check with the radiation counter showed them that the hull was free of radioactivity, major connel and the three cadets re-entered the ship. while the lack of atmosphere outside had dissipated the full force of the blast, the effect on the inside of the ship, where earth's air pressure was maintained, was devastating. whole banks of delicate machinery were torn from the walls and scattered over the decks. the precision instruments of the inner hull showed no signs of leakage, and the oxygen-circulating machinery could still function on an auxiliary power hookup. completing the quick survey of the ship, major connel realized that they would never be able to continue their flight to venus and instructed roger to contact the nearest solar guard patrol ship to pick them up. "the _polaris_ will have to be left in space," continued connel, "and a maintenance crew will be sent out to see if she can be repaired. if they decide it isn't worth the labor, they'll junk her here in space." the faces of the three cadets fell. "but there's no real damage on her power deck, sir," said astro. "and the hull is in good shape, except for the stabilizer fin and some of the stern plates. why, sometimes a green earthworm unit will crack a fin on their first touchdown." "and the radar deck can be patched up easy, sir," spoke up roger. "with some new tubes and a few rolls of wire i could have her back in shape in no time." "that goes for the control deck, too!" said tom doggedly. then, after a quick glance at his unit mates, he faced connel squarely. "i think it goes without saying, sir, that we'd appreciate it very much if you could recommend that she be restored instead of junked." connel allowed himself a smile in the face of such obvious love for the ship. "you forget that to repair her out in space, the parts have to be hauled from venus. but i'll see what i can do. meantime, roger, see if you can't get that patrol ship to give us a lift to venusport. tell the c.o. i'm aboard and on urgent official business." "yes, sir," said roger. "and," continued the spaceman, noticing the downcast looks of tom and astro, "it wouldn't hurt if you two started repairing as much as you can. so when the maintenance crew arrives, they won't find her in such a mess." "yes, sir!" chorused the two cadets happily. connel returned to his quarters and sat down heavily in the remains of his bunk, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. somehow, word had gotten out that he was going to check on the secret organization on venus and someone had made a bold and desperate attempt to stop him before he could get started. it infuriated him to think that anyone would interrupt official business. as far as connel was concerned, nothing came before official business. and he was doubly furious at the danger to the three cadets, who had innocently hitched a ride on what was almost a death ship. someone was going to pay, connel vowed, clenching his huge fists--and pay dearly. [illustration] chapter 4 "_yeeooowww!_" roaring with jubilation and jumping high in the air at every other step, astro raced out of the gigantic maintenance hangar at the venusport spaceport and charged at his two unit mates waiting on the concrete apron. "everything's o.k.," he yelled, throwing his arms around them. "the _polaris_ is going to be brought in for full repairs! i just saw the audiograph report from the maintenance chief!" tom and roger broke into loud cheers and pounded each other on the back. "great jupiter," gasped roger, "i feel as though i've been sitting up with a sick friend!" "your friend's going to make a full recovery," asserted astro. "did you see major connel?" asked tom. "yeah," said astro. "i think he had a lot to do with it. i saw him talking to the head maintenance officer." "well, now that we've sweated the old girl through the crisis," asserted roger, "how's about us concentrating on our vacation?" "great," agreed tom. "this is your party, astro. lead the way." the three cadets left the spaceport in a jet cab and rode happily into the city of venusport. as they slid along the superhighway toward the first and largest of the venusian cities, astro pointed out the sights. like slim fingers of glass, the towering titan crystal buildings of the city arose before them, reaching above the misty atmosphere to catch the sunlight. "where do we get our safari gear, astro?" asked roger. "in the secondhand shops along spaceman's row," replied the big venusian. "we can get good equipment down there at half the price." the cab turned abruptly off the main highway and began twisting through a section of the city shunned by the average venusian citizen. spaceman's row had a long and unsavory history. for ten square blocks it was the hide-out and refuge of the underworld of space. the grimy stores and shadowy buildings supplied the needs of the countless shadowy figures who lived beyond the law and moved as silently as ghosts. leaving the jet cab, the three cadets walked along the streets, past the cheaply decorated store fronts and dingy hallways, until they finally came to a corner shop showing the universal symbol of the pawnshop: three golden balls. tom and roger looked at astro who nodded, and they stepped inside. the interior of the shop was filthy. rusted and worn space gear was piled in heaps along the walls and on dusty counters. an old-fashioned multiple neon light fixture cast an eerie blue glow over everything. roger grimaced as he looked around. "are you sure we're in the right place, astro?" tom winked. roger had a reputation for being fastidious. "this is it," nodded astro. "i know the old geezer that runs this place. nice guy. name's spike." he turned to the back of the shop and bawled, "hey, spike! customers!" out of the gloomy darkness a figure emerged slowly. "yeah?" the man stepped out into the pale light. he dragged one foot as he walked. "whaddaya want?" astro looked puzzled. "where's spike?" he asked. "doesn't spike freyer own this place?" "he died a couple months ago. i bought him out just before." the crippled man eyed the three cadets warily. "wanna buy something?" astro looked shocked. "spike, dead? what happened?" "how should i know," snarled the little man. "i bought him out and he died a few weeks later. now, you wanna buy something or not?" "we're looking for jungle gear," said tom, puzzled by the man's strange belligerence. "jungle gear?" the man's eyes widened. "going hunting?" "yeah," supplied roger. "we need complete outfits for three. but you don't look like you have them. let's go, fellas." he turned toward the door, anxious to get out into the open air. "just a minute! just a minute, cadet," said the proprietor eagerly. "i've got some fine hunting gear here! a little used, but you won't mind that! save you at least half on anything you'd buy up in the city." he started toward the back of the store and then paused. "where you going hunting?" "why?" asked tom. "so i'll know what kind of gear you need. light--heavy--kind of guns--" "jungle belt in the eastern hemisphere," supplied astro. "big game?" asked the man. "yeah. tyrannosaurus." "tyranno, eh?" nodded the little man. "well, now, you'll need heavy stuff for that. i'd say at least three heavy-duty paralo-ray pistols for side arms, and three shock rifles. then you'll need camping equipment, synthetics, and all the rest." he counted the items off on grubby little fingers. "let's take a look at the blasters," said tom. [illustration] "right this way," said the man. he turned and limped to the rear of the shop, followed by the three cadets. opening a large cabinet, he pulled out a heavy rifle, a shock gun that could knock out any living thing at a range of a thousand yards, and stun the largest animal at twice the distance. "this blaster will knock the scales off any tyranno that you hit," he said, handing the weapon over to tom who expertly broke it down and examined it. as tom checked the gun, the proprietor turned to the other cadets casually. "why would three cadets want to go into that section of the jungle belt?" "we just told you," said roger. "we're hunting tyranno." "uh, yes, of course." he turned away and pulled three heavy-duty paralo-ray pistols out of the cabinet. "now these ray guns are the finest money can buy. standard solar guard equipment...." "where did you get them?" demanded roger sharply. "well, you know how it is, cadet." the man laughed. "one way or another, we get a lot of gear. a man is discharged from the solar guard and he can keep his equipment, then he gets hard up for a few credits and so he comes to me." tom closed the shock rifle and turned to astro. "this gun is clean enough. think it can stop a tyranno, astro?" "sure," said the big cadet confidently. "easy." "o.k.," announced tom, turning back to the proprietor. "give us the rest of the stuff." "and watch your addition when you make out the bill," said roger blandly. "we can add, too." a half-hour later the three cadets stood in front of the shop with all the gear they would need and hailed a jet cab. they stowed their newly purchased equipment inside and started to climb in as astro announced, "spaceport, driver!" "huh?" roger paused. "why back there?" "how do you think we're going to get to the jungle belt?" asked astro. "walk?" "well, no, but--" "we have to rent a jet launch," said astro. "or try to buy a used one that we can sell back again. pile in, now!" as the cab shot away from the curb with the three cadets, the proprietor of the pawnshop stepped out of the doorway and watched it disappear, a puzzled frown on his face. quickly he re-entered the shop, and limping to a small locker in the rear, opened it, exposing the screen of a teleceiver. he flipped on the switch, tuned it carefully, and in a moment the screen glowed to life. "hello, this is the shop," called the little man. "lemme speak to lactu! this is urgent!" as he waited he stared out through the dirty window to the street where the cadets had been a moment before and he smiled thinly. * * * * * arriving at the spaceport, astro led his unit mates to a privately owned repair hangar and dry dock where wealthier venusian citizens kept their space yachts, jet-powered craft, and small runabouts. astro opened the door to the office with a bang, and a young girl, operating an automatic typewriter, looked up. "astro!" she cried. "how wonderful to see you!" "hiya, agnes," replied astro shyly. the big cadet was well known and liked at the repair hangar. his early life had been spent in and around the spaceport. first just listening to the stories of the older spacemen and running errands for them, then lending a helping hand wherever he could, and finally becoming a rigger and mechanic. this all preceded his years as an enlisted spaceman and his eventual appointment to space academy. his big heart and honesty, his wild enthusiasm for any kind of rocket power had won him many friends. "is mr. keene around?" asked astro. "he's with a customer right now," replied agnes. "he'll be out in a minute." her eyes swept past astro to tom and roger who were standing in the doorway. "who are your friends?" "oh, excuse me!" mumbled astro. "these are my unit mates, cadet corbett and cadet manning." before tom could acknowledge the introduction, roger stepped in front of him and sat on the edge of the desk. looking into her eyes, he announced, "tell you what, astro, you and tom go hunting. i've found all i could ever want to find right here. tell me, my little space pet, are you engaged for dinner tonight?" agnes looked back into his eyes innocently. "as a matter of fact i am." then, grinning mischievously, she added, "but don't let that stop you." "i wouldn't let a tyranno stop me," bragged the blond-haired cadet. "tell me who your previous engagement is with and i'll get rid of him in nothing flat!" the girl giggled and looked past roger. he turned to see a tall, solidly built man in coveralls scowling at him. "friend of yours, agnes?" the newcomer asked. "friend of astro's, roy," said agnes. "cadet manning, i'd like you to meet my brother, roy keene." roger jumped up and stuck out his hand. "oh--er--ah--how do you do, sir?" "quite well, cadet," replied keene gruffly, but with a slight twinkle in his eye. he turned to astro and gripped the big cadet's hand solidly. "well, astro, it's good to see you. how's everything going at space academy?" "swell, sir," replied astro, and after introducing tom and bringing keene up to date on his life history, he explained the purpose of their visit. "we're on summer leave, sir, and we'd like to go hunting tyrannosaurus. but what we need most right now is a jet boat. we'd like to rent one, or if you've got something cheap, we'd buy it." keene rubbed his chin. "i'm afraid i can't help you, astro. there's nothing available in the shop right now. i'd lend you my beetle, but one of the boys has it out on a three-day repair job." astro's face fell. "oh, that's too bad." he turned to tom and roger. "well, we could drop in from a stratosphere cruiser and then work our way back to the nearest colony in three or four weeks." "wait a minute!" exclaimed keene. "i've got an idea." he turned and called to a man standing on the other side of the hangar, studying a radar scanner for private yachts. "hey, rex, mind coming over here a minute." the man walked over. he was in his late thirties, tall and broad-shouldered, his hair was almost snow-white, contrasting sharply with his deeply tanned and handsome features. "this is the _polaris_ unit from space academy, rex," said keene. "boys, meet rex sinclair." after the introductions were completed, keene explained the cadets' situation. sinclair broke into a smile. "it would be a pleasure to have you three boys as my guests!" "guests!" exclaimed tom. sinclair nodded. "i have a plantation right on the edge of the jungle belt. things get pretty dull down there in the middle of the summer. i'd be honored if you'd use my home as a base of operations while you hunt for your tyrannosaurus. as a matter of fact, you'd be helping me out. those brutes destroy a lot of my crops and we have to go after them every three or four years." "well, thanks," said tom, "but we wouldn't want to impose. we'd be happy to pay you--" sinclair held up his hand. "wouldn't think of it. do you have your gear?" "yes, sir," replied astro. "arms, synthetics, the works. everything but transportation." "well, that's sitting out on the spaceport. that black space yacht on ramp three." sinclair smiled. "get your gear aboard and make yourselves at home. i'll be ready to blast off in half an hour." astro turned to keene. "thanks a lot, sir. it was swell of you to set us up this way." keene slapped him on the shoulder. "go on. have a good time." shaking hands all around and saying quick good-bys, the three boys hurried out to stow their gear aboard sinclair's luxurious space yacht. while roger and tom relaxed in the comfortable main cabin, astro hurried below to inspect the power deck. roger laughed as the big cadet disappeared down the hatch. "that guy would rather play with a rocket tube than do anything else in the universe!" "yes," said tom. "he's a real lucky guy." "how?" "ever meet anyone that didn't love that big hick?" "nope," said roger with a sly grin. "and that goes for me too! but don't you ever tell him!" * * * * * major connel had been waiting to see the solar alliance delegate from venus for three hours. and major connel didn't like to wait for anyone or anything. he had read every magazine in the lavish outer office atop the solar guard building in downtown venusport, drunk ten glasses of water, and was now wearing a path in the rug as he paced back and forth in front of the secretary who watched him shyly. the buzzer on the desk finally broke the silence and the girl answered quickly as connel stopped and glared at her expectantly. she listened for a second, then replacing the receiver, turned to the seething solar guard officer and smiled sweetly. "delegate james will see you now, major." "thank you," said connel gruffly, trying hard not to take his impatience out on the pretty girl. he stepped toward an apparently solid wall that suddenly slid back as he passed a light beam and entered the spacious office of e. philips james, venusian delegate to the grand council of the solar alliance. e. philips james was a small man, with small hands that were moving nervously all the time. his head was a little too large for his narrow body that was clothed in the latest fashion, and his tiny black mustache was carefully trimmed. as connel stalked into the room, james bounced out of his chair to meet him, smiling warmly. "major connel! how delightful to see you again," he said, extending a perfumed hand. "you could have seen me a lot sooner," growled connel. "i've been sitting outside for over three hours!" james lifted one eyebrow and sat down without making any comment. a true diplomat, e. philips james never said anything unless it was absolutely necessary. and when he spoke, he never really said very much. he sat back and waited patiently for connel to cool off and get to the point of his call. in typical fashion, connel jumped to it without any idle conversational prologue. "i'm here on a security assignment. i need confidential information." "just one moment, major," said james. he flipped open his desk intercom and called to his secretary outside. "record this conversation, please." "record!" roared connel. "i just told you this was secret!" "it will be secret, major," assured james softly. "the record will go into the confidential files of the alliance for future reference. a precaution, major. standard procedure. please go on." connel hesitated, and then, shrugging his shoulders, continued, "i want to know everything you know about an organization here on venus known as the venusian nationalists." james's expression changed slightly. "specific information, major? or just random bits of gossip?" "no rocket wash, mr. james. information. everything you know!" "i don't know why you've come to me," replied james, visibly annoyed at the directness of the rough spaceman. "i know really very little." "i'm working under direct orders of commander walters," said connel grimly, "who is also a delegate to the solar council. his position as head of the solar guard is equal to yours in every respect. this request comes from his office, not out of my personal curiosity." "ah, yes, of course, major," replied james. "of course." the delegate rose and walked over to the window, seemingly trying to collect his thoughts. after a moment he turned back. "major, the organization you speak of is, so far as i know, an innocent group of venusian farmers and frontier people who meet regularly to exchange information about crops, prices, and the latest farming methods. you see, major"--james's voice took on a slightly singsong tone, as though he were making a speech--"venus is a young planet, a vast new world, with venusport the only large metropolis and cultural center. out in the wilderness, there are great tracts of cultivated land that supply food to the planets of the solar alliance and her satellites. we are becoming the breadbasket of the universe, you might say." james smiled at connel, who did not return the smile. "great distances separate these plantations," continued james. "life is hard and lonely for the venusian plantation owner. the venusian nationalists are, to my knowledge, no more than a group of landowners who have gotten together and formed a club, a fraternity. it's true they speak the venusian dialect, these groups have taken names from the old venusian explorers, but i hardly think it is worth while investigating." "do they have a headquarters?" connel asked. "a central meeting place?" "so far as i know, they don't. but al sharkey, the owner of the largest plantation on venus, is the president of the organization. he's a very amiable fellow. why don't you talk to him?" "al sharkey, eh?" connel made a mental note of the name. "and there's rex sinclair, a rather stubborn individualist who wrote to me recently complaining that he was being pressured into joining the organization." "what kind of pressure?" asked connel sharply. james held up his hand. "don't get me wrong, major. there was no violence." the delegate suddenly became very businesslike. "i'm afraid that's all the information i can give you, major." he offered his hand. "so nice to see you again. please don't hesitate to call on me again for any assistance you feel we can give you." "thank you, mr. james," said connel gruffly and left the office, a frown creasing his forehead. being a straightforward person himself, major connel could not understand why anyone would hesitate about answering a direct question. he didn't for a moment consider the delegate anything but an intelligent man. it was the rocket wash that went with being a diplomat that annoyed the ramrod spaceman. he shrugged it off. perhaps he would find out something from al sharkey or the other plantation owner, rex sinclair. when he crossed the slidewalk and waited at the curb for a jet cab, connel suddenly paused and looked around. he felt a strange excitement in the air--a kind of tension. the faces of passing pedestrians seemed strained, intense, their eyes were glowing, as though they all were in on some huge secret. he saw groups of men and women sitting in open sidewalk cafã©s, leaning over the table to talk to each other, their voices low and guarded. connel shivered. he didn't like it. something was happening on venus and he had to find out what it was before it was too late. [illustration] chapter 5 "wow!" exclaimed roger. "jumping jupiter!" commented tom. "blast my jets!" roared astro. rex sinclair smiled as he maneuvered the sleek black space yacht in a tight circle a thousand feet above the titan crystal roof of his luxurious home in the heart of the wild venusian jungle. "she's built out of venusian teak," said sinclair. "everything but the roof. i wanted to keep the feeling of the jungle around me, so i used the trees right out of the jungle there." he pointed to the sea of dense tropical growth that surrounded the house and cleared land. the ship nosed up for a thousand yards and then eased back, smoothly braked, to a concrete ramp a thousand yards from the house. the touchdown was as gentle as a falling leaf, and when sinclair opened the air lock, a tall man in worn but clean fatigues was waiting for them. "howdy, mr. sinclair," he called, a smile on his lined, weather-beaten face. "have a good trip?" "fine trip, george," replied sinclair, climbing out of the ship. "i want you to meet some friends of mine. space cadets tom corbett, roger manning, and astro. they're going to stay with us during their summer leave while they hunt for tyranno. boys, this is my foreman, george hill." the boys shook hands with the thick-set, muscular man, who smiled broadly. "glad to meet you, boys. always wanted to talk to someone from the academy. wanted to go there myself but couldn't pass the physical. bad eyes." reaching into the ship, he began lifting out their equipment. "you chaps go on up to the house now," he said. "i'll take care of your gear." with sinclair leading the way, the boys slowly walked up a flagstone path toward the house, and they had their first chance to see a venusian plantation home at close range. the sinclair house stood in the middle of a clearing more than five thousand yards square. at the edges, like a solid wall of green vegetation, the venusian jungle rose more than two hundred feet. it was noon and the heat was stifling. they were twenty-six million miles closer to the sun, and on the equator of the misty planet. while astro, george, and sinclair didn't seem to mind the temperature, tom and roger were finding it unbearable. "can you imagine what it'll be like in the house with that crystal roof!" whispered roger. "i'll bet," replied tom. "but as soon as the sun drops out of the zenith, it should cool off some." when the group stepped up onto the porch, two house servants met them and took their gear. then sinclair and the foreman ushered the cadets inside. they were surprised to feel a distinct drop in temperature. "your cooling unit must be pretty large, mr. sinclair," commented tom, looking up at the crystal roof where the sun was clearly visible. sinclair smiled. "that's special crystal, mined on titan at a depth of ten thousand feet. it's tinted, and shuts out the heat and glare of the sun." george then left to lay out their gear for their first hunt the next morning, and sinclair took them on a tour of the house. they walked through long corridors looking into all the rooms, eventually winding up in the kitchen, and the three boys marveled at the simplicity yet absolute perfection of the place. every modern convenience was at hand for the occupant's comfort. when the sun had dropped a little, they all put on sunglasses with glareproof eye shields and walked around the plantation. sinclair showed them his prize-winning stock and the vast fields of crops. aside from the main house, there were only four other buildings in the clearing. they visited the smallest, a cowshed. "where do your field hands live, mr. sinclair?" asked tom, as they walked through the modern, spotless, milking room. "i don't have any," replied the planter. "do most of the work with machinery, and george and the houseboys do what has to be done by hand." as they left the shed and started back toward the main house they came abreast of a small wooden structure. thinking they were headed there, roger started to open the door. "close that door!" snapped sinclair. roger jerked back. astro and tom looked at the planter, startled by the sharpness in his voice. sinclair smiled and explained, "we keep some experiments on different kinds of plants in there at special low temperatures. you might have let in hot air and ruined something." "i'm sorry, sir," said roger. "i didn't know." "forget it," replied the planter. "well, let's get back to the house. we're having an early dinner. you boys have to get started at four o'clock in the morning." "four o'clock!" exclaimed roger. "why?" asked tom. "we have to go deep into the thicket," astro explained, using the local term for the jungle, "so that at high noon we can make camp and take a break. you can't move out there at noon. it gets so hot you'd fall on your face after fifteen minutes of fighting the creepers." "everything stops at noon," added sinclair. "even the tyrannosaurus. you have to do your traveling in the cool of the day, early and late. six hours or so will take you far enough away from the plantation to find tracks, if there are any." "tell me, mr. sinclair," asked roger suddenly, "is this the whole plantation?" he spread his hands in a wide arc, taking in the clearing to the edge of the jungle. sinclair grinned. "roger, it'd take a man two weeks to go from one corner of my property to another. this is just where i live. three years ago i had five hundred square miles under cultivation." back in the house, they found george setting the table on the porch and his wife busy in the kitchen. mrs. hill was a stout woman, with a pleasant face and a ready smile. with very little ceremony, the cadets, sinclair, george, and his wife sat down to eat. the food was simple fare, but the sure touch of mrs. hill's cooking and the free use of delicate venusian jungle spices added exotic flavor, new but immensely satisfying to the three hungry boys, a satisfaction they demonstrated by cleaning their plates quickly and coming back for second helpings. astro, of course, was not happy until he had polished off his fourth round. mrs. hill beamed with pleasure at their unspoken compliment to her cooking. after the meal, mrs. hill stacked the dishes and put them into a small carrier concealed in the wall. pressing a button, near the opening, she explained, "that dingus takes them to the sink, washes them, dries them, and puts everything in its right place. that's the kind of modern living i like!" as the sun dropped behind the wall of the jungle and the sky darkened, they all relaxed. sinclair and george smoked contentedly, mrs. hill brought out some needle point, and the three cadets rested in comfortable contour chairs. they chatted idly, stopping only to listen to the wild calls of birds and animals out in the jungle as george, or sinclair, identified them all. george told of his experiences on tyrannosaurus hunts, and astro described his method of hunting as a boy. "i was a big kid," he explained. "and since the only way of earning a living was by working, i found i could combine business with pleasure. i used to hitch rides over the belt and parachute in to hunt for baby tyrannos." he grinned and added, "when i think back, i wonder how i ever stayed in one piece." "land sakes!" exclaimed mrs. hill. "it's a wonder you weren't eaten alive! those tyrannos are horrible things." "i was almost a meal once," confessed astro sheepishly, and at the urging of the others he described the incident that had cured him of hunting alone in the jungles of venus with only a low-powered shock blaster. "if i didn't get it at the base of the brain where the nerve centers aren't so well protected with the first shot, i was in trouble," he said. "i took a lot of chances, but was careful not to tangle with a mama or papa tyrannosaurus. i'd stalk the young ones. i'd wait for him to feed and then let him have it. if i was lucky, i'd get him with one shot, but most of the time i'd just stun him and have to finish him off with a second blast. then i'd skin him, take the hams and shoulders, and get out of there fast before the wild dogs got wind of the blood. i'd usually hunt pretty close to a settlement where i could get the meat frozen. after that, i'd just have to call a couple of the big restaurants in venusport and get the best price. i used to make as much as fifty credits on one kill." "how would you get the meat to venusport?" asked roger, who, for all his braggadocio, was awed by his unit mate's calm bravery and skill as a hunter. "the restaurant that bought it would send a jet boat out for it and i'd ride back with it. after a while the restaurant owners got to know me and would give me regular orders. i was trying to fill a special order on that last hunt." "what happened?" asked tom, equally impressed with astro's life as a boy hunter. "i had just about finished hunting in a section near a little settlement on the other side of venus," began the big cadet, "but i thought there might be one more five-hundred-pound baby around, so i dropped in." astro paused and grinned. "i didn't find a baby, i found his mother! she must have weighed twenty-five or thirty tons. biggest tyranno i've ever seen. she spotted me the same time i saw her and i didn't even stop to fire. i never could have dented her hide. i started running and she came after me. i made it to a cave and went as far back inside as i could. she stuck her head in after me, and by the craters of luna, she was only about three feet away, with me backed up against a wall. she tried to get farther in, opened her mouth, and snapped and roared like twenty rocket cruisers going off at once." [illustration: "_she tried to get farther into the cave._"] tom gulped and roger's eyes widened. "i figured there was only one thing to do," continued astro. "use the blaster, even though it couldn't do much damage. i let her have one right in the eye!" astro shook his head and laughed. "you should have seen her pull her head out of that cave! i couldn't sleep for months after that. i used to dream that she was sticking her head in my window, always getting closer." "did the blaster do any damage at all?" asked sinclair. "oh, yes, sir," said astro. "i was close enough for the heat charge from the muzzle to get her on the side of the head. nothing fatal, but she's probably still out there in the jungle more ugly than ever with half a face." the group fell silent, each thinking of how he would have reacted under similar conditions; each silently thankful that it hadn't happened to him. finally mrs. hill rose and said good night, and george excused himself to take a last look at the stock. remembering their early call for the next morning, the cadets said good night to sinclair and retired to their comfortable rooms. in bed at last, each boy stretched full length on his bed and in no time was sound asleep. it was still dark, an hour and a half before the sun would burst over the top of the jungle, when sinclair went to the cadets' room to rouse them. he found them already up and dressed in their jungle garb. each boy was wearing skin-tight trousers and jerseys made of double strength space-suit cloth and colored a dark moldy green. a hunter dressed in this manner and standing still could not be seen at twenty paces. the snug fit of the suit was protection against thorns and snags that could find no hold on the hard, smooth-surfaced material. after a hearty breakfast the three cadets collected their gear, the paralo-ray pistols, the shock rifles, and the small shoulder packs of synthetic food and camping equipment. each boy also carried a two-foot jungle knife with a compass inlaid in the handle. a helmet of clear plastic with a small mesh-covered opening in the face covered each boy's head. dressed as they were, they could walk through the worst part of the jungles and not get so much as a scratch. "well," commented sinclair, looking them over, "i guess you boys have everything. i'd hate to be the tyranno that crosses your path!" the boys grinned. "thanks for everything, sir," said tom. "you've been a lot of help." "think nothing of it, tom. just bring back a pair of tyranno scalps!" "where are mr. and mrs. hill?" asked astro. "we'd like to say good-by to them." "they left before you got up," replied sinclair. "they're taking a few days off for a visit to venusport." the boys pulled on their jungle boots. knee-length and paper-thin, they were nonetheless unpenetrable even if the boys should step on one of the needle-sharp ground thorns. they waved a last good-by to their host, standing on the steps of the big house, and moved across the clearing to the edge of the jungle wall. as the cadets approached the thick tangle of vines, the calls and rustling noises from the many crawling things hidden in the forbidding thicket slowly died down. they walked along the edge of the tangle of jungle creepers until they found an opening and stepped through. [illustration: _they were completely surrounded by the jungle_] after walking only ten feet they were completely surrounded by the jungle and could not even see the clearing they had just left. it was dark, the network of vines, the thick tree trunks and rank growing vegetation shutting out the sun, leaving the interior of the jungle strangely plunged in gloom. astro moved ahead, followed by roger, with tom bringing up the rear. they followed the path they had entered, as far as it went, and then began cutting their way through the underbrush, stopping only to cut notches in the trees to mark their passage. their long-bladed knives slicing through vines and brush easily, tom, roger, and astro hacked their way deeper and deeper into the mysterious and suffocating green world. [illustration] chapter 6 "i guess that's the sharkey place over there," mumbled major connel to himself, banking his jet launch over the green jungles and pointing the speedy little craft's nose toward the clearing in the distance. the solar guard officer wrenched the scout around violently in his approach. he was still boiling over the venusian delegate's indifference toward his mission. the launch skimmed the jungle treetops and glided to a perfect stop near the largest of a group of farm buildings. cutting the motors, connel sat and waited for someone to appear. he sat there for ten minutes but no one came out to greet him. finally he climbed out of the launch and stood by the hatch, peering intently at the buildings around him, his eyes squinting against the glare of the fiery sun overhead. the plantation seemed deserted. reaching back into the launch and pulling out a paralo-ray gun, he strapped its reassuring bulk to his side and stepped toward the building that was obviously the main house. nothing else moved in the hot noon sun. as he strode purposefully toward the house, eyes alert for any sign of life, he thought for a moment everyone might be taking a midday nap. many of the venusian colonists adapted the age-old custom of the tropics to escape the intense heat of midday. but he dismissed the thought immediately, realizing that his approach in the jet would have awakened the deepest of sleepers. entering the house, he stopped in the spacious front hall and called: "hello! anybody home? halloo!" the only answer was the echo of his own voice, vibrating through the large rooms. "funny," muttered the spaceman. "why is this place deserted?" he walked slowly through the house, opening doors and looking into all the rooms, searching the whole place thoroughly before returning to the clearing. going to the nearest of the outbuildings, he opened one of the wide doors and stared into the gloomy interior. with his experienced eye he saw immediately that the building had been used to house a large jet craft. there was the slightly pungent odor of jet fuel, and on the floor the tire marks of a dolly used to roll the craft out to the launching strip. he followed the tracks outside and around to the side of the building where he saw the dolly. it was empty. shaking his head grimly, connel made a quick tour of the remaining buildings. they were all deserted but the last one, which seemed to be built a little more sturdily than the others. unlike the others, it was locked. he looked for a window and discovered that the walls were solid. there were no openings except the locked door. he hesitated in front of the door, looking down at the ground for a sign of what might have been stored in the building. the surrounding area revealed no tracks. he pulled out a thick-bladed pocketknife and stepped to the lock, then suddenly stopped and grinned. "great," he said to himself. "a solar guard officer about to break into private property without a warrant. fine thing to have known back at the academy!" he turned abruptly and strode back to the scout. climbing into the craft, he picked up the audioscriber microphone and recorded a brief message. removing the threadlike tape from the machine, he returned to the house and left it on the spool of the audioscribe-replay machine near the front door. a few moments later the eerie silence of the sharkey plantation was once again shattered by the hissing roar of jets as the launch took off and climbed rapidly over the jungle. air-borne, connel glanced briefly at a chart, changed course, and sent the launch hurtling at full speed across the jungle toward the sinclair plantation. * * * * * "how far do you think we've come?" asked tom sleepily. astro yawned and stretched before answering. "i'd say about fifteen miles, tom." "seems more like a hundred and fifteen," moaned roger who was sprawled on the ground. "i ache all over. start at the top of my head and work down, and you won't find one square inch that isn't sore." tom grinned. he was tired himself, but the three-day march through the jungle had been three of the most exciting days in his life. coming from a large city where he had to travel two hours by monorail to get to open green country, the curly-haired cadet found this passage through the wildest jungle in the solar system new and fascinating. he had seen flowers of every color in the spectrum, some as large as himself; giant shrubs with leaves so fine that they looked like spider webs; venusian teakwood trees fifty to a hundred feet thick at the base with some twisted into strange spirals as their trunks, shaded by another larger tree, sought a clear avenue to the sun. there were bushes that grew thorns three inches long, hard as steel and thin as needles; jungle creepers, vines two and three feet thick, twisting around tree trunks and strangling them. he saw animals too, all double the size of anything on earth because of the lighter venusian gravity; insects the size of rats, rats the size of dogs, and wild dogs the size of ponies. up in the trees, small anthropoids, cousins to the monkeys of earth, scampered from limb to limb, screaming at the invaders of their jungle home. smooth-furred animals that looked like deer, their horns curling overhead, scampered about the cadets like puppies, nuzzling them, nipping at their heels playfully, and barking as though in laughter when astro roared at them for getting in the way. but there were dangerous creatures in the jungle too; the beautiful but deadly poisonous brush snakes that lurked unseen in the varicolored foliage, striking out at anything that passed; animals resembling chipmunks with enlarged razor-sharp fangs, whose craving for raw meat was so great that they would attack an animal ten times its size; lizards the size of elephants with scales like armor plate that rooted in swampy ground for their food, but which would attack any intruder, charging with amazing speed, their three horns poised; and, finally, there were the monsters of venus--giant beasts whose weights were measured in tons, ruled over by the most horrible of them all--the tyrannosaurus. fights to death between the jungle creatures were common sights for the boys during their march. they saw a weird soundless fight between a forty-foot snake and a giant vulture with talons nearly two feet across and a beak resembling a mammoth nutcracker. the vulture won, methodically cutting the reptile's body into sections, its beak slicing through the snake as easily as a knife going through butter. more than once astro spotted a dangerous creature, and telling roger and tom to stand back, he would level his shock rifle and blast it. so far they had seen nothing of their prey--the tyrannosaurus. tracks around the steaming swamps were as close as they had come. once, late in the evening of the second day they caught a fleeting glimpse of a plant-eating brontosaurus lumbering through the brush. all three of the boys had found it difficult to sleep in the jungle. the first two nights they had taken turns at staying on guard and tending the campfire. nothing had bothered them, and on the third night out, they decided the fire would be enough to scare off the jungle animals. it was risky, but the continual fight through the jungle underbrush had tired the three boys to the bone and the few hours they stood guard were sorely missed the next day, so they decided to chance it. roger was already asleep. astro had just finished checking his rifle to be ready for instant fire, when tom threw the last log on the campfire and crawled into his sleeping bag. "think it'll be all right, astro?" asked tom. "i'm not anxious to wake up inside one of these critter's stomachs." "most of them have never seen fire, tom," astro said reassuringly. "it scares them. besides, we're getting close to the big stuff now. you might see a tyranno or a big bronto any time. and if they come along, you'll hear 'em, believe me. they're about as quiet as a squadron of cruisers on battle emergency blasting off from the academy in the middle of the night!" "o.k.," replied tom. "you're the hunter in this crew." suddenly he laughed. "you know i really got a bang out of the way roger jumped back from that waddling ground bird yesterday." astro grinned. "yeah, the one thing in this place that's as ferocious as a kitten and he pulls his ray gun like an ancient cowboy!" a very tired voice spoke up from the other sleeping bag. "is that so! well, when you two brave men came face to face with that baby lizard on a tree root, you were ready to finish your leave in atom city!" roger unzipped the end of the bag, stuck his blond head out, and gave his unit mates a sour look. "sack in, will you? your rocket wash is keeping me awake!" laughing, astro and tom nodded good night to each other and closed their sleeping bags. the jungle was still, the only movement being the leaping tongues of flame from the campfire. an hour later it began to rain, a light drizzle at first that increased until it reached the steady pounding of a tropical downpour. tom awoke first, opening the flap of his sleeping bag only to get his face full of slimy water that spilled in. spluttering and coughing he sat up and saw that the campfire was out and the campsite was already six inches deep in water. "roger, astro!" he called and slapped the nearest sleeping bag. astro opened the flap a little and peered out sleepily. instantly he rolled out of the bag and jumped to his feet. "wake roger up!" he snapped. "we've got to get out of here!" "what's the matter?" roger mumbled through the bag, not opening it. "why the excitement over a little rain?" "the fire's out, hotshot," said astro. "it's as dark as the inside of a cow's number-four belly. we've got to move!" "why?" asked tom, not understanding the big cadet's sudden nervous excitement. "what's the matter with staying right where we are? why go trooping around in the dark?" "we can't light a fire anywhere," added roger, finally sticking his head out of his sleeping bag. "we've got to get on high ground!" said astro, hurriedly packing the camping equipment. "we're in a hollow here. the rain really comes down on venus, and in another hour this place will be a pond!" sensing the urgency in astro's voice, roger began packing up his equipment and in a few moments the three boys had their gear slung over their shoulders and were slogging through water already knee-deep. "i still don't see why we have to go tracking through the jungle in the middle of the night," grumbled roger. "we could climb up a tree and wait out the storm." "you'd have to wait long after the rain stops," replied astro. "there is one thing in this place nothing ever gets enough of, and that's water. animals know it and hang around all the water holes. if a small animal tries to get a drink, he more than likely winds up in something's stomach. when it rains like this, hollows fill up like the one we just left, and everything within running, hopping, and crawling distance heads for it to get a bellyful of water. in another hour our camp will be like something out of a nightmare, with every animal in the jungle coming down for a drink and starting to fight one another." "then if we stayed there--" roger stopped. "we'd be in the middle of it," said astro grimly. "we wouldn't last two minutes." walking single file, with astro in the lead, followed by roger and then tom, they stumbled through the pitch-black darkness. astro refused to shine a light, for fear of being attacked by a desperate animal, more eager for water than afraid of the light. they carried their shock blasters cocked and ready to fire. the rain continued, increasing in fury until they were enveloped in a nearly solid wall of water. in a little while the floor of the jungle became one continuous mudhole, with each step taking them ankle-deep into the sucking mud. their climb was uphill, and the water from above increased, washing down around them in torrents. more than once one of the cadets fell, gasping for breath, into the dirty water, only to be jerked back to more solid footing by the other two. stumbling, their hands groping wildly in the dark, they pushed forward. they were reaching higher ground when astro stopped suddenly. "listen!" he whispered hoarsely. the boys stood still, the rain pounding down on their plastic headgear, holding rifles ready and straining their ears for some sound other than the drumming of rain. "i don't hear anything," said roger. "_shhh!_" hissed astro. they waited, and then from a distance they heard the faint crashing of underbrush. gradually it became more distinct until there was no mistaking its source. a large monster was moving through the jungle near them! "what is it?" asked tom, trying to keep his voice calm. "a big one," said astro. "a real big one. and i think it's heading this way!" "by the craters of luna!" gasped roger. "what do we do?" "we either run, or stay here and try to blast it." "whatever you say, astro," said roger. "you're the boss." "same here," said tom. "call it." astro did not answer right away. he strained his ears, listening to the movements of the advancing monster, trying to ascertain the exact direction the beast was taking. the noise became more violent, the crashing more sharply defined as small trees were crushed to the ground. "if only i knew exactly what it is!" said astro desperately. "if it's a tyranno, it walks on its hind legs and has its head way up in the trees, and could pass within ten feet of us and not see us. but if it's a bronto, it has a long snakelike neck that he pokes all around and he wouldn't miss us at a hundred feet!" "make up your mind quick, big boy," said roger. "if that thing gets any closer, i'm opening up with this blaster. he might eat me, but i'll sure make his teeth rattle first!" the ground began to shake as the approaching monster came nearer. astro remained still, ears straining for some sound to indicate exactly what was crashing down on them. above them, the shrill scream of an anthropoid suddenly pierced the dark night as its tree home was sent crashing to the ground. there was a growing roar and the crashing stopped momentarily. "let's get out of here," said astro tensely. "that's a tyranno, but he's down on all fours now, looking for that monkey! keep together and make as little noise as you can. no talking. keep your blasters and emergency lights ready. if he discovers us, you shine the light on his face roger, and tom and i will shoot. o.k.?" tom and roger agreed. "all right," said astro, "let's go--and spaceman's luck!" chapter 7 "what can i do for you, officer?" connel heaved his bulk out of the jet launch and looked hard at the man standing in front of him. "you rex sinclair?" sinclair nodded. "that's right." connel offered his hand. "major connel, solar guard." "glad to meet you," replied the planter, gripping the spaceman's hand. "have something to cool you off." "thanks," said connel. "i can use it. whew! must be at least one twenty in the shade." sinclair chuckled. "this way, major." they didn't say anything more until connel was resting comfortably in a deep chair, admiring the crystal roof of sinclair's house. after a pleasant exchange about crops and problems of farming on venus, the gruff spaceman squared his back and stared straight at his host. "mr. james, the solar delegate, told me you've resisted pressure to join the venusian nationalists." sinclair's expression changed slightly. his eyebrows lifting quizzically. "why--yes, that's true." "i'd like you to tell me what you know about the organization." "i see," mused sinclair. "is that an order?" he added, chuckling. "that's a request. i'd like to learn as much about the nationalists as possible." "for what purpose?" connel paused and then said casually, "a spot check. the solar guard likes to keep its eyes open for trouble." "trouble?" exclaimed sinclair. "you're not serious!" connel nodded his head. "it's probably nothing but a club. however, i'd like to get some facts on it." "have you spoken to anyone else?" asked sinclair. "i just came from the sharkey plantation. it's deserted. not a soul around. i'll drop back by there before i return to venusport." connel paused and looked squarely at sinclair. "well?" "i don't know much about them, major," replied the planter. "it always seemed to me nothing more than a group of planters getting together--" connel cut him off. "possibly, but why didn't you join?" "well--" "aren't all your friends in it?" "yes, but i just don't have time. i have a big place, and there's only me and my foreman and housekeeper now. all the field hands left some time ago." "where'd they go?" "venusport, i guess. can't get people to farm these days." "all right, mr. sinclair," declared connel, "let's lay our cards on the table. i know how you must feel talking about your friends, but this is really important. vitally important to every citizen in the solar alliance. suppose the nationalists were really a tight organization with a purpose--a purpose of making venus independent of the solar alliance. if they succeeded, if venus did break away, mercury might follow, then mars--the whole system fall apart--break up into independent states. and when that happens, there's trouble--customs barriers, jealousies, individual armies and navies, and then, ultimately, a space war. it's more than just friendship, sinclair, it's the smallest crack in the solid front of the solar alliance, but it's a crack that _can_ be opened further if we don't stop it now." sinclair was impressed. "very well, major, i'll tell you everything i know about them. and you're right, it is hard to talk about your friends. i've grown up here in the venusian jungle. i helped my father clear this land where the house is built. most of the men in the nationalists are friends of mine, but"--he sighed--"you're right, i can't allow this to happen to the solar alliance." "allow what to happen?" asked connel. "just what you said, about venus becoming an independent state." "tell me all you know," said connel. "the group began to form about three years ago. al sharkey came over here one night and said a group of the planters were getting together every so often to exchange information about crops and farming conditions. i went a few times, we all did, on this part of venus. at first it was fun. we even had picnics and barn dances every three or four weeks. then one night someone suggested we come dressed in old costumes--the type worn by our forefathers who founded venus." connel nodded. "well, one thing led to another," continued sinclair. "they started talking about the great history of our planet, and complaining about paying taxes to support the solar alliance. instead of opening up new colonies like the one out on pluto, we should develop our own planet. we stopped dancing, the women stopped coming, and then one night we elected a president. al sharkey. the first thing he did was order all members to attend meetings in the dress of our forefathers. he gave the organization a name, the venusian nationalists. right after that, i stopped going. i got tired of listening to speeches about the wonderful planet we live on, and how terrible it was to be governed by men on earth, millions of miles away." "didn't they consider that they had equal representation in the solar alliance chamber?" asked connel. "no, major. there wasn't anything you could say to any of them. if you tried to reason with them, they called you a--a--" sinclair stopped and turned away. "what did they call you?" demanded connel, getting madder by the minute. "anyone that disagreed with them was called an earthling." "and you disagreed?" asked connel. "i quit," said sinclair stoutly. "and right after that, i started losing livestock. i found them dead in the pens, poisoned. and some of my crops were burned." "did you protest to the solar guard?" "of course, but there wasn't any proof any one of my neighbors had done it. they don't bother me any more, but they don't speak to me either. it's as though i had a horrible disease. there hasn't been a guest in this house in nearly two years. three space cadets are the first visitors here since i quit the organization." "space cadets?" connel looked at the planter quizzically. "yes, nice young chaps. corbett, manning, and a big fellow named astro. they're out in the jungle now hunting for tyrannosaurus. i met them through a friend in venusport and invited them to use my house as a base of operations. do you know them?" connel nodded. "very well. finest cadet unit at the academy. how long have they been in the jungle?" "about four and a half days now." "hope they get themselves a tyranno. but at the same time"--connel couldn't help chuckling--"if they do, space academy will never hear the end of it!" suddenly the hot wilting silence around the house was shattered by a thunderous roar. connel jumped up, followed sinclair to the window, and stared out over the clearing. they saw what appeared to be a well-organized squadron of jet boats come in for a landing with near military precision. the doors opened quickly and men poured out onto the dusty field. they were dressed alike in coveralls with short quarter-length space boots and round plastic crash helmets. each man carried a paralo-ray gun strapped to his hips. the uniforms were a brilliant green, with a white band across the chest. the men formed ranks, waited for a command from a man dressed in darker green, and then marched up toward the house. "by the craters of luna!" roared connel. "who are they?" "the nationalists!" cried sinclair. "they threatened to burn down my house and destroy my farm if i wrote that letter to the delegate. they've come to carry out their threat!" connel pulled the paralo-ray gun from his hip and gripped it firmly. "do you want those men in your house?" he asked sinclair. "no--no, of course not!" "then you have solar guard protection." "how--?" sinclair asked. "there are no solar guardsmen around here!" "what in blazes do you think i am, man!" roared connel as he lunged for the door and stepped out onto the porch. the men were within a hundred feet of the porch when they saw connel. the solar guard officer spread his legs and stuck out his jaw, his paralo-ray gun leveled. "the first one of you tin soldiers that puts a foot on these steps gets frozen stiffer than a snowball on pluto! now stand where you are, state your business, and then _blast off_!" "halt!" the leader of the column of men held up his hand. connel saw that the plastic helmets were frosted over, except for a clear band across the eye level. all of the faces were hidden. the leader stepped forward, his hand on his paralo-ray gun. "greetings, major connel." connel snorted. "if you'd take off that halloween mask, i might know who i'm talking to!" "my name is hilmarc." "hilmarc?" "yes. i am the leader of this detachment." "leader, huh?" grunted connel. "leader of what? a bunch of little tin soldiers?" "you shall see, major." hilmarc's voice was low and threatening. "i'm going to count to five," announced connel grimly, lifting his paralo-ray gun, "and if you and your playmates aren't back in your ships, i start blasting." "that would be unwise," replied hilmarc. "your one gun against all of ours." connel grinned. "i know. it's going to be a whale of a fight, isn't it?" then, without pause, he shouted, "_one--two--three--four--five!_" he opened fire, squeezing the trigger rapidly. the first row of green-clad men were immediately frozen. dropping to one knee, the spaceman again opened fire, and men in the second row stiffened as they tried to return the fire. "fire! cut him down!" roared hilmarc frantically. [illustration] the men broke ranks and the area in front of sinclair's house crackled with paralo-ray gunfire. darting behind a chair, connel dropped to the floor, his gun growing hot under the continuous discharge of paralyzing energy. in a matter of moments the solar guard officer had frozen nearly half of the attacking troop, their bodies scattered in various positions. suddenly his gun spit fire and began to smoke. the energy charge was exhausted. connel jumped to his feet and snapped to attention. he knew from experience that if being hit was inevitable, the best way to receive the charge was by standing at attention, taking the strain off the heart. he faced the clearing and a dozen shots of paralyzing energy hit him simultaneously. he became rigid and the short furious battle was over. [illustration] one of the green-clad men released hilmarc from the effects of connel's ninth shot and he stepped forward to stare straight into connel's eyes. "i know you can hear me, major. i want to compliment you on your shooting. but your brave resistance now is as futile as the resistance of the entire solar guard in the near future." hilmarc smiled arrogantly and stepped back. "now, if you'll excuse me, i will attend to the business i came here for--to take care of a weakling and an informer!" he turned and shouted to his men. "you have your orders! get sinclair and then burn everything in sight." * * * * * "astro, tom," gasped roger. "i--i can't go on." the blond-haired cadet fell headlong to the ground, almost burying himself in the mud. tom and astro turned without a word, and gripping roger under each arm, helped him to his feet. behind them, the thunder of the stalking tyrannosaurus came closer, and they forced themselves to greater effort. for two days they had been running before the monster. it was a wild flight through a wild jungle that offered them little protection. and while their fears were centered on the brute behind them, their sleepy, weary eyes sought out other dangers that lay ahead. more than once they stopped to blast a hungry, frightened beast that barred their path, leaving it for the tyrannosaurus and giving themselves a momentary respite in their flight. astro led the way, tirelessly slashing at the vines and creepers with his jungle knife, opening the path for roger and tom. the venusian cadet was sure that they were near the clearing around the sinclair plantation. since early morning he had seen the trail markers they had left when they started into the jungle. the cadets knew that if they didn't reach the clearing soon they would have to stand and fight the terrible thing that trailed them. during the first wild night, they had stumbled into a sinkhole, and as tom wallowed helplessly in the clinging, suffocating mud, astro and roger stood and fought the giant beast. the shock rifles cracked against the armorlike hide of the monster, momentarily stunning him, but in the darkness and rain, they were unable to get a clear head shot. when tom finally pulled himself out of the mudhole, they struggled onward through the jungle, with only one shot left in each blaster. "how much farther, astro?" asked tom, his voice weak with fatigue. "i'm starting to fold too." "not too far now, tom," the big cadet assured him. "we should be hitting the clearing soon now." he turned and looked back. "if we could only get a clear shot at that brute's head!" "hang on, roger," said tom. "just a little more now." roger didn't answer, merely bobbing his head in acknowledgment. behind them, the crashing thunderous steps seemed to be getting closer and astro drove himself harder, slashing at the vines and tangled underbrush, sometimes just bursting through by sheer driving strength. but the heavy-footed creature still stalked them ponderously. suddenly astro stopped and sniffed the air. "smoke!" he cried. "we're almost there!" tom and roger smiled wanly and they pushed on. a moment later the giant cadet pointed through the underbrush. "there! i see the clearing! and--by the stars--there's a fire! the house is burning!" forgetting the danger behind them, the three boys raced toward the clearing. just before they emerged from the jungle, they stopped and stood openmouthed with astonishment, staring at the scene before them. "by the craters of luna!" gasped astro. "look!" the outbuildings of the plantation were burning furiously, sending up thick columns of smoke. the wind blew the dense fumes toward them and they began to cough and gag. through the smoke they saw a strange array of jet craft in the clearing. then suddenly their attention was jerked back to another danger. the tyrannosaurus was nearly upon them. "run!" roared astro. he broke for the clearing, followed by roger and tom. once in the open, the boys ran several hundred yards to the nearest jet craft, and safely in the hatch, turned to see the monster come to the edge of the clearing and stop. they saw the brute clearly for the first time. it stood up on its hind legs, standing almost a hundred feet high. it moved its flat, triangular-shaped head in a slow arc, peering out over the clearing. the smoke billowed around it. it snorted several times in fear and anger. astro looked at it, wide-eyed, and finally spoke in awed tones. "by the rings of saturn, it is!" "is what?" asked tom. "the same tyranno i blasted when i was a kid, the one that trapped me in the cave!" "impossible!" snorted roger. "how can you tell?" "there on the head, the scars--and that eye. that's the mark of a blaster!" "well, i'll be a rocket-headed earthworm!" said tom. the smoke thickened at the moment, and when it cleared again, the great beast was gone. "i guess the smoke chased him away," said astro. "smoke!" he whirled around. with the threat of the tyrannosaurus gone, they could face the strange happenings around the clearing. "come on," said tom. he started for the burning buildings in back of the house. just at that moment a group of the green-clad men came around the side of the house. astro grabbed tom by the arm and pulled him back. "what's going on here? all these ships, buildings burning, and those men dressed in green. what is it?" the three boys huddled behind the jet and studied the scene. "i don't get it," said tom. "who are those men? they almost look as if they're soldiers of some kind, but i don't recognize the uniform." "maybe it's the fire department," suggested roger. "wait a minute!" roared tom suddenly. "there on the porch! major connel!" "omigosh!" said astro. "it is, but what's the matter with him? why is he standing there like that?" "he's been paralo-rayed!" exclaimed roger. "see how still he is! whatever these jokers in uniforms are, they're not friendly!" he raised his shock rifle. "this last shot in my blaster should--" "wait a minute, roger," said tom, "don't go off half-cocked. we can't do much with just three shots. we'd better take over one of these ships. there must be guns aboard." "yeah," said astro. "how about that big one over there?" he pointed to the largest of the assembled crafts. "o.k.," said tom. "sneak around this side and make a dash for it." gripping their rifles, they slipped around the stern of the small ship, and keeping a wary eye on the milling men around the front of the building, they dashed toward the bigger ship. on the porch of the main house, major connel, every muscle in his body paralyzed, saw the three cadets dart across the field and his heart skipped a beat. immediately before him, two of the green-clad men were holding sinclair while hilmarc addressed him arrogantly. "this is just the beginning, sinclair. don't try to cross us again. neither you nor anyone else can stop us!" he whirled around and faced connel. "and as for you and your solar guard, major connel, you can tell them--" hilmarc's tirade was suddenly interrupted by a shrill whistle and the glare of a red flare overhead. there was a chorus of shouts as the men ducked for cover. a voice, connel recognized as tom's, boomed out over the loud-speaker of the large jet ship near the edge of the clearing. "now hear this! you are covered by an atomic mortar. drop your guns and raise your hands!" the men stared at the ship, confused, but hilmarc issued a curt command. "return to the ships!" "but--but he'll blast us," whined one of the men. "he'll kill us all." "you fool!" roared hilmarc. "it must be a friend of connel's or sinclair's. he won't dare fire an atomic shell near this house, for fear of killing his friends! now get aboard your ships and blast off!" from their ship, tom, roger, and astro saw the men scatter across the field, and realizing their bluff had failed, they opened fire with the paralo-ray guns. but their range was too far. in a few moments the clearing around the sinclair home was alive with the coughing roar of the jets blasting off. as soon as they were alone, sinclair snatched up an abandoned ray gun and released the major from the charge. connel immediately jumped for another gun. but then, as the jets started to take off, he saw that it would be useless to pursue the invaders. thankful that the cadets had arrived in time, he trotted across the clearing to meet them as they climbed wearily from the remaining jet ship. "by the craters of luna," he roared good-naturedly, "you three space-brained idiots had me scared! i thought you would really let go with that mortar!" tom and roger grinned, relieved to find the spaceman unhurt, while astro looked off at the disappearing fleet of ships. "what's happened, sir?" asked tom. "what's it all about?" "haven't time to explain now," said connel. "i just want you three to know you got back here in time to save the rest of this man's property." he turned toward sinclair, who was just approaching. "did you recognize any of them?" he asked the planter. sinclair shook his head. "i thought i did--by their voices, i mean. but i couldn't see anyone through that frosted headgear they were wearing." "well, they left a ship. we'll find out who that belongs to," said connel. "all right, corbett, manning, astro. stand by to blast off!" "blast off?" exclaimed roger. "but we're on leave, sir!" [illustration] "not any more, you're not!" snapped connel. "you're recalled as of now! get this ship ready to blast off for venusport in five minutes!" chapter 8 "are you sure they went south, astro?" major connel was examining a map of the southern hemisphere of venus. the three cadets were grouped around him in the small control room of the jet ship. "i think so, sir," replied astro. "i watched them circle and then climb. there would be no reason to climb unless they were going over the mountains." "what do you think, tom?" asked connel. "i don't know, sir. the map doesn't show anything but jungle for about a thousand square miles. unless there's a secret base somewhere between here and there"--he placed his fingers on the map where the sharkey and sinclair plantations were marked--"i don't see where they could have gone." "well, that must be the answer, then," sighed the gruff spaceman. "our alert to the patrol ships in this area narrows it down. nothing was spotted in the air. and they couldn't have blasted off into space. all their ships were low-flying stuff." blasting off from the sinclair plantation immediately, the three cadets and the major had hoped to find the operations base of the green-clad invaders, but the ships had disappeared. the ship they had captured proved to be a freighter with no name and all identifying marks removed. they had asked the solar guard ship registry in venusport to check on the vessel's title but so far had received no answer. now blasting back to venusport at full speed, connel told the boys the real nature of his mission to venus. the boys were shocked, unable to believe that anyone, or any group of persons, would dare to buck the authority of the solar guard. yet they had seen with their own eyes a demonstration of the strength of the nationalists. roger had sent a top-secret teleceiver message to commander walters at space academy, requesting an immediate conference with connel, and had received confirmation within a half-hour. "i think captain strong will be along too," said roger to tom after connel had retired to a compartment with a recorder to transcribe a report of the affair at sinclair's. "the message said we were to prepare a full report for consideration by commander walters, professor sykes, and captain strong." "boy," said the curly-haired cadet, "this thing is too big for me to swallow. imagine a bunch of dopes dressing up in uniforms and burning a guy's buildings because he wrote a letter to his delegate!" "i'd hate to be a member of that organization when commander walters gets through with them," said roger in a slow drawl. "and particularly the guy that ordered connel blasted with that ray gun. ten shots at once! wow! that guy must have nerves made of steel!" within an hour the jet freighter was circling venusport and was given priority clearance for an immediate landing. immediately upon landing, the ship swarmed with solar guardsmen, grim-faced men assigned to guard it, while technicians checked the ship for identification. the three boys were still wearing the jungle garb when they presented themselves to major connel with the request for a little sleep. "take an aspirin!" roared connel. "we've got important work to do!" "but, sir," said roger, his eyes half-closed, "we're dead on our feet! we've been out in the jungle for three days and--" "manning," interrupted the spaceman, "everything you saw during that business back at sinclair's might be valuable. i'm sorry, but i'll have to insist that you talk to the solar guard security officers first. as tired as you are, you might forget something after a heavy sleep." there was little else the boys could do but follow the burly officer out of the ship to a well-guarded jet cab which took them through the streets of venusport to the solar guard headquarters. they rode the elevator to the conference room in silence, each boy feeling at any moment that he would collapse from exhaustion. in the long corridor they passed tough-looking enlisted guardsmen who were heavily armed, and before being allowed into the conference room, they were scrutinized by a burly officer. finally inside, they were allowed to sit down in soft chairs and were given hot cups of tea to drink while precise, careful interrogators took down the story of their first meeting with the venusian nationalists. they were forced to repeat details many times, in the hope that something new might be added. groggy after nearly two hours of this, the boys felt sure that the time had come for them to be allowed to get some sleep, but after the last question from the interrogators, they were ushered into the presence of commander walters, major connel, professor sykes, captain strong, and several recording secretaries. before the conference began, delegate e. philips james arrived with his personal secretary. he offered his excuses for being late and took his place at the long table. tom shot a glance at the secretary. the man looked vaguely familiar to him. the cadet tried to place him, but he was so tired that he could not think. "major connel," began commander walters abruptly, "what do you consider the best possible move for the solar guard to make? under the present circumstances, do you think we should undertake a full-scale investigation? we talked to al sharkey, and while he admits being head of an organization known as the venusian nationalists, he denies any knowledge of any attack on sinclair such as you describe. and he claims to have been in venusport when the incident happened." connel thought a moment. "i don't know about sharkey, but i don't think a public investigation should be made yet. i think it would arouse a lot of speculation and achieve no results." "then you think we should move against them merely on the basis of this encounter at the sinclair plantation," asked e. philips james in his smoothest manner. connel shook his head. "i think our best bet is to locate their base. if we can nail them with solid evidence, we'll have a good case to present before the grand council of the solar alliance." "i agree with you, major." james smiled. behind him, his secretary was busy transcribing the conversational exchange on his audioscriber. "what would you require to locate the base?" asked walters. "i haven't worked out the details yet," said connel, "but a small expedition into the jungle would be better than sending a regiment of guardsmen, or a fleet of ships." "do you have any idea where the base might be?" sykes suddenly spoke up. "most of those men were supposed to be planters who know the jungle well. isn't it possible that they might have their base well hidden and a small party, such as you suggest, could cover too little ground?" connel turned to astro. "astro, do you know that section of the belt?" "yes, sir," replied astro. "i hunted all over that area when i was a boy." the big cadet went on to explain how he had become so familiar with the jungle, and described briefly their experience with the tyrannosaurus. all of the men at the table were impressed by his knowledge of jungle lore. "i gather you plan to take these cadets on your expedition, major," commented james. "yes, i do. they work well together and have already been in the jungle," answered connel. "what do you three boys think of the idea?" asked walters. "i don't have to remind you that you'll be up against two kinds of danger: the jungle itself, and the nationalists." "we understand, sir," replied tom, without even waiting for his unit mates' quick nods. "there's another factor," captain strong broke in. "you'll be giving up your leave. there won't be any extra time off. should this mission be completed before the next term at the academy begins, fine. but if not, you'll have to return to work immediately." "we understand that too, sir," said tom. "we're willing to do anything we can. and if i might offer a personal opinion"--he glanced at astro and roger--"i think the _polaris_ unit appreciates the seriousness of the situation and we agree with the major. a small party, especially ours, since we're already established as hunters, would be less suspect than a larger one." "i think we all agree that the _polaris_ unit is qualified for the mission, corbett," said walters, who saw through tom's eagerness to be assigned to go with the major. the meeting broke up soon afterward. connel remained with strong and walters to work out the details of the mission and to draft a top-secret report to the grand council of the solar alliance. the three weary cadets were quartered in the finest hotel in venusport and had just stumbled into bed when the room teleceiver signal buzzed. tom shuffled over to the screen near the table where the remains of a huge supper gave mute evidence of their hunger. switching on the machine, he saw strong's face come into focus. "i hope you boys aren't too comfortable," announced strong. "i'm afraid the sleep you're so hungry for will have to wait. this is an emergency!" "oh, no!" groaned roger. "i can't understand why emergencies come up every time i try to pound the pillow!" astro fell back onto his bed with the look of a martyred saint and groaned. "what is it, sir?" asked tom, who was as tired as the others. nonetheless he felt the urgency in strong's voice. "you blast off in half an hour," said the solar guard captain. "the _polaris_ has been refitted and you're to check her over before returning to sinclair's. everything has been prepared for you. get dressed and you'll find a jet cab waiting for you in front of the hotel. i had hoped to see you again before you left, but i've been ordered back to the academy with commander walters. we've got to report to the solar council, personally." "o.k., sir," said tom, then smiled and added, "we're sorry your fishing was interrupted." "i wasn't catching anything, anyway." strong laughed. "i've got to go. see you back at the academy. spaceman's luck!" "same to you, sir," replied tom. the screen blurred and the image faded as the connection was broken. tom turned to face his sleepy-eyed unit mates. "well, i guess we'd better take another aspirin. it looks like a hard night!" hastily donning fresh jungle gear supplied the night before in anticipation of the mission, the three cadets trouped wearily out of their rooms and rode down to the lobby in the vacuum elevator. they walked across the deserted lobby as though in a trance and outside to the quiet street. a jet cab stood at the curb, the driver watching them. he whistled sharply and waved at them. "hey, cadets! over here!" still in a fog, the three cadets climbed into the back seat, flopping into the soft cushions with audible groans as the cab shot away from the hotel and sped into the main highway which led to the spaceport. the traffic was light and the cab zoomed along at a smooth, fast clip, lulling the boys into a fitful doze. but they were rudely awakened when the car spun into a small country lane and the driver slammed on the brakes. he whirled around and grinned at them over a paralo-ray pistol. "sorry, boys, the ride ends here. now climb out and start stripping." the three sleepy cadets came alive instantly. without a word they moved in three different directions simultaneously. tom dived for one door, astro the other, while roger flopped to the floor. the driver fired, missing all of them, and before he could fire again he was jerked out of his seat and held in a viselike grip by astro. tom quickly wrenched the paralo-ray gun from his hand. "all right, you little space crawler," growled astro, "start talking!" [illustration] "take it easy, astro," said tom. "how do you expect him to talk when you've got him around the adam's apple!" "yeah, you big ape," said roger in a slow drawl. "find out what he has to say before you twist his head off!" astro released the man, pushing him against the cab door and pinning him there. "now let's have it," he growled. "what's this all about?" "i didn't mean any harm," whined the cab driver. "a guy calls me and says for me to meet three space cadets." "what guy?" snapped tom. "a guy i once knew when i was working the fields in the jungle belt. i worked on a plantation as a digger." "what's his name?" asked roger. "i don't know his name. he's just a guy. he calls me and says it's worth a hundred credits to pick up three space cadets from the hotel and hold 'em for an hour. i figured the best way to hold you would be to make you take your clothes off." "what did he look like?" asked roger. "a little guy, with a bald head and a limp. that's all i know--honest." "a limp, eh?" asked tom. "a little fellow?" "how little?" asked astro, getting the drift of tom's question. "real little. about five feet maybe, not much more'n that!" the three boys looked at each other and nodded. "the guy we bought our jungle gear from in the pawnshop!" exclaimed astro. "yeah," said tom. "it sure sounds like him. but why would he want to stop us? and more important, who told him that captain strong was sending a cab for us?" they turned back to the cab driver for further explanation, but the man was now actually crying with fright. "we won't get anything more out of this little creep," said astro. "let's just turn him over to the solar guard at the spaceport. they'll know how to handle him." "right," tom agreed. "we've lost enough time as it is." "no, no--please!" moaned the cabman. "lemme go! take the cab. drive it to the spaceport and just leave it, but please don't turn me over to the solar guard. if i'm seen with them, i'll be--" suddenly the man darted to one side, eluded astro's lunge, and scampered away. in a moment he was swallowed up in the darkness. "boy," breathed astro, "he was sure scared of something!" "yes," said tom. "and i'm beginning to get a little scared myself!" the cadets climbed into the cab and roared off toward the spaceport, each boy with the feeling that he was sitting on a smoldering volcano that was suddenly starting to erupt around him. [illustration] chapter 9 "rocket cruiser _polaris_ to solar guard venusport! request emergency relay circuit to commander walters en route earth!" on the radar bridge of the _polaris_, roger manning spoke quickly into the teleceiver microphone. just a few minutes before the giant spaceship had blasted off from venusport, heading for the sinclair plantation, major connel had ordered roger to get in touch with walters to report the latest security leak. on the control deck the major paced back and forth restlessly as tom guided the _polaris_ on its short flight. "i'll find the spy in the solar guard if i have to tear venusport apart piece by piece!" fumed connel. "what about that jet freighter we took away from the nationalists, sir?" asked tom. "did you ever find out where it came from?" connel nodded. "it was an old bucket on the southern colonial run. she was reported lost last year. somehow those jokers got hold of her and armed her to the teeth." "you think maybe the crew could have mutinied, sir?" "it's highly possible, corbett," answered connel, and glanced around. "if they have any other ships of that size, the _polaris_ will be able to handle them." "yes, sir." tom smiled. "the repair crew did a good job on her." the cadet paused. "do you suppose one of the nationalists planted that bomb on her fin?" "no doubt of it," replied connel. "and it seems to tie in with a rather strange thing that happened in the venusian delegate's office the day before it happened." "what was that, sir?" asked tom. "three priority orders for seats aboard a venusport--atom city express were stolen. before a check could be made, the ship had made its run and the people using the priorities were gone. they must have been the ones that bumped you off your seats." "how do you think that ties in with the bomb on the _polaris_, sir?" "we're trying to figure that out now," said connel. "if only we knew what they looked like it would help. the girl at the ticket office doesn't remember them and neither does the ship's stewardess." "but we saw them, sir!" exclaimed tom. "you what!" roared connel. "yes, sir. we were standing there at the ticket counter when they called for their tickets." "do you think you'd recognize them again?" "i'll say!" asserted tom. "and i'm sure astro and roger would, too. we were so mad, we could have blasted them on the spot." connel turned to the intercom and shouted, "manning, haven't you got that circuit through yet?" "working on it, sir." roger's voice was smooth and unruffled over the intercom. "i'm in contact with the commander's ship now. they're calling him to the radar bridge now." tom suddenly jumped out of his seat as though stung. "say! i saw one of the fellows again too!" connel whirled quickly to face the young cadet. "where?" he demanded. "where did you see him?" "i--i'm trying to remember." tom began pacing the deck, snapping his fingers impatiently. "it was sometime during the past few days--i know it was!" "in venusport?" demanded connel, following tom around the deck. "yes, sir--" "before or after your trip into the jungle?" "uhh--before, i think," tom replied hesitantly. "no. no. it was after we came back." "well, out with it, corbett!" exploded the major. "when? where? you didn't do that much visiting! you were too tired to move!" "that's just it, sir," said tom, shaking his head. "i was so tired everything was a blur. faces are all mixed up. i--i--" the boy stopped and put his hands to his head as though trying to squeeze the one vital face out of his hazy memory. connel kept after him like a hungry, stalking animal. "where, corbett? when?" he shouted. "you've got to remember. this is important! think, blast you!" "i'm trying, sir," replied the cadet. "but it just won't come to me." the buzz of the intercom suddenly sounded and connel reluctantly left tom to answer it. roger's voice crackled over the speaker. "i have commander walters now, sir. feeding him down to the control-deck teleceiver." "oh, all right," replied connel and turned to tom. "come on, corbett. i want you to report to the commander personally." "yes, sir," replied tom, walking slowly to the teleceiver. "i'm sorry i can't remember where i saw that man." "forget it," connel said gruffly. "it'll come to you again sometime." he paused and then added as gently as he could, "sorry i blasted you like that." when commander walters' face appeared on the teleceiver screen, connel reported the incident of the cab driver and the news that tom, roger, and astro had seen the three men who had taken the priorities on the _venus lark_. "just a minute," said walters. "i'll have a recorder take down the descriptions." connel motioned to tom, who stepped before the screen. when he saw walters nod, he gave a complete description of the three men he had seen in the atom city spaceport. "let's see, now," said walters, after tom had concluded his report. "the man who asked for the tickets was young, about twenty-two, dressed in venusian clothing, dark, six feet tall, weighed about one hundred and fifty pounds. right?" "yes, sir," replied tom. connel suddenly stepped before the screen to interject, "and corbett saw him in venusport again sometime during the last two days." "really? where?" connel glanced at tom and then replied hurriedly, "well, he can't be sure, sir. we rushed him around pretty fast and he saw a lot of people. but at least we know he's in venusport somewhere." "yes," nodded walters. "that's something to work on, at least. and you have nothing more to add to the descriptions of the other two, corbett?" "not anything particular, sir," said tom. "they were dressed in venusian-type clothes also, but we didn't get a close look at them." "very well," said walters. "proceed with your mission, major. i'll have an alert sent out for the cab driver, and i'll have the owner of the pawnshop picked up. there must be someone on the solar delegate's staff who stole those priorities. we'll start searching there first, and if we come up with anyone who can't explain his absence from venusport at the time the priorities were used, and fits corbett's description, we'll contact you. end transmission!" "end transmission!" repeated connel. the screen blanked out and roger's voice came over the intercom immediately. "we'll be over sinclair's in three minutes," he called. "stand by." tom turned to the controls and in exactly two minutes and fifty seconds the clearing surrounding sinclair's home and the burned outbuildings came into view. working effortlessly, with almost casual teamwork, the three cadets brought the giant spaceship to rest in the middle of the clearing. as the power was cut, the cadets saw george and mrs. hill jumping into a jet car and speeding out to greet them. after tom introduced connel to the couple, the major questioned them closely about their absence during the attack by the shock troops. "mr. sinclair often gives us time off for a trip into venusport," explained hill. "it gets pretty lonely out here." "is mr. sinclair in now?" asked connel. "no, he isn't," replied the plantation foreman. "he's on his weekly trip around the outer fields. i don't expect him back for another day or two." "for goodness sakes," exclaimed mrs. hill, "you can ask your questions just as easily and a darn sight more comfortably in the house! come on. let's get out of the sun." the small group climbed into the jet car and roared off across the clearing toward the house. the lone building left standing by the nationalists looked strange amid the charred ruins of the other buildings. in the house, the three cadets busied themselves with home-baked apple pie which the housekeeper had brought out, while connel was telling george of the attack on the plantation. [illustration] "i've known about them all along, of course," said the foreman. "but i never paid any attention to them. i just quit, like mr. sinclair, when they started all that tomfoolery about wearing uniforms and stuff." "well," said connel, accepting a wedge of pie at mrs. hill's insistence, "now they've made the wrong move. burning sinclair's property and attacking an officer of the solar guard is going too far." "what are you going to do about it?" asked george. "i'm not at liberty to say, mr. hill," replied connel. "but i can tell you this. when any person, or group of persons, tries to dictate to the alliance, the solar guard steps in and puts a stop to it!" suddenly the silence of the jungle clearing was shattered by the roar of a single jet craft coming in for a landing. without looking out the window, george smiled and said, "there's mr. sinclair now! i know the sound of his jets." the group crowded out onto the front porch while george took the jet car and drove off to pick up his employer. a few moments later sinclair was seated before connel, wiping his sweating brow and accepting a cool drink from mrs. hill. "i was on my way to the north boundary when i saw your ship landing," explained sinclair. "at first i thought it might be those devils coming back, but then i saw the solar guard insigne on the ship and figured it might be you." he looked at connel closely. "anything new, major?" "not yet," replied connel. "but you can rest assured that you won't be bothered by them again." sinclair paused, eying the major speculatively. "you know, as soon as you left, i went over to talk to al sharkey. i was plenty mad and really blasted him, but he swears that he was in venusport at the time and doesn't know a thing about the raid." connel nodded. "that's true. we checked on him. but while he might not have been in on the raid itself, there's nothing that says he didn't order it done!" "i doubt it," said sinclair, with a queer apologetic note in his voice. "i'm inclined to believe that it was nothing more than a bunch of the younger, more hotheaded kids in the organization. as a matter of fact, sharkey told me he was quitting as president. seems you fellows in venusport scared him plenty. not only that, but i heard him calling up the other planters telling them what happened and every one of them is chipping in to rebuild my plantation." connel looked at the planter steely-eyed. "so you think it was done by a bunch of kids, huh?" sinclair nodded. "wouldn't be surprised if they're not scared too!" "well, you are entitled to your opinion, mr. sinclair. and if the other planters are going to rebuild your buildings, that's fine and charitable of them." suddenly connel's voice became harsh. "that does not, however, erase the fact that a group of uniformed men, armed with paralo-ray guns and with ships equipped with blasters, attacked you! atomic blasters, mr. sinclair, are not bought at the local credit exchange. they are made exclusively for the solar guard! that bunch of hotheaded kids, as you call them, are capable of attacking any community--even ships of the solar guard itself! that is a threat to the peace of the solar system and must be stopped!" sinclair nodded quickly. "oh, i agree, major, i agree. i'm just saying that--" connel stopped him. "i understand, mr. sinclair. you're a peaceful man and want to keep your life peaceful. but my job is to ensure that peace. as long as a group of militant toughs like we had here are on the loose, you won't have peace. you'll have pieces!" tom, roger, and astro, sitting quietly and listening, felt like standing up and cheering as the major finished. "i know you can't tell me what you're going to do, major connel," said the planter, "but i hope that you'll allow me to help in any way i can." connel hesitated before answering. "thank you, mr. sinclair. but i'm not here officially now." and then he added, "nor in regard to the nationalists." sinclair's eyes lit up slightly. "oh?" "no. as you know, the cadets had quite a time with a tyrannosaurus. they wounded it and it might still be dangerous. that is, more dangerous than normally. i've got orders to track him down and finish him off." "but i thought you said you were going to put a stop to this business with the nationalists," said the planter. "i said the solar guard would, sinclair." "oh, yes," mumbled sinclair, "the solar guard. of course." connel got up abruptly. "i would appreciate it if you would look after our ship, though," he said. "i don't think we'll be longer than a week. shouldn't be hard to track a tyrannosaurus, especially if it's wounded." "i suppose you have all the equipment you need," said sinclair. "yes, thank you," replied connel. then, thanking mrs. hill for the refreshments, the burly spaceman and the three cadets said good-by and left the house. an hour later, ready to strike off into the jungle, the solar guard officer took four of the latest model shock rifles out of the arms locker of the _polaris_ and gave one to each boy with extra ammunition. "never go after a giant with a popgun," he said. "it's a wonder you didn't kill yourselves with those old blasters you used, let alone kill a tyranno." the three cadets examined the rifles closely and with enthusiasm. "these are the latest solar guard issue," said connel. "when you pull that trigger, you release a force three times greater than anything put into a rifle before." then, checking the _polaris_ and cutting all power, connel removed the master switch and hid it. "that's so no one will get any bright ideas while we're gone," he explained as the boys watched curiously. "you think someone might try to steal her, sir?" asked tom. "you never can tell, corbett," answered connel noncommittally. once again the three boys moved across the clearing toward the jungle wall. astro took the lead as before, followed by roger and tom, and connel brought up the rear. they moved directly to the spot where they had last seen the tyrannosaurus, found the trampled underbrush and massive tracks, and moved purposefully into the dank, suffocating green world. the trail was plain to see. where the boys once had to hack their way through the thick underbrush, the monster had created a path for them. the three cadets felt better about being back in the jungle with more reliable equipment and joked about what they would do to the tyrannosaurus when they saw it again. "i thought you were supposed to be the home-grown venusian hick that could manage in the jungle like that fairy-tale character, tarzan," roger teased astro. "listen, you sleepwalking space romeo," growled astro, "i know more about this jungle than you could learn in ten years. and i'm not foolish enough to battle with a tyranno with the odds on his side. i ran for a good reason!" "boy, did you run!" taunted roger. "you were as fast as the _polaris_ on emergency thrust!" "knock off that rocket wash!" roared connel. "the nationalists might have security patrols in this area. they could hear you talking and blast you before you could bat an eyelash! now keep quiet and stay alert!" the three cadets quieted down after that, walking carefully, stepping around dead brush that might betray their presence. after working their way along the tyrannosaurus's trail for several hours, connel called a halt, and after a quick look at his compass, motioned for them to cut away from the monster's tracks. "we'll start working around in a circle," he said. "one day east, one south, west, and north. then we'll move in closer to the heart of the circle, and repeat the same procedure. that should cover a lot of ground in eight days. if anything's moving around out here, besides what should be here, we'll find it. from now on, we'll have a scout. astro, you know the jungle, you take the point, about five hundred yards ahead. if you see anything, signs of a patrol or any danger from the jungle, fall back and report. don't try to do anything yourself. four guns in a good position are better than one popping off by itself." "aye, aye, sir," said astro. with a quick nod to tom and roger, he moved off through the jungle. in ten feet he was invisible. in thirty seconds his footsteps were lost in the thousands of jungle sounds around them. "i'll take the lead now," said connel. "corbett, you bring up the rear. all right, move out!" from above, in the leafy roof covering the jungle; from the side, in the thick tangle of vines; and from below, in the thorny underbrush, the eyes of living things, jungle things, followed the movements of the three spacemen, perhaps wondering if these new beasts were a threat to their lives. chapter 10 "hal-loo-ooo!" astro's voice boomed out over the tops of the trees, where the birds fluttered in sudden fright. it echoed through the darkness around him, where smaller creatures crawled and slithered into the protection of their holes. the voice of the big cadet was loud, but it was not loud enough for his mates to hear. astro was lost. he couldn't understand how it had happened. over and over during the past six hours he had retraced his steps mentally, trying to visualize the trail, trying to locate the telltale marks he had made with his jungle knife, and so find major connel, tom, and roger. it was dark now and the big cadet had to face the dangerous jungle alone. he laughed ironically. connel had given him the point because he knew the jungle! and now he was lost. astro was a little frightened too. it was his frank realization of trouble that made him afraid. he knew what was in the jungle, and though he had been there alone before, he had never been in it as deeply as this, nor had he ever been lost in the nightmarish place after sundown. while he was desperately anxious to find his unit mates, he had not fired his rifle. the threat of exposing his position to a possible nationalist patrol prevented him from signaling with the blaster or even from building a fire. during the last hours of the day, when the suspicion that he was lost became a concrete fact, the big cadet had been reluctant even to yell. now, with pitch-black night closing around him, he dared to call, hoping it would be heard and recognized by his friends, or if not, considered the howl of a jungle beast by an enemy patrol should one be near. he stood with his back against the rough bark of a teakwood tree to protect his rear and to face out toward the pitch-black night. more than once the big cadet felt the sudden ripple of a crawling thing moving around him, across his toes or down the tree trunk. there was a sudden thrashing in the underbrush near by and he brought the shock rifle up quickly, ears tuned for the growl, or scream, or hiss of an attacking beast. the luminous dial of his watch showed it to be three thirty in the morning, two and a half hours to go before the sun would drive the fearful darkness away. he had been calling every five minutes. and every time he shouted, the movements in the darkness around him increased. "hal-loo-ooo!" he waited, turning his head from one side to the other, intent on the sounds that came from a distance; the answering call of the waddling ground bird that had confused him at first until he recognized it; the shrill scream of the tiny swamp hog; the distant chattering of the monkeylike creatures in the treetops. but there was no sound from a human throat. astro called again and again. the seconds dragged by into minutes, the minutes into an hour, and then two hours, and finally, as every muscle in his body ached from standing backed up to the tree all night and holding his rifle on alert, the gray murky dawn broke over the jungle and he began to see the green of the jungle around him. when the sun at last broke over the venusian horizon, the night's frost on the leaves and bushes danced and glittered like jewels. he washed his face in a near-by pool, careful not to drink any of the water. he opened a can of synthetic food, and after eating his fill, cleared away the brush down to the naked black soil and banking it high on all sides he stretched full length on the ground. he dared not sleep. hungry animals were moving about freely now. a paralo-ray gun and the rifle, both cocked and ready to fire, were held in his hands. he relaxed as completely as he could, idly watching the mother of a brood of the anthropoids scamper through the branches of the trees overhead, bringing her squalling young their breakfast. an hour later, refreshed, he started through the jungle again, eyes open for signs of recent activity, human activity, for the big cadet wanted to return to his comrades. stopping occasionally to climb a tree, astro searched the sky above the treetops for smoke that would mark a campsite. he felt that sure if there was any, he would find roger, tom, and connel, since a nationalist patrol wouldn't advertise its presence in the jungle. but there were no smoke signs. the top of the jungle stretched green and still as far as he could see, steaming under the burning rays of the sun. astro knew that it would be impossible to spend another night like the first in the jungle, so after searching through the forest until three in the afternoon, he stopped, opened another can of synthetic food, and ate. he was used to being alone now. the first wave of fear had left him and he was beginning to remember things he knew as a young boy; jungle signs that warned him of dangers, the quick identification of the animal cries, and the knowledge of the habits of the jungle creatures. after eating, he took his jungle knife and hacked at a long, tough vine, yanking it down from its lofty tangle. he started weaving it into a tight oblong basket and two hours later, just before the sun dropped into the jungle for the night, he was finished. he had a seven-foot bag woven tightly and pulled together with a small opening at one end. just before the sky darkened, the big cadet crawled into this makeshift sleeping bag, pulled the opening closed with a tight draw cord, and in thirty seconds was asleep. nothing would be able to bite through the tough vine matting, and the chances of a larger beast accidentally stepping on him were small. nevertheless, astro had pulled the bag close to a huge tree and placed it deep between the swollen roots. he awoke with a start. the ground was shaking violently. he was sweating profusely and judged that it must be late in the morning with the sun beating directly on him. carefully he opened the end of the makeshift sleeping bag and peered out. he gasped and reached for his shock rifle, bringing it up into firing position. the sight that confronted him was at once horrifying and fascinating. a hundred yards away, a giant snake, easily a hundred feet long and five feet thick, was wrapped around a raging tyrannosaurus. the monsters were in a fight to death. astro shuddered and pulled back into the bag, keeping the blaster aimed at the two struggling beasts. [illustration: _astro kept his blaster aimed at the monsters_] the big cadet deduced that the snake must have been surprised in its feeding by the tyrannosaurus, and was trying to defend itself. there wasn't a living thing in the jungle that would deliberately attack a tyrannosaurus. only man, with his intelligence and deadly weapons, could win over the brute force and cunning of the jungle giant. and even that had failed with this monster. astro quickly saw it was the same beast that had chased the three cadets out of the jungle! with three coils wrapped around the tyrannosaurus's body, the snake was trying to wrap a fourth around its neck and strangle it, but the monster was too wily. rearing back, it suddenly fell to the ground, its weight crushing the three coils around its middle. the snake jerked spasmodically, stunned, as the tyrannosaurus scrambled up again. the ground trembled and branches were ripped from near-by trees. all around the jungle had been leveled. everything fell before the thrashing monsters. recovering, the snake's head darted in again, trying to circle the tyrannosaurus's head and complete the last and fatal coil, but the giant beast lunged, its massive jaws snapping, and the snake drew back. suddenly its tail lashed out and circled the left legs of the tyrannosaurus. astro could see the beast straining against the sudden pressure, at the same time alert for the swooping head of the snake. the pressure on the leg was too great, and the beast fell to the ground, giving the snake a momentary advantage. its head darted in again, but the tyrannosaurus drew its head into its narrow shoulders, then shot out again as the snake missed. astro saw the snake quiver and jerk back as the tyrannosaurus clamped its jaws closed and bit a chunk out of the green, scaly body. the snake had enough. it wanted to get away, to slip to the top of the tallest tree in the forest, out of reach of the tyrannosaurus, and wait for the wound to heal or for death to come. it unwound in a maddened convulsive movement and slithered toward the tree where astro lay. but the monster was after it, immediately grabbing it by the tail and jerking it back. the snake was forced to turn and fight back. astro knew that if the snake could get away it would head for the teakwood above his head, the highest tree around, and the tyrannosaurus would stamp the ground around its base into powder. he had to move! a hundred feet to the left was a wild thicket of ground thorns, their needlelike tips bristling. even the snake would stay away from them. it was his only chance should the snake get loose from the tyrannosaurus again. making up his mind quickly, the cadet opened the end of the sleeping bag and shoved his weapons out before him. then hugging the ground, he dashed across the clearing. this gave the tyrannosaurus its final advantage. the snake pulled back, momentarily attracted by astro's move, and the tyrannosaurus struck, catching the snake just behind the head in a grip of death. the thorns ripped at astro's tight-fitting jungle dress, tearing into his flesh as he dove into the thicket. but once inside the cadet lay still, pointing his rifle at the tyrannosaurus who was methodically finishing off the giant snake. in a few seconds the snake was dead and the tyrannosaurus began to feast. astro stayed in the thicket, watching the monster devour nearly all of the dead reptile foe and then rise up and move off through the jungle. astro knew that in no time the scavengers of the jungle would be swarming over the remains of the snake. once again he had to move. getting out of the thicket was painful. from every direction the thorns jabbed at him, and but for the toughness of his jungle suit, astro would have been ripped to shreds. after easing his way back into the clearing, the cadet pulled out the remains of his jungle pack. he then saw that his suit was torn to ribbons, and the many slashes on his chest and arms were bleeding profusely. the scent of the blood would attract the carnivorous creatures, so he stripped off the bloody jungle suit, dropping it back in the thicket, and hurried away. a short time later he came to a water hole where he sponged himself off and applied medication from his emergency kit to the scratches. finished, he took stock. the night's sleep had refreshed him, and except for the loss of his protective clothing, he was in good shape. he shouldered the pack, strapped the paralo-ray gun to his hips, and gripping the rifle tightly, he moved off through the jungle once more. he decided to follow the tyrannosaurus. the beast would leave a path for him, saving him the effort of hacking his way through the vines and creepers, and should an enemy patrol be out, it would stay away from the tyrannosaurus. finally, he knew tom, roger, and connel would go after the beast if they saw it. the sun shone down on the half-naked giant moving through the jungle, a new white-skinned animal who was braver than the rest, a creature who dared to trail the king of the jungle. * * * * * "it's all my fault!" said connel disgustedly. "i should have been able to read his trail signs." tom did not answer. he pulled the straps of his jungle pack tighter and slung it over his shoulder. roger stood to one side, watching major connel. both boys sensed what was coming. "well, this is the last day we can spend searching for him," said connel. "we've already lost two days." roger glanced at tom and said casually, "it wouldn't hurt to keep our eyes open for signs of him, would it, sir?" "now listen, boys," said connel firmly, "i know how you feel about astro. i have to admit i have a liking for the lad myself. but we've been sent out here to locate the base of operations of the nationalists. the best way to do that is to work around the jungle in a given area. we haven't done that so far. we've put all our time and effort into a random search for astro. we can't signal him, build a fire, shoot off a blaster--or use any of the simple communication devices. we have to work under cover, for fear of giving away our presence here in the jungle." he slung his gear over his shoulder and added, "we'll continue our search for astro until noon and then we simply will have to abandon it. and stop worrying about him. he's a big strong lad and he's been in this jungle alone before. i have every confidence that he can make his way back to sinclair's plantation safely." the solar guard officer paused and looked at the two downcast cadets before him. "none of that sulking business!" he growled. "you're cadets on an urgent mission. now move out. i'll take the point first and you bring up the rear, corbett." without another word, the burly spaceman turned and moved off through the jungle. roger hung back to talk to tom. "what do you think, tom?" tom shook his head before answering. "he's right, roger. we're on a job. it's the same here in the jungle as it is in space. we know that something is liable to happen to any one of us at any time. and the mission always comes first." roger nodded. "sure, that's the way it is in the book. but this is real. that big hick might be hurt--or trapped. maybe he needs our help!" "i know how you feel, roger," replied tom. "i want to take off and hunt for astro myself, but connel needs us. don't forget that bunch of guys in uniforms back at sinclair's. commander walters and the others don't hold conferences like that one back in venusport for the fun of it. this is serious." roger shrugged and started off after connel, tom following slowly behind. their march through the jungle was made in silence, each hoping for a miracle. but as the sun grew higher and the deadline hour of noon approached, they steeled themselves to the fact that they might never see the venusian cadet again. a short time later, when tom was taking his turn at cutting the trail through the brush, he broke through into a clearing. he stopped and called out, "major! roger! quick!" connel and the blond-haired cadet rushed forward, stopping beside tom to stare in amazement. before them, a large area of the jungle was pounded down and lying amidst the tangle of giant creepers and uprooted bushes was the remains of a giant snake. "by the rings of saturn!" gasped connel, walking forward to inspect the clearing. tom and roger followed, breaking to the side, their rifles at ready. the two boys had become jungle-wise quickly and knew that death lurked behind the wall of green surrounding the cleared area. "it must have been some fight!" connel pointed to the tracks of the tyrannosaurus. "the tyranno must have stumbled on the snake while it was feeding," said connel. "otherwise it would have lit out for that tree over there." he pointed to the giant teakwood that astro had slept under. the three spacemen saw the makeshift sleeping bag at the same time. "major! look!" cried tom and raced to the base of the tree. "it's astro's, all right," said connel, examining the woven bag. "i wonder if he was here when those two things were going after each other." "yes, sir," said roger in a choked whisper, "he was." he pointed to the ragged remains of astro's jungle suit dangling on the near-by thornbush. the blood was stiff on the material. the three earthmen stared at the suit, each too horrified to speak. connel's face was set in hard lines as he finally found his voice and growled, "our search is over. let's get back to our job." [illustration] chapter 11 it was not until late the same afternoon that astro, following the trail of the tyrannosaurus, realized that the giant beast was seriously hurt. at first the traces of blood on the ground and underbrush were slight, but gradually the blood spots became more profuse and the trail was covered with huge blotches of red. the venusian cadet grew more cautious. the tyrannosaurus would be ten times as dangerous now. and it might be close by, lying in the jungle, licking its wounds. as the sun began to sink in the western venusian sky, astro began to think about the coming night. he would have to hole up. he couldn't chance stumbling into the beast in the dark. but it would also mean taking time to make another sleeping bag. suddenly he saw a movement in the brush to his left. he dropped to the ground and aimed the shock rifle in that direction, eyes probing the green tangle for further movement. "make one move and you'll die!" a harsh voice cut through the jungle. astro remained still, his eyes darting to left and right, trying to locate the owner of the voice. "throw down your gun and stand up with your hands over your head!" came another voice, this one immediately behind him. [illustration: _his eyes probed the jungle for further movement_] a patrol! astro swore at himself for blindly walking into a trap and dropped his gun. he stood up and raised his hands over his head, turning slowly. "don't turn around! stand still!" astro stopped. he could hear the rustle of movement in the underbrush behind him and then someone called, "circle around to the right. spread out and see if there are any others!" off to the side, he could hear the crashing of footsteps moving away in the jungle. "all right," continued the unknown voice, "drop that paralo-ray pistol to the ground. but no smart tricks. we can see you and you can't see us, so take it easy and do as we say." astro lowered his hands and unbuckled the gun belt, letting it fall to the ground. there was a sudden burst of movement behind him and powerful arms gripped his wrists. within seconds his hands were tied quickly and expertly, and he was spun around to face his captors. there were ten men, all dressed in the same green uniforms and plastic headgear he had seen at the sinclair plantation. they stood in a semicircle around him, their guns leveled at his naked chest. the leader of the party nudged the nearest man and commented, "never thought i'd see any animal like this in the jungle!" the other men laughed appreciatively. "who are you?" the leader demanded. "what are you doing here?" "my name is astro," replied the big cadet boldly. "i'm a space cadet, _polaris_ unit, space academy, u.s.a. i'm here in the jungle with the rest of my unit hunting tyrannosaurus." "tyranno, eh?" queried the man. "how long have you been trailing this one?" "just today. i saw him fight a big snake and lost my jungle gear in a thicket where i was hiding. i was separated from my space buddies two days ago." "say, helia," suddenly called one of the other men, "he sounds like a venusian." "is that true?" asked the leader. "are you from venus?" astro nodded. "venusport." "then why are you in space academy?" "i want to be a spaceman." "why didn't you go to school on venus, instead of earth. we have good space schools here." "i want a commission in the solar guard. you can only get that through the academy," replied astro stoutly. "solar guard!" snorted the leader, and then turned to the nearest man, speaking rapidly in a strange tongue. for a moment the language confused astro, then he recognized it as the ancient venusian dialect. he understood it and started to answer, but then, on second thought, he decided not to reveal his knowledge of the language. the leader turned back to astro and asked a question. astro shook his head and said, "if you're talking to me, you have to speak english. i know that's the venusian dialect you're speaking, but i never learned it." the leader's fist shot out and crashed against astro's jaw. the big cadet rocked back with the punch and then he lunged forward, straining against his bonds. "why, you--!" he exploded angrily. "that was for not being a true venusian!" snapped the leader. "every son of venus should understand his mother tongue!" astro bit his lip and fell silent. the leader turned away, and shouting a command, started off through the jungle. astro knew that the patrol had been ordered to move out, but he stood still, waiting for them to push him. they did. a hard jab in his naked side with the butt of a gun sent him stumbling forward in the center of the patrol. well, there was one consolation, he thought grimly. at least he wouldn't have to spend the night out in the jungle alone again! astro had expected a long march, but to his surprise, he was pushed along a well-worn jungle trail for only three hundred yards in from the tyrannosaurus's track. finally they stopped before a huge teakwood tree. the leader pounded his rifle butt on the trunk three times. mystified, astro watched a small section of the trunk open to reveal a modern vacuum-tube elevator shaft. he was pushed inside with the men of the patrol and the tree-trunk door was closed. the leader pushed a lever and the car dropped so suddenly that astro nearly lost his balance. he judged that they must have fallen two hundred feet when the car stopped and another door opened. he was pushed out into a high-vaulted tunnel with cement walls. "hurry up!" snapped the leader. the big cadet moved along the tunnel, followed by the patrol, turning from one tunnel into another, all of them slanting downhill. astro guessed that he was being taken to some subterranean cave. he asked his captors where they were taking him. "don't talk!" snapped one of the men at his side. "this jungle will be swarming with solar guardsmen once they discover i'm lost," said astro. "who are you and what are you holding me prisoner for?" the big cadet decided it would be better to feign ignorance of the existence of the rebel organization. "let the solar guard come!" snapped the leader. "they'll find something they never expected." "but what do you want with _me_?" asked the cadet. "you'll know soon enough!" they had been walking for nearly an hour and the tunnels still slanted downward but more sharply now. turning into a much larger tunnel than any of the rest, astro noticed a huge door on one side. through its crystal-covered ports he saw racks of illegal heat blasters and paralo-ray guns. a man stepped out of the door, and raising his hand in a form of salute, called out a few words in the venusian tongue. astro recognized it as a greeting, "long live venusians!" and suppressed a smile. one by one, the men of the patrol handed over their rifles and ray guns, while the man in the armory checked off their names. then they all removed their knee-length jungle boots and traded their plastic helmets for others of the same design but of a lighter material. each man turned his back while switching helmets, obviously to avoid being recognized by any of the others, since the new helmet was also frosted except for a slit at eye level. wearing the lighter headgear and common street shoes, the men continued their march through the tunnel. they passed into a still larger tunnel, and for the first time, astro could see daylight. as they drew nearer to the mouth of the tunnel, the cadet could see outside, and the scene before him made him gasp for breath. a full twenty miles long and fifteen miles wide, a canyon stretched before him. and it seemed to the big cadet that every square inch of the canyon floor was occupied by buildings and spaceships. hundreds of green-clad men were moving around the ships and buildings. "by the craters of luna!" gasped astro as the patrol paused in the mouth of the tunnel. "what--what is this?" "the first city of venus. true venus. built by venusians with venusian materials only!" said the leader proudly. "there's the answer to your solar guard!" "i don't understand," said astro. "what are you going to do?" "you'll see." the man chuckled. "you'll see. move on!" as they trooped out of the tunnel and down into the canyon they passed groups of men working on the many ships. the cadet recognized what they were doing at once. the unmistakable outlines of gun ports were being cut into the sides of several bulky space freighters. elsewhere, the steady pounding of metal and grinding of machinery told the cadet that machine shops were going at full blast. he noticed a difference between the men of the patrol and the workers. neither spoke to the other. in fact, astro saw that it was rarely that a worker even glanced at them as they passed by. up ahead, astro saw a huge building, wide and sprawling but only a few stories high. it was nearly dark now and lights began to wink on in the many windows. he guessed that he was being taken to the building and was not surprised when the leader pulled him by the arm, guiding him toward a small side door. there was a curious look about the building and the cadet couldn't figure out what it was. glancing quickly at the wall as he passed through the door, he nearly burst out laughing. the building was made of wood! he guessed that the rebels were using materials at hand rather than importing anything from outside planets. and since venus was largely a planet of jungles and vegetation, with few large mineral deposits, wood would be the easiest thing to use. the inside of the building was handsomely decorated and designed. he saw walls covered with carvings, depicting old legends about the first colonists. he shook his head. "boy," he thought, "they sure go for the venusian stuff in a big way!" "all right!" snapped the leader. "stop here!" astro stood before a huge double door that had been polished to a brilliant luster. the cadet waited for the leader to enter, but the nationalist stood perfectly still, eyes straight ahead. suddenly the doors swung open, revealing a huge chamber, at least a hundred and fifty feet long. at the far end a man dressed in white with a green band across his chest sat in a beautifully carved chair. arrayed on either side of him were fifty or more men dressed in various shades of green. the man in white lifted his hand and the patrol leader stepped forward, pushing astro before him. they walked across the polished floor and stopped ten feet away from the man in white, the patrol leader bowing deeply. astro glanced at the men standing at either side of the man in white. the bulge of paralo-ray pistols was plainly visible beneath their flowing robes. the man in white lifted his hand in the salute astro had seen before. then the patrol leader straightened up and began to speak rapidly in the venusian dialect. translating easily, astro heard him report his capture. when he concluded, the man in white looked at astro closely and spoke three words. astro shook his head. "he does not speak our mother tongue, lactu," volunteered the patrol leader. the man in white nodded. "how is it," he said in english, "that you are a native-born venusian and do not speak the language of your planet?" "i was an orphan. i had very little formal education," said astro. "and as long as we're asking questions around here, how about my asking a few? who in space are you? what's the idea of holding me a prisoner?" "one question at a time, please, brother venusian," said the man in white. "and when you address me, my name is lactu." "lactu what?" asked astro belligerently. "your own name should tell you that we on venus only have one name." "never mind that rocket wash!" barked astro. "when do i get out of here?" "you will never leave here as you came," said lactu quietly. "what does that mean?" demanded the cadet. "you have discovered the existence of our base. ordinarily you would have been burned to a crisp and left in the jungle. fortunately, you are a venusian by birth, and therefore have the right to join our organization." "what does that mean?" "it means," said lactu, "that you will take an oath to fight until death if necessary to free the planet venus and the venusian citizens from the slavery of the solar alliance and--" "awright, buster!" roared astro. "i've had enough of that rocket wash! i took an oath of allegiance to the solar guard and the solar alliance, to uphold the cause of peace throughout the universe and defend the liberties of the planets. your idea is to destroy peace and make slaves out of the people of venus--like these dummies you've got here!" astro gestured contemptuously at the men standing on both sides of lactu. "i don't want any part of you, so start blasting!" continued the big cadet, his voice booming out in the big room. "but make it good, 'cause i'm tough!" there was a murmur among the men and several put their hands on the butts of their paralo-ray guns. even the calm expression in lactu's eyes changed. "you are not afraid of us, are you?" he asked in a low, almost surprised tone of voice. "you, nor anything that crawls in the jungle like you!" shouted astro. "if you're not happy with the way things are run on venus, why don't you take your beef to the solar alliance?" "we prefer to do it our way!" snapped one of the men near lactu. "and as for you, a few lashes with a venusian wet whip will teach you to keep a civil tongue!" astro turned around slowly, looking at each of the men individually. "i promise you," he said slowly, "the first man who lays a whip on me will die." "and who, pray, will do the killing?" snorted a short, stout figure in the darkest of the green uniforms. "you? hardly!" "if it isn't me"--astro turned to face the man--"it will be any one of a thousand space cadets." "you have a lot of confidence in yourself and your friends," said lactu. "death apparently doesn't frighten you." "no more than it does any man of honor," said the cadet. "i've faced death before. as for my friends"--astro shrugged and grinned--"touch me and wait for what happens. and by the stars, mister, you can depend on it happening!" "enough of this, lactu!" said a man near the end of the group. "we have important business to conduct. take this foolish boy out and do away with him!" lactu waved his hand gently. "observe, gentlemen, here is the true spirit of venus. this boy is not an earthman, nor a martian. he is a venusian--a proud venusian who has drifted with the tides of space and taken life where he found it. tell me honestly, gentlemen, what would you have thought of astro, a venusian, if he had acted any differently than he has? if he had taken an oath he does not believe and groveled at our feet? no, gentlemen, to kill this proud, freeborn venusian would be a crime. tell me, astro, do you have any skills?" "i can handle nuclear materials in any form." "we are wasting time, lactu!" exclaimed one of the men suddenly. "settle with this upstart later. now let us take a vote on the issue before us. the ship is waiting to blast off for mercury. do we ask for her assistance, or not?" there was a loud murmur among the assembled men, and lactu held up his hand. "very well, we will vote. all in favor of asking the people of mercury to join our movement against the alliance will say aye!" "aye," chorused the men. "against?" lactu looked around, but there was no reply. lactu turned back to astro. "well, venusian, this is your last chance to join forces with us and to fight for your mother planet." "go blast your jets!" snapped astro. immediately lactu's eyes became hard steely points. "that was your last chance!" he said. "take him out and kill him!" the door suddenly burst open and a green-clad trooper raced across the bare floor, bowing hastily before lactu. "forgive this interruption, lactu," he said breathlessly. "there are men in the jungle headed for the canyon rim. three of them!" lactu turned to astro. "your friends, no doubt!" he snapped an order. "capture them and bring them to me. and as for you, astro, we are in need of capable men to build war heads for our space torpedoes. to ensure the safety of your friends, i would advise your working for us. if not, your friends will die before another night falls." chapter 12 "you're right, tom," said major connel. "they must be around here somewhere. start looking. if they're not here, it may mean he's still alive." it was tom who had thought of looking for astro's weapons. refusing to believe that his unit mate had been killed, the curly-haired cadet was examining the torn jungle suit when the idea occurred to him. quickly roger, connel, and tom spread out over the trampled area, searching the underbrush for astro's paralo-ray pistol or shock rifle. connel examined the underbrush and vines closely for scorch marks made by the blaster. finding none, he rejoined the boys. "well?" he asked. "nothing, sir," replied roger. "can't find them, major," said tom. connel smacked his fists together and spoke excitedly. "i'm sure astro wouldn't be caught unawares by a couple of things like a snake or a tyrannosaurus without putting up a fight. if he was attacked suddenly, he would have fired at least one shot, and if it went wild, it would have burned the vines and brush around here. you didn't find his weapons, and there are no scorched areas. i'll stake my life on it, astro's alive!" roger's and tom's faces brightened. they knew connel had no proof, but they were willing to believe anything that would keep their hopes for their giant unit mate alive. "now," said connel, "assuming he is not dead, and that he is somewhere in the jungle, we have to figure out what he would do." roger was thoughtful a moment. "how long would he last without his jungle suit, sir?" "what do you mean?" asked connel. tom's eyes lit up. "if he's alive, sir, then he's probably following a path or trail that would keep him away from heavy underbrush," he said. connel thought a moment. "there's only one trail away from here." he turned and pointed to the trail made by the tyrannosaurus. "that one." the three spacemen stared at the wide path left by the huge beast. connel hesitated. "it's due north," he said finally. "we've come a full day west and should be making a turn north. we'll follow the tyrannosaurus's trail for a full day." roger and tom grinned. they knew connel was making every effort to find astro, while still keeping his mission in mind. the three spacemen moved along the trail quickly, eyes alert for any sign astro might have left. connel saw the great bloodstains left by the tyrannosaurus and cautioned the two cadets. "this tyranno is wounded pretty badly. it might be heading back for its lair, but it might not make it, and stop along the way. be careful and keep your eyes open for any sign that he might have--" connel was stopped by tom's sudden cry. "major! look!" connel turned and stared. a thousand yards ahead of them on the broken trail they saw the monstrous bulk of a tyrannosaurus emerge from the gloom. "by the rings of saturn," breathed connel, "that's the one!" the great beast spotted the three earthmen at the same instant. it raised itself on its hind legs, and shaking its massive head in anger, started to charge down its own trail toward them. "disperse!" cried connel. "take cover!" tom and roger darted to one side of the trail while connel dived for the other. taking cover behind a tree, the boys turned and pointed their rifles down the trail. they saw that the tyrannosaurus had already covered half the distance between them. "aim for the legs!" shouted connel, from his place of concealment. "don't try for a head shot! he's moving too fast! give it to him in the legs. try to cut him down!" roger and tom lay flat on the ground and trained their rifles on the approaching beast. "i'll take the right leg," said roger. "you take the left, tom." "on target!" replied tom, squinting through the sight. "ready!" connel's voice roared across the trail. only a hundred and fifty feet away the tyrannosaurus, hearing connel's voice, suddenly stopped. its head weaved back and forth as though it suspected a trap. "fire!" roared connel. tom and roger fired together, but at the same moment the monster lunged toward connel's position. both shots missed, the energy charges merely scorching its sides. [illustration] the tyrannosaurus roared with anger and turned toward the boys, head down and the claws of its short forelegs extended. at that moment connel opened fire, aiming for the monster's vulnerable neck. but it was well protected behind its shoulders and the spaceman only succeeded in drawing the beast's attention back to himself. at this instant tom and roger opened fire again, sending violent shock charges into the beast's hide. caught in the withering cross fire, it turned blindly on the boys and charged at them. the two cadets fired coolly, rapidly, unable to miss the great bulk. the air became acrid with the sharp odor of ionized air. maddened now beyond the limits of its endurance, hit at least twenty times and wild with pain, the great king of the venusian jungle bore down on the two cadets. [illustration] roger and tom saw that their fire was not going to stop the tyrannosaurus's charge. they were pouring a nearly steady stream of fire into the monster now, while on the other side of the trail connel was doing the same, raking the monstrous hulk from the forelegs to the hindquarters. the boys jumped back, tom still facing the beast and firing his rifle from the waist. but roger stumbled in the tangle of the underbrush and fell backward, dropping his rifle. the beast's head swooped low, jaws open. seeing roger's danger, tom jumped downward again without hesitation and fired point-blank at the beast's scaly head, only ten feet away. the monster roared in sudden agony and pulled back, jerking his head up against a thick branch of the tree overhead. the limb tore loose under the impact and fell crashing to the ground on top of roger. from behind, connel stepped closer to the tyrannosaurus and fired from a twenty-five-foot range. it wavered and stumbled back, obviously mortally wounded. from both sides tom and connel poured their weapons' power into the giant beast. blinded, near death, the monster wavered uncertainly. bellowing in fear and pain, it turned and lumbered back down the trail. connel and tom watched it until they were certain it could not attack them without warning again, and then they hurried to roger. the heavy tree limb had landed across his back, pinning him to the ground. "roger!" yelled tom. "roger, are you all right?" the blond-haired cadet didn't answer. grabbing a stout branch lying on the ground near by, connel and tom worked it beneath the limb which lay across roger's body and pried it up. "i've got it," said connel, holding the weight of the limb on his shoulder. "pull him out!" tom quickly pulled the unconscious cadet clear and laid him on the ground. dropping the limb, connel bent down to examine the boy. he ran his fingers along roger's spine, feeling the bones one by one through the skin-tight jungle suit. finally he straightened and shook his head. "i can't tell anything," he said. "we'll have to take him back to sinclair's right away." he stood up. "i'll make a stretcher for him. meanwhile, you go after that tyranno and finish him off. he's pretty far gone, but you never can tell." "aye, aye, sir," replied tom. he picked up his rifle and reloaded it, checking it carefully. he repeated the precaution with roger's blaster. "hurry up," urged connel, already reaching for a suitable branch. "time means everything now." "be right back, sir," replied tom. and as he walked away, he looked back at the unconscious form of his unit mate. he could not help reflecting on the bitter fact that already two members of the expedition were in danger, and they were no closer to their goal of finding the nationalists' hidden base. moving carefully, one of the two rifles slung over his shoulder, the other in his hand ready for use, tom followed the trail of the tyrannosaurus. two thousand yards farther along he saw a place where the monster had fallen and then struggled back to its feet to stagger on. rounding a turn in the trail, tom stopped abruptly. before him, not a hundred feet away, the beast lay sprawled on the ground. the area all around was devoid of any vegetation. it was trampled down to the black soil. tom deduced that it was the beast's lair. he pressed forward cautiously until he was a scant thirty feet away, and crouched between the roots of a huge tree where he would be protected should the monster be able to rise and fight again. sighting carefully on the base of the monster's neck, he squeezed the trigger of the shock rifle. a full energy charge hit the tyrannosaurus in its most vulnerable spot. it jerked under the sudden blast, involuntarily tried to rise to its feet, and then fell back, the ground shaking under the impact of its thirty tons. then, after one convulsive kick with its hind legs that uprooted a near-by tree, the beast stiffened and lay still. tom waited, watching the beast for signs of life. after five minutes he stepped forward cautiously, his rifle ready. he circled the tyrannosaurus slowly. the great bulk towered above him, and the cadet's eyes widened in amazement at the size of the fallen giant. stopping at its head, which was as wide as he was tall, tom looked at the jaws and teeth that had torn so many foes into bloody bits, and shook his head. he had come to the jungle to kill just such a beast. but with astro missing and roger unconscious the thrill of victory was somehow missing. he turned and headed back down the trail. connel had finished the litter by the time tom returned, and the officer was leaning over the blond-haired cadet, examining his back again. "we'd better move out right away, tom," said connel. "i still can't tell what's wrong. it may be serious, and then it may be nothing more than just shock. but we can't take a chance." tom nodded. "very well, sir." he adjusted his shoulder pack, slung both rifles over his shoulder, and started to pick up his end of the litter when suddenly the jungle silence was shattered by a deafening roar. connel jumped to his feet! "corbett!" he cried. "that's a rocket ship blasting off!" "it sure sounded like it, sir," replied tom. "and i'll stake my life it's not more than a half mile away!" the two men jumped out into the trail and scanned the sky. the unmistakable roar of a spaceship echoed through the jungle. the ship was accelerating, and the reverberations of the rocket exhaust rolled over the treetops. suddenly a flash of gleaming metal streaked across the sky and connel roared. "we've found it, corbett!" he slapped the cadet on the back. "the nationalists' base! we've found it!" tom nodded, a half-smile on his face. "we sure have, major." he hesitated a moment. "you know, sir, if roger is really badly hurt we might not make it back to sinclair's in time, so--" he stopped. "i know what you're thinking, tom," said the officer, "and i agree. but one of us has to go back with the information." "you go, sir," said tom. "i'll take roger and--" "you can't carry him alone--" "i can make it somehow," protested tom. connel shook his head. "i'll help you." "you mean, you're going to allow yourself to be captured too?" spluttered tom. "not quite." connel smiled. "but a good intelligence agent gets as much information as he can. and he gets correct information! i'll help you get him to the base and you can take him on in for medical attention. i'll get back to sinclair's later." tom tried to protest, but the burly spaceman had turned away. chapter 13 "stand where you are!" tom and major connel stiffened and looked around, the unconscious form of roger stretched between them on the litter. from the jungle around them, green-clad nationalists suddenly emerged, brandishing their guns. "put roger down," muttered connel quietly. "don't try anything." "very well, sir," replied tom, and they lowered the litter to the ground gently. "raise your hands!" came the second command from a man who appeared directly in front of them. standing squarely in front of them, the little man said something in the venusian dialect and waited, but connel and tom remained silent. "i guess you don't speak the venusian tongue," he sneered. "so i'll have to use the disgusting language of earth!" he looked down at the unconscious form of roger. "what happened to him?" "he was injured in a fight with a tyrannosaurus," replied connel. "may i remind you that you and these men are holding guns on an officer of the solar guard. such a crime is punishable by two years on a prison asteroid!" "you'll be the one to go to prison, my stout friend!" the man laughed. "a little work in the shops will take some of that waistline off you!" "are you taking us prisoner?" "what do you think?" "i see." connel seemed to consider for a moment. "who are you?" he asked. "i am drifi, squad officer of the jungle patrol." "connel, senior officer, solar guard," acknowledged connel. "if we are being held prisoner, i wish to make a request." "prisoners don't make requests," said drifi, and then added suspiciously, "what is it?" "see that this man"--connel indicated roger--"is given medical attention at once." drifi eyed the major cautiously. "i make this request as one officer to another," said connel. "a point of honor between opponents." drifi's eyes gleamed visibly at the word _officer_, and tom almost grinned at connel's subtle flattery. "you--and you," snapped drifi at the green-clad men around them, "see that this man is taken to the medical center immediately!" two men jumped to pick up the litter. "thank you," said connel. "now will you be so kind as to tell me what this is all about?" "you'll find out soon enough. we have a special way of treating spies." "spies!" roared connel. the officer sounded so indignant that tom was almost fooled by his tone. "we're hunters! one of our party is lost here in the jungle. we were searching for him when we were attacked by a tyrannosaurus. during the fight, this man was injured. we're not spies!" drifi shrugged his shoulders, and barking a command to his men, turned into the jungle. connel and tom were forced to follow. they were taken to the giant teakwood that astro had seen, and tom and connel watched silently as the door opened, revealing the vacuum tube. the men crowded into the car and it dropped to the lower level. following the same twisting turns in the tunnels, tom and connel were brought to the armory and saw the men surrender their weapons and change their helmets and shoes. they tried desperately to get a look at the faces of the men around them while the headgear was being changed, but, as before, the men were careful to keep their faces averted. continuing down the tunnel, connel tried to speak to drifi again. "i would appreciate it greatly, sir," he said in his most formal military manner, "if you could give me any news about the other man of our party. have you seen him?" drifi did not answer. he marched stiffly ahead, not even bothering to look at connel. as they neared the exit, connel drifted imperceptibly closer to tom and whispered out of the side of his mouth, "keep your eyes open for ships. count as many as you can. how many are armed, their size, and so on. look for ammunition dumps. check radar and communications installations. get as much information as you can, in case only one of us can escape." "yes, sir," whispered tom. "do you think they might have astro?" "it's a good guess. we were following the tyrannosaurus's trail when they caught us, and i'm pretty sure astro had been doing the same thing." "stop that talking!" snapped drifi, suddenly whirling on them. "you," he shouted at one of the guards, "get up here and keep them apart!" a guard stepped quickly between tom and connel, and the conversation ended. at the exit connel and tom stopped involuntarily at the sight before them. astro had entered the canyon near twilight, but the two spacemen got a view of the nationalists' base under the full noon sun. connel gasped and muttered a space oath. tom turned halfway to his superior and was starting to speak when both were shoved rudely ahead. "keep moving," a guard growled. as they walked, their eyes flicked over the canyon, alert for details. tom counted the ships arrayed neatly on the spaceport some distance away, then counted others outside repair shops with men scurrying over them like so many ants. near the center of the canyon the bare trunk of a giant teakwood soared skyward, a gigantic communications tower. tom scanned the revolving antenna, and from its shape and size deduced the power and type of radar being used at the base. he admitted to himself that the nationalists had the latest and best. connel was busy too, noting buildings of identical design scattered around the canyon floor that were too small to be spaceship hangars or storage depots. he guessed that they were housings for vacuum-tube elevator shafts that led to underground caves. the canyon echoed with the splutter of arc welders, the slow banging of iron workers, the cough and hissing of jet sleds, the roar of activity that meant deadly danger to the solar alliance. connel noticed as he moved across the canyon floor that the workers were in good spirits. the morale of the rebels, thought the space officer, was good! too good! at a momentary halt in their march, when drifi stopped to speak with a sentry, tom and connel found an opportunity to speak again. "i've counted a dozen big converted freighters on the blast ramps, sir," whispered tom hurriedly. "three more being repaired, nearly finished, and there are about fifty smaller ships, all heavily armed." "that checks with my count, tom," replied connel hurriedly. "what do you make of the radar?" "at least as good as we have!" "i thought so, too! if a solar guard squadron tried to attack this base now, they'd be spotted and blasted out of space!" "what about stores, sir?" asked tom. "i didn't see anything like a supply depot." connel told him of the small buildings which he believed housed the elevator shafts to underground storerooms. "only one thing is missing!" he concluded. "what's that, sir?" "the nuclear chambers where they produce ammunition for their fleet." "it must be underground too, sir," said tom. "there isn't a building in the canyon that's made of concrete and steel." "right. either that, or it's back up there in the cliffs in one of those tunnels!" the officer snorted. "by the stars, corbett, this place is an atom bomb ready to go off in the lap of the solar alliance." "what are we going to do, sir?" asked tom. "so far, it looks as if it's going to be tough to get out again." "we'll have to wait for a break, tom," sighed connel. "i hope they've taken good care of roger," said the cadet in a low voice. "and i hope they've got astro." "watch it," warned connel. "drifi's coming back. remember, if we're separated and you do manage to escape, get back to sinclair's. contact commander walters and tell him everything that's happened. the code name for direct emergency contact through solar guard communications center in venusport is juggernaut!" "juggernaut!" repeated tom in a whisper. "very well, sir. but i sure hope we aren't separated." "well have to take what comes. _sh!_ here he comes." "all right, let's go," said the patrol leader. they continued across the canyon until they reached a four-story wooden structure without windows. drifi opened a small door and motioned them inside. "what is this?" connel demanded. "this is where you'll stay until lactu sends for you. right now, he is in conference with the division leaders." "divisions of what? ships? men?" asked connel offhandedly, trying not to show any more than idle curiosity. "you'll find out when the solar guard comes looking for a fight," said drifi. "now get in there!" tom and connel were shoved inside and the door closed behind them. it was pitch black, and they couldn't see an inch in front of their faces. but both tom and connel knew instantly that they were not alone. * * * * * "come on. gimme that wrench!" barked astro. the little man beside him handed up the wrench and leaned over the side of the engine casing to watch astro pull the nut tight. "now get over there and throw on the switch," snapped the big cadet. the little man scurried over to one side of the vast machine shop and flipped on the wall switch. there was an audible hum of power and then slowly the machine astro had just worked on began to speed up, soon revving up to ten thousand revolutions per minute. "is it fixed?" demanded the shop foreman, coming up beside astro. "yeah, she's fixed. but i don't work on another job until you give me another helper. that asteroid head you gave me doesn't know a--" astro stopped. something out beyond the double doors caught his eye. it was the sight of tom and connel entering the wooden building. "what's the matter with him?" demanded the foreman. "huh? what? oh--ah--well, he's o.k., i guess," astro stammered. "it's just that he's a little green, that's all." "well, get to work on that heater in chamber number one. it's burned a bearing. change it, and hurry up about it!" "sure--sure!" the big cadet grinned. "say, what's the matter with you?" asked the foreman, staring at him suspiciously. "i'm o.k.," replied astro quickly. the foreman continued to stare at astro as the big cadet turned to his assistant nonchalantly. "come on, genius, get that box of tools over to the heater!" he shouted. as he turned away, the foreman nodded to the green-clad guard, who followed closely behind astro, his hand on the butt of his paralo-ray gun. seeing the little assistant struggling with the heavy box, astro stopped and picked it out of his arms with one hand. grinning, he held it straight out and then slowly brought it around in a complete circle over his head, still holding it with only one hand. the guard's eyes widened behind his plastic helmet at this show of strength. "you're very strong, astro," he said, "but you are altogether too contemptuous of a fellow venusian." he nodded to the small assistant. "that's right," said astro. his grin hardened and he leaned forward slightly, balancing on the balls of his feet. "that goes for you and every other green space monkey in this place. drop that ray gun and i'll tie you up in a knot!" frightened, the guard pulled the paralo-ray gun out of its holster, but astro quickly stepped in and sank his fist deep into the guard's stomach. the man dropped like a stone. astro grinned and turned his back to walk toward the heater. he heard the other workers begin to chatter excitedly, but he didn't pay any attention to them. "astro! astro!" his little assistant ran up beside him. "you hit a division guard!" "i did, huh?" replied the big cadet in an innocent tone. "what kind of a division?" "don't you know? venus has been divided into areas called divisions. each division has a chief, and every venusian citizen in that division is under his personal jurisdiction." "uh-huh," said astro vaguely. he climbed up on to the machine and began taking off the outer casing. "the best men in the division are made the division chief's personal guards." "what happens to the second and third and fourth best men?" "well, they're given jobs here according to their knowledge and capacities." "what was your job before you came here?" "i was a field worker on my chief's plantation." "why did you join?" asked astro. "did you think it better to have venusians ruling venus, instead of belonging to the solar alliance?" "i didn't think about it at all," admitted the little man. "besides, i didn't join. i was recruited. my chief just put me on a ship and here i am." "well, what do you think of it, now that you're here?" asked astro. he began running his fingers along a few of the valves, apparently paying no attention to the guard who was just now staggering to his feet. the little assistant paused and considered astro's question. finally he replied weakly, "i don't know. it's all right, i guess. it's better here in the shops than in the caves where the others go." "others? what others?" "those that don't like it," replied the man. "they're sent to the caves." "what caves?" "up in the cliff. the tunnels--" he suddenly stopped when an angry shout echoed in the machine shop. the guard astro had hit rushed up. he turned to several workmen near by. "take this blabbering idiot to the caves!" he ordered angrily. astro slowly climbed down from the machine and faced the guard menacingly. as the guard's finger tightened on the trigger of his paralo-ray gun, the foreman suddenly rushed up and knocked the gun out of his hand. "you fool! you stiffen this man and we'll be held up in production for hours!" "so what!" sneered the guard. "lactu and your division chief will tell you so what!" barked the foreman. he turned to astro. "and as for you, if you try anything like that again, i'll--" "you won't do a thing," said astro casually. "i'm the best man you've got and you know it. lactu knows it too. so don't threaten me and keep these green space jerks away from me! i'll fix your machines, because i want to, not because you can make me!" the foreman eyed the big cadet curiously. "because you want to? you've changed your tune since you first came here." "maybe," said astro. "maybe i like what i see around here. it all depends." "well, make up your mind later," barked the foreman. "now get that machine fixed!" "sure," said astro simply, turning back to the machine and starting to whistle. strangely enough, he was happy. he was a prisoner, but he felt better than he had in days. just knowing that tom and major connel were right across the canyon gave him a surge of confidence. working over the machine quickly, surely, the big cadet began to formulate a plan. now was the time! they were together again. now was the time to escape! [illustration] chapter 14 "put your back against the door, tom!" snapped connel. "quickly!" tom felt the powerful grip of the solar guard officer's fingers on his arm as he was pulled backward. he closed his eyes, then opened them, hoping to pierce the darkness, but he saw nothing. beside him, he could sense the tenseness in connel's body. there was a rustle of movement to the right of them. "careful, tom," cautioned connel. "to your right!" "i hear it, sir," said tom, turning toward the noise and bracing himself. "my name is connel," the burly spaceman suddenly spoke up in loud tones. "i'm an official in the solar guard! whoever you are, speak up! identify yourself." there was a moment of silence and then a voice spoke harshly in the darkness. "how do we know you're a solar guard officer? how do we know you're not a spy?" "do you have any kind of light?" asked connel. "yes, we have a light. but we are not going to give away our positions. we know how to move in here. you don't." "then how do you expect me to prove it?" "the burden of proof lies with you." "have you ever heard of me?" asked connel after a pause. "we know there is an officer in the solar guard named connel." "i am that officer," asserted connel. "i was sent into the jungle to find this base, but one of our party was injured and we were captured by a patrol." tom and connel heard voices whispering in the darkness and then a loud order. "lie down on the floor, both of you!" the two spacemen hesitated and then got down flat on their backs. "close your eyes and lie still. one of us here knows what connel looks like. i hope for your sake that you're telling the truth. if you're not--" the voice stopped but the threat was plain. "do as they say, tom," said connel. the cadet closed his eyes and he heard the shuffle of feet around them. suddenly there was a flash of light on his face but he kept his eyes tightly closed. the light moved away, but he could tell that it was still burning. "it's connel, i think," said a high-pitched voice directly over them. "are you sure?" "pretty sure. i met him once in atom city at a scientific meeting. he was making a speech with a professor sykes." "that's right," said connel, hearing the remark. "i was there." "do you remember meeting a man from venus wearing a long red robe?" asked the high-pitched voice. connel hesitated. "no," he said. "i only remember talking to three men. two were from venus and one was from mars. but neither of the two from venus wore a red robe. they wore purple--" "he's right," acknowledged the voice. "this is connel." "open your eyes," said the first voice. connel and tom opened their eyes and in the light of a small hand torch they saw two gaunt faces before them. the tallest of the men stuck out a bony hand. "my name is carson." they recognized his voice as the one that had spoken first. "and this is bill jensen," he added. "this is tom corbett, space cadet," said connel. he glanced around the room, and in the weak reflected light of the torch, saw almost fifty men crouched against the walls, each of them holding a crude weapon. "you'll understand our caution, major," said carson. "once before we had a plan to escape and a spy was sent in. as you see, we didn't escape." "neither did the spy," commented jensen grimly. "how long have you been here?" asked connel. "the oldest prisoner has been here for three years," replied carson. and as the other men began to gather around them, connel and tom saw that they were hardly more than walking skeletons. their cheeks were hollow, eyes sunk in their sockets, and they wore little more than rags. "and there's no way to escape?" asked tom. "three guards with blasters are stationed on the other side of that door," said carson. "there is no other entrance or exit. we tried a tunnel, but it caved in and after that they put in a wooden floor." he stamped on it. "teak. hard as steel. we couldn't cut through." "but why are you being held prisoners?" asked connel. "all of us joined the nationalists believing it was just a sort of good-neighbor club, where we could get together and exchange ideas for our own improvement. and when we found out what lactu and the division chiefs were really up to, we tried to quit. as you see, we couldn't. we knew too much." "blasted rebels!" muttered connel. "the solar guard will cool them off!" "i'm afraid it's too late," said carson. "they're preparing to strike now. i've been expecting it for some time. they have enough ships and arms to wipe out the entire solar guard garrison here on venus in one attack!" he shook his head. "after that, with solar guard ships and complete control of the planet--" he paused and sighed. "it will mean a long, bloody space war." tom and connel plied the prisoners with questions and soon began to get a complete picture of the scope of the nationalist movement. "lactu and his commanders should be sent to a prison asteroid for life," said carson, "for what they have done to former nationalists." "hundreds of unsuspecting venusians have been brought here under the guise of helping to free venus. but when they come and recognize what lactu really intends to do, they want to quit. but it's too late, and they're sent to the caves." tom looked at the gaunt man fearfully. there was something in his voice that sent a chill down his spine. "they are driven like cattle into the canyon walls," continued carson. "there they are forced to dig the huge underground vaults for storage dumps. they are beaten and whipped and starved." "why aren't you in the caves then?" asked connel. "some of us were," replied carson. "but each of us here owns land and it is necessary to keep us alive to send back directives to our bankers and foremen to give aid in one form or another to sharkey and the division chiefs." "i see," said connel. "if you were to die, then your property would be out of their reach." "exactly," said carson. "is sharkey the real leader of the movement?" "i don't believe so. but then, no one knows. that's the idea of the frosted helmets. if you don't know who a man is, you can liquidate him without conscience. he may be your closest friend, but you would never know it." "the blasted space crawlers!" growled connel. "well, they'll pay!" "you have a plan?" asked carson eagerly. "no," said connel slowly, "but at least we all have more of a chance now." "how?" asked carson. "the solar guard sent us here to find this base. if we don't return, or send some sort of message back within a reasonable time, this jungle will be swarming with guardsmen!" carson looked a little disappointed. "we shall see," he said. * * * * * there were three things on astro's mind as twilight darkened into night over the canyon. one, he had to find out why roger wasn't with tom and connel when they were taken into the building; two, he had to figure out a way to contact tom and connel; and finally, he had to escape himself, or help tom and connel escape. the big cadet finished the last job in the machine shop. it had taken very little time, but the big cadet had lingered over it, trying to find answers to his three problems. around him, the workers were leaving their benches and lathes, to be replaced by still others. a twelve-hour shift was being used by the nationalists in their frantic preparations for an attack on the venusport garrison of the solar guard. astro finally dropped the last wrench into the tool kit and straightened up. he stretched leisurely and glanced over at his guard. the man was still rubbing his stomach where astro had hit him, and he watched the big cadet with a murderous gleam in his eye. "all finished," said astro. "where and when do i eat?" "if i had my way, you wouldn't," sneered the guard. "either i knock off and eat," said astro confidently, "or i call the foreman and you talk to lactu." "feeling pretty big, aren't you?" growled the guard. "i haven't forgotten that punch in the stomach." "why, i hardly touched you," said astro in mock surprise. the guard glared at him, muttered an oath, and turned away. astro could see that he was boiling, almost out of his mind with helpless, frustrated anger, and suddenly the young cadet realized how he would be able to move about the base freely. grinning, he walked arrogantly in front of the guard and out of the shop into the dark venusian night. it was very warm and many of the workers had stripped down to their trousers. he passed the open doorway of a large tool shop and glanced inside. it was empty. the men had apparently gone to eat. he suddenly stopped, turned to the guard, and growled, "if you want to settle our differences now, we can step inside." the guard hesitated and glared at astro. "when i settle with you, big boy, you'll know about it." "what's the matter with right now?" asked astro. "yellow?" he turned and walked into the tool shop without looking back. the guard rushed after him. but the big cadet had carefully gauged the distance between them, and when he heard the rushing steps of the guard immediately behind him, he suddenly spun around, swinging a roundhouse right, catching the guard in the pit of the stomach again. the man stopped dead in his tracks. his eyes bulged and glazed, and he dropped to the floor like a stone. astro pulled the man to the corner of the empty shop, removed the plastic helmet, and then tied and gagged him. he pulled the helmet over his own head, nearly tearing one ear off, grabbed the gun and stepped back outside. he stood in front of the door and glanced up and down the area between the buildings. fifty feet away a group of men were working over a tube casing, but they didn't even look up. [illustration] staying in the shadows, he walked down the lane, moving carefully. the plastic helmet would keep him from being recognized right away, but to complete his plan, he needed one of the green uniforms of the guards. deciding it would be too risky to walk around the base, he crouched behind a huge crate of machinery at the head of the lane. sentries were constantly patrolling the area and he was certain that one would pass by soon. he only hoped the man would be big enough. fifteen minutes later the cadet heard footsteps in a slow measured tread. he peered around the edge of the crate and silently breathed a thankful prayer. it was a green-clad guard, and luckily, almost as big as he was. crouching in the shadow of the crate, astro tensed for the attack. it had to be quick and it had to be silent. he couldn't club the guard because of his helmet. he would have to get him around the throat to choke off any outcry. the slow steps came nearer and the big cadet raised himself on the balls of his feet, ready to spring. when the guard's shadow fell across him, astro leaped forward like a striking tiger. the guard didn't have a chance. astro's arm coiled around his throat and the cry of alarm that welled up within him died down in a choking gasp. within seconds he was unconscious and the big cadet had dragged him behind the crate. he stripped him of his uniform, bound and gagged him with his own rags, and crammed him into the crate. then, protected by the helmet and green uniform and carrying the blaster, the cadet stepped out confidently and strode down the lane. he went directly to the building he had seen tom and connel enter, and walked boldly up to the guard lounging in front of the door. "you're relieved," said astro in the venusian dialect. "they want you up in the caves." the cadet had no idea where the caves were, but he knew that they couldn't be near by and it would be some time before an alarm could be sounded. "the caves?" asked the guard. "who said so?" "the chief. he wants you to identify somebody." "me? identify someone? i don't understand." the guard was puzzled. "what section of the caves?" "the new section," said astro quickly, figuring there must be a new and an old section because he had heard a guard refer to the old one. "up by the jungle tunnels?" astro nodded. "must be more of those solar guardsmen," said the guard, relaxing. "we have two of them in here, another in the hospital, and one of them working in the machine shop." hospital! astro gulped. that would be roger. but he dared not ask too many questions. "what's going to happen to them?" he asked casually. "i don't know," said the guard, "but i wish we'd hurry up and attack venusport. i'm getting tired of living out here in the jungle." "me too," said astro. "well, you'd better get going." the guard nodded and started to walk away. suddenly astro stiffened. two other guards were rounding the corner of the building. he called to the departing guard quickly. "who's on duty with you tonight?" "maron and teril," replied the guard, and then strode off into the darkness. "so long," said astro, turning to face the two men walking toward him. he would have to get rid of them. "hello, maron, teril," he called casually. "everything quiet?" "yes," replied the shorter of the two, as they stopped in front of astro, "no trouble tonight." "well, there's trouble now!" growled astro. he brought up the blaster and cocked it. "make one wrong move, and you're dead little space birds! get over there and open that door!" stunned, both men turned to the door without a protest and astro took their guns. "open up!" he growled. the men slid the heavy bar back and pushed the door open. "get inside!" ordered astro. the two men stumbled inside. astro stepped to the door. "tom! major!" there was a cry of joy from the blackness within and astro recognized tom. "astro!" roared connel, rushing up. "what in the stars--?" "can't talk now," said astro. "here. take these blasters and then tie these two up. close the door, but leave it open a crack. we can talk while i stay outside and keep watch. if there isn't a guard out here, it might mean trouble." "right," said connel. he took the blasters, tossing one over to tom. "blast it, i never felt anything so good in my life!" he closed the door, leaving it open an inch. "why is roger in the hospital?" asked astro quickly. connel told him of the fight with the tyrannosaurus and roger's injury, ending with their capture by the patrol. "you know what's going on here, major?" asked astro. "i sure do," said connel. "and the sooner we blast them, the happier i'll be." "one of us will have to escape and get back to the _polaris_ to contact commander walters," said astro. "but they've got radar here as good as ours. that has to be put out of commission or they can blast any attacking fleet." "you're right," said connel grimly, and turned back into the room. "tom!" he called. "yes, sir," replied tom, coming up to the door. "since astro and i speak venusian--" said connel, and then added when tom gasped, "yes, i speak it fluently, but i kept it a secret. that means you're the one to go. astro and i will have more of a chance here. you escape and return to the _polaris_. contact commander walters. tell him everything that's happened. we'll give you thirty-six hours to make it. at exactly noon, day after tomorrow, we'll knock out their radar." "but how, sir?" asked tom. "never mind. we'll figure out something. just get back to the _polaris_ and tell the solar guard to attack at noon, day after tomorrow. if you don't and the fleet attacks earlier, or later, they'll be wiped out." "what about you, sir?" asked tom. "if you get back in time, we'll be all right. if not, then this is good-by. we'll hold out as long as we can, but that can't be forever. we're fighting smart, determined men, tom. and it's a fight to the finish. now hurry up and get into one of those uniforms." while tom turned back inside to put on the uniform, connel returned to astro outside the door. "think we can do it, astro?" "i don't see why not, sir," replied the big cadet. a moment later tom returned, dressed in one of the guard's green uniform and wearing a helmet. carson was with him, similarly clad. "astro better show me the way out of the base," said tom. "carson will stand guard until he gets back." "good idea," said connel. tom and carson slipped out the door. "all set, astro?" asked tom. "yeah, there's only one thing wrong," replied the big cadet. "what's the matter?" asked connel. "i don't know the way out of the base." [illustration] chapter 15 "i can tell you the way out of the base." adjusting the plastic helmet over his head, carson stepped up close to astro and tom and spoke confidently. "it's very simple." "whew!" exclaimed tom. "i thought we'd have to go fumbling around." carson pointed through the darkness. "follow this lane straight down until you come to a large repair lock. there's a space freighter on the maintenance cradle outside. you can't miss it. turn left and follow a trail to the base of the canyon wall. there are jungle creepers and vines growing up the side and you can climb them easily." tom nodded and repeated the directions, then turned to astro. "maybe you'd better stay here, astro. i can make it alone." "no." connel spoke sharply from the doorway. "astro speaks venusian. if you're stopped, he can speak for you. you'd give yourself away." "very well, sir," said tom. "i guess that is best. ready to go, astro?" "ready," replied the big cadet. "good-by, major," said tom, reaching into the doorway to shake hands with connel. "i'll try my best." "it's a matter of life and death, tom." connel's voice was low and husky. "not our lives, or the lives of a few people, but the life and death of the solar alliance." "i understand, sir." tom turned to astro and the two cadets marched off quickly. they had no difficulty finding the giant ship on the cradles outside the repair shop and quickly turned toward the base of the cliff. twenty minutes later they had left the center of activity and were close to the canyon wall. they were congratulating themselves on their luck in not being stopped or questioned when suddenly they saw a guard ahead of them on sentry duty. "ill take care of him," whispered astro. "you hide here in the shadows, and when i whistle, you start climbing. then i'll cover you from there until you get to the top. got it?" "right!" the two cadets shook hands briefly. each knew that there was no need to speak of their feelings. "take care of roger," said tom. "we don't know how badly he's been injured." "i'll see to him," said astro. "watch me now and wait for my whistle." he turned away and then paused to call back softly, "spaceman's luck, tom." "same to you, astro," replied tom, and then crouched tensely in the shadows. the big cadet walked casually toward the sentry, who spotted him immediately and brought his gun up sharply, calling a challenge in the venusian tongue. "a friend," replied astro in the same dialect. the sentry lowered the gun slightly. "what are you doing out here?" he asked suspiciously. "just taking a walk," said astro. "looking for something." "what?" asked the sentry. "trying to make a connection." "a connection? what kind of connection?" "this kind!" said astro suddenly, chopping the side of his hand down on the sentry's neck, between the helmet and his uniform collar. the sentry fell to the ground like a poleaxed steer and lay still. astro grinned, then turned and went whistling off into the darkness. twenty feet away tom heard the signal and hurried to the base of the cliff. he grabbed a thick vine and pulled himself upward, hand over hand. halfway up he found a small ledge and stopped to rest. below him, he could see astro hurrying back toward the center of the base. the dim lights and the distant hum of activity assured him that so far his escape was unnoticed. he resumed his climb, and fifteen minutes later the curly-haired cadet stood on the canyon rim. after another short rest he turned and plunged into the jungle. tom knew that as long as he kept the planet of earth over his right shoulder, while keeping the distant star of regulus ahead of him, he was traveling in the right direction to sinclair's plantation. he stopped to check his bearings often, occasionally having to climb a tree to see over the top of the jungle. he ignored the threat of an attack by a jungle beast. for some reason it did not present the danger it had when he had first entered the jungle, seemingly years before. under pressure, the cadet had become skilled in jungle lore and moved with amazing speed. he kept the blaster ready to fire at the slightest movement, but fortunately during the first night he encountered nothing more dangerous than a few furry deerlike animals that scampered behind him off the trail. morning broke across the jungle in a sudden burst of sunlight. the air was clear and surprisingly cool, and tom felt that he could make the sinclair plantation by nightfall if he continued pushing full speed ahead. he stopped once for a quick meal of the last of the synthetics that he had stuffed in his pocket from his shoulder pack, and then continued in a steady, ground-eating pace through the jungle. late in the afternoon he began to recognize signs of recent trail blazing, and once he cut across the path astro had made. he wondered if the trail was one astro had cut while he was lost, or previously. he finally decided to go ahead on his own, since he had managed to come this far without the aid of any guide markers. as the darkening shadows of night began to spread over the jungle the young cadet began to worry. he had been allowed thirty-six hours to make it back to the _polaris_, communicate with commander walters, and tell him the position of the base, and tom had to allow time for the solar guard fleet to assemble and blast off, so that it would arrive at the base at exactly noon on the next day. he had to reach the sinclair plantation before nightfall or the fleet would never make it. suddenly to his left he heard a noisy crashing of underbrush and the roar of a large beast. tom hesitated. he could hide; he could fight; or he could break to his right and try to escape. the beast growled menacingly. it had picked up his scent. tom was sure it was a large beast on the prowl for food, and he decided that he could not waste time hiding, or risk being injured in a battle with the jungle prowler. he quickly broke to his right and raced through the jungle. behind him, the beast picked up the chase, the ground trembling with its approach. it began to gain on him. tom was suddenly conscious of having lost his bearings. he might be running away from the clearing! still he ran on, legs aching and lungs burning. he charged through the underbrush that threatened any moment to trip him. when he was almost at the point of complete exhaustion, and ready to turn and face the beast behind him, he saw something that renewed his spirit and sent new strength through his body. ahead through the vines and creepers, the slender nose of the _polaris_ was outlined against the twilight sky. disregarding the beast behind him, he plunged through the last few feet of jungle undergrowth and raced into the clearing around the sinclair home. behind him, the beast suddenly stopped growling, and when tom reached the air lock of the _polaris_, he saw that the beast had turned back, reluctant to come out of the protection of the jungle. tom pulled the air-lock port open and was about to step inside when he heard a harsh voice coming from the shadow of the port stabilizer. "just stop right where you are!" tom jerked around. rex sinclair stepped out of the shadow, a paralo-ray gun in his hand. "mr. sinclair!" cried tom, suddenly relieved. "boy, am i glad to see you!" he jumped to the ground. "don't you recognize me? cadet corbett!" [illustration: _"mr. sinclair!" cried tom, suddenly relieved_] "yes, i recognize you," snarled sinclair. "get away from that air lock or i'll blast you!" tom's face expressed the confusion he felt. "but, mr. sinclair, you're making a mistake. i've got to get aboard and warn--" he stopped. "what's the idea of holding a paralo ray on me?" "you're not warning anybody!" sinclair waved the gun menacingly. "now get over to the house and walk slowly with your hands in the air or i'll freeze you solid!" stunned by this sudden turn of events, tom turned away from the air lock. "so you're one of them, too," said tom. "no wonder we were caught in the jungle. you knew we were looking for the base." "never mind that," snapped sinclair. "get into the house and make it quick!" the young cadet walked slowly toward the house. he saw the charred remains of the burned outbuildings and nodded. "so it was all an act, eh? you had your buildings burned to throw us off the track. small price to pay to remain in the confidence of the solar guard." "shut up!" growled sinclair. "you might be able to shut me up, but it'll take a lot more than a bunch of rabble rousers to shut up the solar guard!" "we'll see," snapped sinclair. they reached the house and tom climbed the steps slowly, hoping the planter would come close enough for a sudden attack, but he was too careful. they moved into the living room and tom stopped in surprise. george hill and his wife were tied hand and foot to two straight-backed chairs. tom gasped. "george! mrs. hill!" george hill strained against his bonds and mumbled something through the gag in his mouth, but tom couldn't understand what he was trying to say. mrs. hill just looked at the planter with wide, frightened eyes. the cadet whirled around angrily. "why, you dirty little space rat!" sinclair didn't hesitate. he squeezed the trigger of his paralo-ray gun and tom stiffened into rigidity. the planter dropped the ray gun into a chair and leisurely began to tie the hands and feet of the immobilized cadet. "since you can hear me, corbett," said sinclair, "and since you are powerless to do anything about what i'm about to tell you, i'm going to give you a full explanation. i owe it to you. you've really worked for it." unable to move a muscle, tom nevertheless could hear the planter clearly. he mentally chided himself at his stupidity in allowing himself to be captured so easily. sinclair continued, "my original invitation to you and your friends, to use my home as a base for your hunting operations was sincere. i had no idea you were in any way connected with the investigation the solar guard was planning to make into the nationalist movement." tom was completely bound now, and the planter stepped back, picked up the ray gun, and flipping on the neutralizer, released the cadet from the effects of the ray charge. tom shuddered involuntarily, his nerves and muscles quivering as life suddenly flowed into them again. he twisted at the bonds on his wrists, and to his amazement found them slightly loose. he was sure he could work his hands free, but decided to wait for a better opportunity. he glanced at the clock on the wall near by and saw that it was nine in the evening. only fifteen hours before the solar guard must attack! sinclair sat down casually in a chair and faced the cadet. george and mrs. hill had stopped struggling and were watching their employer. "do you know anything about the bomb we found on the _polaris_ on our trip to venus?" asked tom. "i planned that little surprise myself, corbett," said sinclair. "unfortunately our agents on earth bungled it." "it seems to me that was pretty stupid. there would have been another man sent in major connel's place, and we were warned that something big was in the wind." "ah, quite so, corbett," said sinclair. "but the destruction of the _polaris_ would have caused no end of speculation. there would have been an investigation which would have temporarily removed the spotlight from the nationalist movement. that would have given us ample time to complete our preparations for the attack." "then you knew," said tom bitterly, "when major connel, roger, astro, and i left here that we were going to be captured." "well, that was one of the details of the final plan. personally, i hoped that you and your nosy major would meet a more dramatic and permanent end in the jungle." "what are you going to do with us?" asked tom, glancing at george and his wife. "and what do mr. and mrs. hill have to do with your scheme?" "unfortunately they discovered who i am, and of course had to be taken care of. as to your eventual disposition, i haven't had time to think about that." "well, you'd better start thinking," said tom. "and you'd better do a good job when you attack the solar guard. perhaps you don't know it, sinclair, but the whole pattern of the solar guard is one of defense. we do not invite attack, but are prepared for it. and we have the power to counterattack!" "when we get through with your solar guard, corbett," sneered sinclair, "there won't be anything left but smoldering heaps of junk and the dead bodies of stupid men!" the buzz of a teleceiver suddenly sounded in another part of the house and sinclair left the room quickly. when he was sure the planter was out of earshot, tom turned to george and whispered, "i think i can work my hands loose. where can i find a ray gun?" george began to mumble frantically but tom couldn't understand him, and the sound of returning footsteps silenced hill. the planter strode back into the room, hurriedly putting on the green uniform of the nationalists. "i've just received word of a speed-up in the preparations for our attack," he said. "soon, corbett--soon you will see what will happen to the solar guard!" [illustration] chapter 16 "bring that dirty little space crawler in here!" captain strong had never seen commander walters so angry. the cords stood out in his neck and his face was red with fury as he paced up and down the solar guard office in venusport. "a spy," he roared. "a spy right in the heart of our organization!" he shook his head. the door opened and two burly solar guardsmen entered, saluted, and turned to flank the doorway, hands on their paralo-ray pistols. the private secretary of e. philips james shuffled in slowly, followed by two more guards. walters stepped up to the thin, intense young man and glared at him. "if i had my way, i'd send you out to the deepest part of space and leave you there!" the man bit his lip but said nothing. "where is your secret base?" demanded walters. "i don't know," replied the secretary nervously. "who told you to intercept this message from mercury?" walters tapped a paper on his desk. "who gave you your orders?" "i receive orders on an audioceiver in my home," answered the man, a slight quaver in his voice. "i have never seen my superior." "and you followed the nationalist movement blindly, doing whatever they told you, without question, is that it?" "yes." "yes, _sir_!" roared walters. "yes, sir," corrected the secretary. "who told you to forge those orders for priority seats on the _venus lark_?" "my superior," said the man. "how did you know major connel was coming here to investigate the nationalists?" "i read the decoded message sent to the solar delegate, mr. james." "who told you to send men to bomb the _polaris_?" "my superior," said the man. "your superior--your superior!" walters' voice was edged with contempt. "what else has your superior told you to do?" "a great many things," said the young man simply. walters studied the thin face and then turned to captain strong. "there's only one thing to do, steve. there's no telling how many of these rats are inside our organization. relieve every civilian in any position of trust and put in our own man. i'll make a public teleceiver broadcast in half an hour. i'm declaring martial law." "yes, sir," replied strong grimly. "if you hadn't been in the code room when this message from mercury came in, we would never have known the nationalists were trying to get the mercurians to join them in their attack on us until it was too late. it's the only break we've had, so far, learning that the mercurians are still decent, loyal solar citizens. i hate to think of what would have happened if they hadn't warned us." "he very nearly got away with it, sir," said strong. "if i hadn't heard the signal for a top-secret message come through on the coding machine, i never would have suspected him. he tried to hide it in his tunic. he also confessed to trying to kidnap the cadets when he heard me tell them that a cab would be waiting for them." "well, we know now," said walters. he turned to one of the guardsmen. "sergeant, i'm holding you personally responsible for this man." "aye, aye, sir," said the guard, stepping toward the secretary, but walters stopped him and addressed the man. "i'll give you one last chance to tell me where your base is and how many ships you have," he said. the secretary looked down at his feet and mumbled, "i don't know where the base is, and i don't know how many ships there are." "then what does this list we found in your tunic mean?" snapped strong. "these are the names of ships that have been lost in space." "i don't know. that list was sent to me over the audioceiver by my superior. i was to relay it to mercury should they accept our proposal to join forces against--" he stopped. "get him out of my sight!" barked walters. the guards closed in around the little man and he slowly shuffled out of the office. "i wonder how many more there are like him in our organization, steve?" the commander had turned to the window and was staring out blindly. "i don't know, sir," replied strong. "but i think we'd better be prepared for trouble." "agreed," said walters, turning to the solar guard captain. "what do you suggest?" "since we don't know how many ships they have, where their base is, or when they plan to attack, i suggest putting the venus squadrons in defense pattern a. meanwhile, call in three additional squadrons from mars, earth, and luna. that way, we can at least be assured of an even fight." "but we don't know if they'll attack here on venus. suppose we weaken earth's fleet and they attack there?" walters paused, looking troubled. then he sighed. "i guess you're right. put the plan into effect immediately. it's the only thing we can do." at exactly midnight every teleceiver on venus was suddenly blacked out for a moment and then came into focus again to reveal the grim features of commander walters. in homes, restaurants, theaters, arriving and departing space liners, in every public and private gathering place, the citizens of venus heard the announcement. "as commander in chief of the solar guard, i hereby place the entire planet of venus under martial law. all public laws are suspended until further notice. all public officials are hereby relieved of their authority. a ten p.m. until six a.m. curfew will go into effect immediately. anyone caught on the streets between these hours will be arrested. an attack is expected on the city of venusport, as well as other venusian cities, momentarily. follow established routine for such an occurrence. obey officers and enlisted men of the solar guard who are here on venus to protect you and your property. that is all!" * * * * * in the living room of sinclair's house tom waited impatiently for the sound of sinclair's yacht taking off before attempting to free himself from the rope on his wrists. but when a half-hour had passed with no sound from outside, he decided not to waste any more time. relaxing completely, the curly-haired cadet began working his wrists back and forth in the loop of rope. it was slow, painful work, and in no time the skin was rubbed raw. george and mrs. hill watched him, wide-eyed. they saw the skin of his wrists gradually turn pink, then red, as the cadet pulled and pushed at the rope. a half-hour had passed before he felt the rope slipping down over the widest part of his hand. slowly, so as not to lose the precious advantage, he pulled with all his strength, unmindful of the pain. he heard a sharp gasp from mrs. hill and then felt the rope become damp. his wrists were bleeding. but at the same time he felt the rope slipping over his hands. he gave a quick tug and the rope slipped off and dropped to the floor, a bloody tangle. he spun around and untied the foreman and his wife quickly, removing the gags from their mouths gently. "your wrists!" cried mrs. hill. "don't worry about them, ma'am," said tom. he looked at hill. "how long have you been tied up?" "just about an hour before you came," answered the foreman. "i found sinclair in front of a teleceiver in his room. it's in a secret panel and i didn't know it was there. i waited and heard him talking to someone in venusian. but he spotted me and pulled a ray gun." "do you know where he's gone?" asked tom. "no, but i sure wish i did!" said the burly foreman stoutly. "i have something to settle with him." "that'll have to wait until the solar guard is finished with him. come on!" tom started toward the door. "where are we going?" asked hill. "to the _polaris_! i've got to warn the solar guard of their plans. they're going to attack the venusport garrison and take over venus!" "by the stars!" gasped mrs. hill. "here i've been feeding that man all these years and didn't know i was contributing to a revolution!" tom was out of the door and running toward the _polaris_ before she had finished talking. george followed right behind him. as the cadet raced across the dark clearing one hope filled his mind--that the _polaris_ would be in the same condition in which they had left it. the port was still open where sinclair had caught him and he climbed inside the giant ship quickly. as soon as he entered, he snapped on the emergency lights and searched the ship carefully. after examining every compartment, and satisfied that there was no one aboard, he made his way back to the radar bridge. there, he saw immediately why sinclair had felt free to leave the ship. all radar and communications equipment had been completely smashed. the young cadet returned to the control deck and called down to george hill, waiting in the air lock. "george! get mrs. hill aboard quickly. we're blasting off!" "blasting off?" the foreman called back. "but i thought you were going to contact venusport!" "i can't," replied tom. "sinclair has smashed the communications and the radar. we'll have to take our information to venusport in person. i only hope he's left the rockets and atomic motors alone." "how about using the teleceiver in the house?" asked the foreman, climbing up to the control deck. "can't take a chance," said tom. "this is top secret. they might have the teleceiver tapped." "do you know how to handle this ship alone?" asked george, glancing around at the great control board. "i don't know anything about a ship this size." "i can handle it," said tom. "get mrs. hill aboard!" "here i am, tommy," said mrs. hill, climbing up into the control deck. "i have some bandages and salve for your wrists." "there's no time, mrs. hill," said tom. "we've got to--" "nonsense!" she interrupted firmly. "you just give me your hands. it'll take only a minute!" tom reluctantly held out his wrists and mrs. hill expertly applied the salve and bandaged the cadet's raw wrists. admittedly feeling better, tom turned to the master switch and found it missing. for a second panic seized him, until he remembered that major connel had hidden it. he felt under the pilot's chair and breathed easier, pulling out the vital instrument. "better get into acceleration chairs," said tom, strapping himself into his seat. "this might be a rough take-off." "watch yourself, tom," cautioned george. "we aren't afraid for ourselves, but you've got to get to venusport!" "if he's left the power deck alone, everything will be o.k." the young cadet stretched out a trembling hand and switched on the automatic firing control. then, crossing his fingers, he flipped on the main generator and breathed easier as the steady hum surged through the ship. he thought briefly of astro and roger, wishing his two unit mates were at their stations, and then switched on the power feed to the energizing pumps. there was a second's wait as the pressure began to build, and he watched the indicator over his head on the control panel carefully. when it had reached the proper level, he switched in the reactant feed, giving it full d-12 rate. he glanced at the astral chronometer over his head automatically and noted the time. "stand by!" he called. "blast off minus five--four--three--two--one --_zero_!" he threw the master switch and a roaring burst of power poured into the main tubes. the ship bucked slightly, raised itself from the ground slowly, and then suddenly shot upward. in less than a minute the _polaris_ had cleared atmosphere and tom turned on the artificial-gravity generators. he made a quick computation on the planetary calculator, fired the port steering rockets, and sent the ship in a long arching course for venusport. then, unstrapping himself, he turned to see how mr. and mrs. hill had taken the blast-off. the foreman and his wife were shaking their heads, still in acceleration shock, and tom helped them out of their cushions. "oh, my! do you boys have to go through this all the time?" mrs. hill asked. "it's a wonder to me how a human body can take it." "i feel pretty much the same way," muttered george. "a cup of hot tea will fix you up fine," tom reassured them, and leaving the ship on automatic control, he went into the small galley off the control deck and brewed three cups of tea. in a few moments the elderly couple felt better, and tom told them of the nationalists' base and connel's plan to wreck the radar station at noon the next day. both mr. and mrs. hill were shocked at the scope of the nationalists' plan. "well, they bit off more than they could chew when they decided to buck the solar guard," asserted tom. "when commander walters gets finished with them, sinclair and the rest won't have anything left but memories!" "tell me something, tom," said george, looking at the control panel thoughtfully. "have you figured out how you're going to land this ship alone and with no radar?" "i'll have to use the seat of my pants." tom smiled, and turned back to his seat. george and his wife looked at each other and quickly strapped themselves into their acceleration cushions. a few moments later tom began braking the ship with the nose rockets. it made a slow-climbing arc over the spaceport and then settled slowly, tailfirst. the stern teleceiver was out of order, and the young cadet had to rely entirely on "feel," to get the _polaris_ in safely. he had calculated his rate of fall, the gravity of venus, and the power of the rockets, and was dropping at a predetermined rate. at the critical point he increased power on the drive rockets, continuing to fall slowly until he felt the jarring bump of the directional fins touching the ground. "touchdown!" he roared triumphantly. he closed the master switch and turned to look at the smiling faces of mr. and mrs. hill. "that was fine, tom," said george, "but i don't want to do it again." "don't be a scaredy cat, george hill!" taunted mrs. hill. "tom handles this ship as if he were born on it." tom grinned. "we'd better hurry up. there must be something going on. there aren't any lights on here at the spaceport and all the administration buildings are dark." he hurried to the air lock and swung it open, jumping lightly to the ground. "halt!" growled a rough voice. "get your hands in the air and stay right where you are!" puzzled, tom did as he was told, announcing, "i'm space cadet tom corbett, _polaris_ unit. i request immediate transportation to commander walters. i have important information for him." he was momentarily blinded by the glare of a ring of lights around him, and when he finally could see, he found himself in the middle of a squad of solar guardsmen in battle dress. "what's the password?" asked a tough sergeant whose shock rifle was aimed right at tom's midsection. "juggernaut!" replied tom quietly. the word sent the sergeant into a frenzy of action. "peters, smith, get the jet car around here!" "what's up, sergeant?" asked tom. "why is everything so dark?" "martial law!" replied the guardsman. "curfew from ten until six." "whew!" gasped tom. "it looks as if i just made it!" as george and mrs. hill climbed out of the air lock, a jet car raced up and skidded to a stop in front of them. a moment later tom and the couple, accompanied by two of the guardsmen, were speeding through the dark and empty streets of venusport. the car was stopped once at a mid-town check point, and tom had to repeat the password. they picked up another jet car, full of guardsmen as escorts, and with the echo of the exhausts roaring in the empty avenues, they sped to central solar guard headquarters. tom had never seen so many enlisted guardsmen in one spot before except on a parade ground. and he noted with a tinge of excitement that each man was in battle dress. arriving at headquarters, they were whisked to the top floor of the building and ushered into commander walters' office. the commander smiled broadly as the young cadet stepped to the front of his desk and saluted smartly. "cadet corbett reporting, sir," he said. in a moment the office was filled with men; e. philips james, the solar delegate, captain strong, fleet commanders, and officers of the line. "make your report, cadet corbett," said walters. tom spoke quickly and precisely, giving full details on the location of the base, the approximate number of fighting ships, the armament of each, the location of supply dumps, and finally of major connel's plan to sabotage the radar at noon the following day. then, one by one, each official asked him questions pertinent to their tasks. fleet commanders asked about the ships' speed, size, armor; strong inquired about the stores and supporting lines of supply; walters asked for the names of all people connected with the movement. all of these questions tom answered as well as he could. "well, gentlemen," said walters, "thanks to corbett and the others on this mission, we have all the information we need to counter the nationalists. i propose to follow major connel's plan and attack the base at noon tomorrow. squadrons a and b will approach from the south and east at exactly noon. squadrons c, d, and e will come in from the north and west as a second wave at 1202. the rest of the fleet will go in from above at 1205. supporting squadrons are now on their way from earth and mars. blast off at six hundred hours. spaceman's luck!" "good work, tom," said strong, when the conference broke up. "yes, sir," said tom. "but i can't help worrying about roger and astro and major connel. what's going to happen to them, sir?" strong hesitated. "i don't know, tom. i really don't know." chapter 17 "what time is it, astro?" "exactly eleven o'clock, sir." "all set?" "yes, sir." "you know what to do. move out!" astro and major connel were crouched behind a pile of fuel drums piled near the communications and radar building in the heart of the nationalists' base. above them, the gigantic tree used as the radar tower rose straight into the venusian morning sky. after helping tom to escape, astro had returned to the prison building for connel and was surprised to find the place surrounded by green-clad nationalist guards. rather than attempt to release connel then, astro hid and waited for the time set to wreck the radar communications of the enemy. during the second day, he had successfully eluded the many patrols looking for him. once from a hiding place he overheard one of the men mention connel. he took a daring chance and approached the patrol openly. speaking the venusian dialect, he learned that connel had escaped. that news sent the cadet on a different game of hide-and-seek as he prowled around the base searching for the solar guard officer. he had found him hiding near the radar tower, and they spent the night close to the communications building waiting for the time to strike. their plan was simple. astro would enter the building from the front, while connel would enter from the rear. astro would draw attention to himself, and while the guards inside the building were busy dealing with him, connel would come upon them from behind, knock them out of action, and then destroy the radar equipment. the two spacemen gave no thought to their own safety. they were concerned only with accomplishing their objective. having no way of knowing whether tom had made it back to venusport or whether their destruction of the communications center would be of any value, they nevertheless had to proceed on the assumption that tom had gotten through. astro crawled behind the drums and stopped twenty feet from the door to wait for several nationalist officers to leave. they finally got into a jet car and roared away. astro nodded to the major waiting to edge around to the rear and then headed for the main entrance. connel saw astro making his way to the front door and hurried around to complete his part of the mission. he waited exactly three minutes, gripped his shock rifle firmly, and then crossed over to the rear of the building and stepped inside. once inside, the major found it difficult to keep from bursting into laughter. the large ground-floor room was a frenzy of brawling, yelling, shouting nationalist guards trying to capture the giant cadet. astro was standing in the middle of the floor, swinging his great hamlike fists methodically, mowing down the guards like tenpins. two of them were on his back, trying to choke him, while others crowded in from all sides. but they could not bring the cadet down. astro saw connel, shook himself, and stood free. "stand back!" roared connel. "the first one of you green monkeys that makes a move will have his teeth knocked out! now line up over there against the wall--and i mean fast!" the sudden attack from the rear startled the nationalist guards, and they milled around in confusion. there was no confusion, however, when connel fired a blast over their heads. astro grabbed a paralo-ray gun and opened up on the guards. a second later the squad of nationalists were frozen in their tracks. once the men were no further danger to them, connel and astro locked the front and rear doors and then raced up the stairs that led to the main radar and communications rooms on the second floor. "you start at that end of the hall, i'll start here!" shouted connel. "smash everything you see!" "aye, aye, sir." astro waved his hand and charged down the hall. he exploded into a room, firing rapidly, and an electronics engineer froze in a startled pose in front of his worktable. the big cadet gleefully swung a heavy chair across the table of delicate electronic instruments, and smashed shelves of vital parts, pausing only long enough to see if he had left anything unbroken. he rushed out into the hall again. at the other end he heard connel in action in another room. astro grinned. it sounded as if the major was having a good time. "well," thought the big cadet, "i'm not having such a bad time myself!" the next room he invaded contained the radar-control panel, and the big cadet howled with glee as he smashed the butt of his paralo-ray gun into the delicate vacuum tubes, and ripped wires and circuits loose. suddenly he stopped, conscious of someone behind him. he spun around, finger starting to squeeze the trigger of his gun, and then caught himself just in time. major connel was leaning against the doorjamb, a wide grin on his face. "how're you doing?" he drawled. "not bad," said astro casually. "be a lot of work here, fixing these things, eh?" he grinned. "what time is it?" asked connel. astro looked at his watch. "twenty to twelve." "we'd better clear out of here and head for the jungle." astro hesitated. "you know, sir, i've been thinking." "if you have an idea, spill it," said the major. "how about releasing the prisoners, taking over a ship, and blasting off?" "and have the solar guard fleet blast us out of the skies? no, sir! come on, we've got to get moving!" "we could still try to release carson and the others," said astro stoutly. "we can try all right, but i don't think we'll be very successful." the two spacemen returned to the first floor of the building and headed for the rear door without so much as a look at the line of frozen guards along the wall. once outside, they skirted the edge of the building, staying close to the hedge, and then struck out boldly across the canyon floor toward the prison building. they were surprised to see that their smashing attack had gone unnoticed, and connel reasoned that the constant roar of activity in the canyon had covered the sounds of their raid. "we'll have to hurry, sir," said astro as they turned into the lane leading to the prison. "ten minutes to twelve." "it's no good, astro," said connel, suddenly pulling the cadet back and pointing to the building. "look at all the guards--at least a dozen of them." astro waited a second before saying grimly, "we could try, sir." "don't be a pigheaded idiot!" roared connel. "nothing will happen to those men now, and in five minutes there'll be so much confusion around here that we'll be able to walk over and open the door without firing a shot!" suddenly there was an explosive roar behind them and they spun around. on the opposite side of the canyon three rocket ships were hurtling spaceward. "they must have spotted our fleet coming in," said connel, a puzzled frown on his face. "but how could they?" asked astro. "we knocked out their radar!" connel slammed his fist into the palm of his hand. "by the stars, astro, we forgot about their monitoring spaceship above the tower! when we knocked out the main station here in the canyon, it took over and warned the base of the attack!" from all sides the canyon reverberated with the roaring blasts of the nationalist fleet blasting off. around them, the green-clad rebels were running to their defense posts. officers shouted frantic orders and workers dropped tools to pick up guns. the building that held carson and the other planters was suddenly left alone as the guards hurried to ships and battle stations. connel counted the number of ships blasting off and smiled. "they don't stand a chance! they're sending up only two heavy cruisers, four destroyers, and about twenty scouts. the solar guard fleet will blast them into space dust." astro jumped up and started to run. "hey, astro! where are you going?" shouted connel. "to find roger!" astro shouted in reply. "i'll meet you back here!" "right!" shouted connel, settling back into concealment. there was no need to release the planters in the guardhouse now. connel was satisfied that in a few moments the rebellion against the solar alliance would be defeated. he smiled in prospect of seeing a good fight. * * * * * "bandit at three o'clock--range twenty miles!" aboard the command ship of the first group of attacking solar guard squadrons, captain strong stood in the middle of the control deck and watched the outline of an approaching nationalist cruiser on the radar scanner. the voice of the range finder droned over the ship's intercom. "change course three degrees starboard, one degree down on ecliptic plane," ordered strong calmly. "aye, aye, sir," replied tom at the controls. "main battery, stand by to fire." strong watched the enemy ship closely. "aye, aye!" came the answer over the intercom. "approaching target!" called the range finder. "closing to fifty thousand yards--forty thousand--" "_pleiades_ and _regulus_," strong called the other two ships of his squadron. "cut in on port and starboard flanks. squadron b, stand by!" abrupt acknowledgment came over the audioceiver as the cruisers deployed for the attack. "twenty-three thousand yards, holding course." the range-finder's voice was a steady monotone. "stand by to fire!" snapped strong. "two bandits at nine o'clock on level plane of ecliptic!" came the warning from the radar bridge. before strong could issue an order countering the enemy move, the voice of the commander of the _pleiades_ came in over the audioceiver, "our meat, strong, you take care of the big baby!" on the scanner screen strong saw the trails of two space torpedoes erupt from the side of the _pleiades_, followed immediately by two more from its flanking ship, the _regulus_. the four missiles hurtled toward the two enemy destroyers, and a second later two brilliant flashes of light appeared on the scanner. direct hits on the two destroyers! "range--ten thousand feet," came the calm voice over the intercom, reminding strong of the enemy cruiser. "arm war heads!" snapped strong over the intercom, and, on the gun deck, men twirled the delicate fuses on the noses of the space torpedoes and stepped back. "on target!" called the range finder. "full salvo--fire!" called strong, and turned to tom quickly. "ninety-degree turn--five degrees up!" the solar guard cruiser quivered under the recoil of the salvo and then bucked under the sudden change of course to elude the torpedoes fired by the enemy a split second later. as the solar guard cruiser roared up in a long arc, eluding the enemy torpedoes, the nationalist ship maneuvered frantically to evade the salvo of war heads, but strong had fired a deadly pattern. in a few seconds the enemy ship was reduced to space junk. concentrating on the control panel, tom had been too busy maneuvering the giant ship to see the entire engagement, but he heard the loud exulting cries of the gun crew over the intercom. he looked up at strong, and the solar guard captain winked. "one down!" "here come squadrons c, d, and e, sir," said tom, indicating the radar. "right on time." he glanced at the astral chronometer over his head. "two minutes after twelve." "it doesn't look as if we'll need them, tom," said strong. "the nationalists got only two cruisers and four destroyers off the ground. we've already knocked out one of their cruisers and two destroyers, and squadron b is taking on the second cruiser and its destroyer escorts now!" he turned to the radar scanner and saw the white evenly spaced blips that represented squadron b enveloping the three enemy ships. the bulky converted cruiser was maneuvering frantically to get away. but there was no escape. in a perfectly co-ordinated action the solar guard ships fired their space torpedoes simultaneously. the three nationalist ships exploded in a deadly flash of fire. [illustration] "don't tell me that's all they've got!" exclaimed strong. "why, we still have the rest of the fleet coming in at 1205!" suddenly tom froze in his seat. before him on the radar scanner he saw a new cluster of white blips, seemingly coming from nowhere. they were enemy ships, hurtling spaceward to meet the solar guard fleet. "captain strong! look! more of them. from secret ramps in the jungle!" "by the craters of luna!" roared the solar guard captain. "attention! attention! all ships--all ships!" he called into the fleet intercom. "this is strong aboard command ship. bandit formation closing fast. regroup! take tight defensive pattern!" as the solar guard squadrons deployed to meet this new attack, tom felt a chill run down his spine. the mass of ships blasting to meet them outnumbered them by almost three to one. and there were more ships blasting off from the secret ramps in the jungle! he had led the solar guard into a trap! [illustration] chapter 18 "fire at will! fire at will!" aboard the command ship, captain strong roared the order to the rest of the fleet, and the individual ship commanders of the solar guard vessels broke formation and rocketed into the mass of nationalist ships, firing salvo after salvo of space torpedoes. but it was a losing battle. time and again, strong and tom saw solar guard ships hemmed in by three and four nationalists' vessels, then blasted into oblivion. strong had ordered tom to maneuver the command ship at will, seeking targets, yet still keeping from being a target, and the young cadet had guided the powerful ship through a series of maneuvers that had even surprised the experienced solar guard officer. "where's the rest of the fleet?" roared strong. "why aren't they here yet?" "i don't know, sir," replied tom, "but if they don't show up soon, there won't be much left to save!" "bandits dead ahead," droned the voice from the radar bridge calmly, "trying to envelop us." tom's hand shot out for the intercom to relay orders to the power deck and glanced quickly at the scanner. he almost cheered. "steve--i mean, captain strong. the rest of the fleet! it's coming in! attacking from top-side!" "by the craters of luna, you're right!" yelled the young solar guard captain, as he saw the white blips on the scanner screen. "o.k., it's time to stop running and fight!" the solar guard reinforcements swooped down on the fighting ships with dazzling speed, and the sky over the jungle belt of venus base was so thick with zooming, firing, maneuvering ships that observers on the ground couldn't tell one ship from another. for an hour the battle raged. during the seesawing back and forth it seemed as if all ships must be blasted into space junk. finally the superior maneuvering and over-all spacemanship of the solar guard vessels began to count heavily, and the nationalist ships began to plunge into the jungle or drift helplessly out into space. reforming, the solar guard ships encircled the enemy in a deadly englobement pattern, and wheeling in great co-ordinated arcs through space, sent combined volleys of torpedoes crashing into the enemy ships. the space battle was over, a complete solar guard victory. strong called to the remaining ships of his fleet, "take formation k. land and attack the enemy base according to prearranged order. the enemy fleet is destroyed, but we still have a big job to do." "what happens now, sir?" asked tom, relaxing for the first time since the space battle had begun. "we try to destroy their base and put an end to this rebellion as quickly as possible," replied strong coldly. one by one, the ships of the solar guard fleet landed around the rim of the canyon base. troop carriers, that had stood off while the space battle raged, disgorged hundreds of tough solar guard marines, each carrying shock rifles, paralo-ray pistols, and small narco grenades that would put an enemy to sleep in five seconds. a half-hour later, after the last nationalist ship had been blasted out of the skies, the rim of the canyon was alive with solar guardsmen waiting to go into action. many had comrades in the solar guard ships lost in the space fight and they were eager to avenge their friends. "how many ships did we lose, sir?" asked tom, after the squadron commanders had made their reports to captain strong. "forty," said strong grimly. "but the entire nationalist fleet was wiped out. thank the universe that their radar was knocked out, or we would have been completely wiped out." "thank astro and major connel for that, sir," said tom with the first smile on his face in days. "i knew none of those green jokers could stop those two!" "i've got to report to commander walters and the solar alliance, tom. you take a squad of men and move out. your job is to find astro, roger, and major connel." "thank you, sir!" said tom happily. * * * * * down in the canyon, major connel had waited as long as he dared for astro to return with news of roger. from his position, the tough spaceman could not tell how the gigantic space battle had ended until he saw the solar guard troop carriers land on the rim of the canyon above. satisfied, he decided that it was time to move. [illustration: _the solar guard troops landed on the rim of the canyon_] he stood up, careful not to expose himself, since fighting had broken out among the workers. every street, shop, and corner would bring dangers, and having stayed alive this far, connel wanted to reach the solar guard forces and continue the fight alongside his friends. astro was nowhere in sight when the major moved cautiously down a side alley, and he was beginning to think that astro had not escaped from the base with roger, when he saw the big cadet suddenly appear around a corner running as hard as he could. a few seconds later three green-clad nationalist guards rounded the corner and pounded after him. astro saw connel and ducked behind an overturned jet car, yelling, "i'm unarmed! nail them, major!" in a flash connel dropped to the pavement, and firing from a kneeling position, cut the nationalists down expertly. when the last of the enemy was frozen, connel rushed to astro's side. "what about roger?" he asked. "i couldn't reach him," replied astro. "the sick bay's in the main administration building and that's so well guarded it would take a full company to break in." connel nodded grimly. "well, the best thing for us to do is get more men and then tackle it." "yes, sir," said astro. "i think we'd better head for the canyon walls on the west. the marines are pouring down that side." "let's go," grunted the major, and led the way down the narrow lane. but when they reached the open area beyond the repair shops they saw that the nationalist guards had thrown up barriers in the streets and were preparing defenses against frontal assault. "maybe we'd better stay where we are, sir," the big cadet said, after scanning the nationalist defenses. "we'd never be able to get through now." "ummmh," mused connel. "you're right. maybe we can be of more use striking behind the lines." astro grinned. "that's just what i was thinking, sir." he pointed to a near-by barrier set up in the middle of the street. "we could pick off the men behind that--" "look out!" roared connel. behind them, five nationalist guards had suddenly appeared. but they were more surprised than astro and connel, and the big cadet took advantage of it by charging right into them. it was a short but vicious fight. there was no time to aim or fire a paralo-ray gun. it was a matter of bare knuckles and feet and knees and shoulders. one by one, the green-clad men were laid low, and finally, connel, out of breath, turned to grin at astro. "feel better," he gasped, "than i've felt in weeks!" astro grinned. one of connel's front teeth was missing. astro leaned against the wall and pointed to the canyon wall where the columns of solar guard marines were making their way down into the base under heavy covering fire from above. "won't be long now!" "come on," said connel. "they'll probably send scouts out ahead of those columns and we can make contact with them over there." he pointed toward a high tangle of barbed wire set up in the middle of the near-by street. astro nodded, and exchanging his broken ray gun for one belonging to a fallen nationalist, raced to the edge of the barrier with the major. they crouched and waited for the first contact by the marines. "they shouldn't be too long now," said connel. "no more than a minute, sir," said astro, pointing to a running figure darting from one protective position to another. "you, there!" shouted a familiar voice. "behind that barrier!" astro glanced at connel. "major, that sounds like--!" "come out with your hands in the air and nothing will happen to you!" the voice called again. "by the stars, you're right!" yelled connel. "it's corbett!" astro jumped up and yelled, "tom! tom! you big space-brained jerk! it's me, astro!" behind the corner of a house, tom peered cautiously around the edge and saw the big cadet scramble over the tangle of barbed wire with connel right behind him. tom held up his hand for the squad in back of him to hold their fire and stepped out to meet his friends. "major! astro!" the three spacemen pounded each other on the back while the patrol of marines watched, grinning. "where's roger?" asked tom finally. astro quickly told him of the heavily guarded administration building. "is he all right?" asked tom. "no one knows," replied connel. "we haven't been able to get any news of him at all." "i'm going after him," said tom, his jaw set. "no telling what they'll try to do with him when they see their goose is cooked." "i'll go with you," said astro. "no, you stay here with major connel," said tom. "i think it would be better if just one tried it, with the rest creating a diversion on the other side." "good idea," said connel. he turned to the rest of the patrol. "men, there's an injured space cadet in the sick bay of the main building. he's the third member of the _polaris_ unit and has contributed as much to victory in this battle as any of us. we've got to get him out of the hands of the nationalists before something happens to him. are you willing to try?" the marines agreed without hesitation. "all right," said connel, "here's what we'll do." quickly the major outlined a plan whereby tom would sneak through the lines of the nationalists around the administration building, while the rest of them created a diversionary move. it was a daring plan that would require split-second timing. when they were all agreed as to what they would do and the time of the operation was set, they moved off toward the administration building. the rebellion was over, defeated. yet the nationalist leaders were still alive. they were desperate men and roger was in their hands. his life meant more to tom corbett and astro than the smashing victory of the solar guard, and they were prepared to give their own lives to save his. [illustration] chapter 19 "ready?" asked connel. "all set, sir," replied tom. "remember, we'll open up in exactly five minutes and we'll continue to attack for another seven minutes. that's all the time you have to get inside, find roger, and get out again." "i understand, sir," replied tom. "move out," said connel, "and spaceman's luck!" with a last quick glance at astro who gave him a reassuring nod, tom dropped to his knees and crawled out from behind their hidden position. dropping flat on his stomach, he inched forward toward the administration building. all around him ray guns and blasters were firing with regularity as the columns of marines advanced from all sides of the canyon toward the center, mopping up everything in front of them. the roof of the administration building seemed a solid sheet of fire as the nationalist leaders fought back desperately. he reached the side of the building that was windowless, and scrambled toward the back door without interference. there he saw five green-clad men, crouched behind sandbags, protecting the rear entrance. glancing at his watch he saw the sweeping hand tick off the last few seconds of his allotted time. at the exact instant it hit the five-minute mark, there was a sudden burst of activity at the front of the building. connel and the marine patrol had opened fire in a mock attack. the men guarding the rear left their barricade and raced into the building to meet the new assault. without a second's hesitation, tom jumped toward the door. he reached up, found it unlocked, and then with his ray gun ready, kicked the door open. he rushed in and dived to the floor, ray gun in his hand, ready to freeze anything or anyone in sight. the hall was empty. in the front, the firing continued and the halls of the building echoed loudly with the frantic commands of the defenders. gliding along the near wall, tom moved slowly forward. before him, a door was ajar and he eased toward it. on tiptoe the curly-haired cadet inched around the edge of the door and glanced inside. he saw a nationalist guard on his hands and knees loading empty shock rifles. tom quickly stepped inside and jammed his gun in the man's back. "freeze!" he said between his teeth. the trooper tensed, then relaxed, and slowly raised his hands. "where's the sick bay?" demanded tom. "on the second floor, at the end of the hall." "is that where you're keeping cadet manning?" demanded tom. "yes," replied the man. "he's--" tom fired before the trooper could finish. it was rough, but he knew he had to act swiftly if he was to help roger. the trooper was frozen in his kneeling position, and tom scooped up a loaded shock rifle before slipping back into the hall. it was still empty. the firing outside seemed to be increasing. he located the stairs, and after a quick but careful check, started up, heart pounding, guns ready. on the second floor he glanced up and down the hall, and jumped back into the stair well quickly. firing from an open window, three troopers were between him and the only door at the end of the hall. not sure if roger was in that room or not, tom had to make sure by looking. and the only way he could do that was to eliminate the men in his way. he dropped to one knee and took careful aim with the ray pistol. it would be tricky at such long range, but should the paralo-ray fail, the cadet was prepared to use the shock rifle. he fired, and for a breathless second waited for the effects of the ray on the troopers. then he saw the men go rigid and he smiled. three hundred feet with a ray pistol was very fancy shooting! he raced for the door. as he entered the room, he saw a figure stretched out on the floor. he stopped still, cold fear clutching at his heart. "roger!" he called. the blond-haired cadet didn't move. tom jumped to his unit mate's side and dropped to one knee beside him. it was dark in the room and he couldn't see very well, but there was no need for light when he felt roger's pulse. "frozen, by the stars!" he exclaimed. he stepped back, flipped the neutralizer switch on his ray gun, and fired a short burst. almost immediately roger groaned, blinked his eyes, and sat up. "roger! are you all right?" asked tom. "yeah--sure. i'm o.k.," mumbled his unit mate. "those dirty space rats. they didn't know what to do with me when the marines landed, so they froze me. they were scared to kill me. afraid of reprisals." "they sure used their heads that time," said tom with a grin. "how's your back?" "fine. i just wrenched it a little. it's better now. but never mind me. what's going on? where's astro and major connel? and how did you get here?" tom gave him a quick run-down on everything that had happened, concluding with, "major connel and astro, with a patrol of solar guard marines, are outside now drawing the nationalist fire. time's running out on us fast. think you can walk?" "spaceboy," replied roger, "to get out of this place i'd crawl on my hands and knees!" "then come on!" tom gave the shock rifle to his unit mate and stepped back into the hall. it was quiet. tom waved at roger to follow and slipped down the hall toward the stairs. outside, the marine patrol continued firing, never letting up for a second. the two boys reached the stairs and had started down when tom grabbed roger by the arm. "there's someone moving around down there!" they hugged the wall and held their breath. tom glanced at his watch. only forty-five seconds to go before the marines would stop firing and retire. they had to get out of the building! "we'll have to take a chance, roger," murmured tom. "we'll try to rush them and fight our way out." "don't bother!" said a harsh voice behind them. the two cadets spun around and looked back toward the second floor. standing at the top of the stairs, rex sinclair scowled down at them, ray guns in each hand, leveled at the two cadets. "by the craters of luna!" cried roger. "you!" "that's one of the things i forgot to tell you, roger," said tom wryly. "sinclair belongs to this outfit too!" "belongs!" roared roger. "look at that white uniform he's wearing! this yellow rat is lactu, the head of the whole nationalist movement!" tom gaped at the white-clad figure at the head of the stairs. "the leader!" he gasped. "quite right, corbett," replied sinclair quietly. "and if it hadn't been for three nosy cadets, i would have been the leader of the whole planet. but it's finished now. all that is left for me is escape. and you two are going to help me do just that!" roger suddenly dropped to one knee and leveled the blaster. but the nationalist leader was too quick. his paralo-ray crackled and roger was frozen solid. "why, you--!" roared tom. "drop your gun, corbett," warned sinclair, "and take that blaster away from him." "i'll get you, sinclair," said tom through clenched teeth, "and when i do--" "stop the talk and get busy!" snapped sinclair. tom took the blaster out of roger's paralyzed hands and dropped it on the floor. still holding one ray gun on tom, sinclair flipped on the neutralizer of the other gun and released roger again. "now get moving down those stairs!" ordered sinclair. "one more funny move out of either of you and i'll do more than just freeze you." "what are you going to do with us?" asked roger. "as i said, you are going to help me escape. this time the solar guard has won. but there are other planets, other people who need strong leadership and who like to put on uniforms and play soldier. people will always find reason to rebel against authority, and i will be there to channel their frustrations into my own plans. perhaps it will be mars. or ganymede. or even titan. another name, another plan, and once again the solar guard will have to fight me. only next time, i assure you, it is i who will win!" "there won't be any next time," growled roger. "you're washed up now. this base is swarming with marines. how do you think you're going to get out of here?" "you shall see, my friend. you shall see!" sinclair motioned them toward a door on the ground floor. "open it!" demanded sinclair. tom opened it and stepped inside. it was a cleaner's closet, crammed with old-fashioned mops and pails and dirty rags. sinclair pushed roger inside and was about to follow when several green-clad guards came running down the hall toward them. "lactu! lactu!" they shouted frantically. "they're pouring into the base! the solar guard--they've got us surrounded!" "keep fighting!" snapped sinclair. "don't surrender! inflict as much damage as possible!" "where--where are you going?" asked one of the men, looking at the closet speculatively. "never mind me!" barked sinclair. "do as i tell you. fight back!" "it looks like we're losing a leader," observed another of the men slowly. "you wouldn't be running out on us, would you, lactu?" sinclair fired three quick blasts from the ray guns, freezing the men solid, and then turned back to tom and roger. "stay in that closet and do as i tell you." inside the closet, sinclair kicked a pail out of the way and barked, "remove the loose plank in the floor and drop it on the floor." tom felt around until he found the loose board and lifted it up. "what's down there?" asked roger. "you'll see," said sinclair. "now step back, both of you!" tom and roger backed up and watched while sinclair bent over the hole in the floor. he felt around inside with one hand and appeared to turn something. suddenly the wall opposite the two cadets slid back to reveal a narrow flight of stairs leading down. sinclair motioned with his gun again. "get going, both of you." tom stepped forward, followed by roger, and they started down the stairs. at the bottom they found themselves in a narrow tunnel about four hundred feet underground. the floor of the tunnel slanted downward sharply. [illustration] "at the end of this tunnel," announced sinclair, "is a clearing and in that clearing is a spaceship. it is nearly three miles from the canyon. by the time the solar guard learns of my absence, we shall be lost in space." "we?" asked tom. "you're taking us with you?" "but of course," said sinclair. "how else would i assure myself that the solar guard will not harm me unless i take two of their most honored space cadets with me?" * * * * * "it's been fifteen minutes," announced connel, "and they haven't come out yet. there's only one thing to do. take that building and find out what's happened." the major was crouched behind a wrecked jet car, staring at the administration building. "i can get that marine captain over to our left to co-ordinate an attack with us, sir," suggested astro. "it's risky," said connel. "they still have a lot of men in there. but if we wait for another column to reach us, it might be too late. all right, astro, tell him we're attacking in ten minutes and ask him to give us all the help he can." "yes, sir," replied astro, and flopped to the ground to worm his way toward the head of the marine column on the left. it took the cadet nearly five minutes to cover the hundred yards between the two solar guard positions. several times the firing became so heavy that the cadet was forced to remain still on the ground while rifle and ray-gun fire crackled over his head. he made it finally, several marines coming out to help him over the top of the barrier. gasping for breath, the big cadet asked to see the commanding officer. a grimy, tired-looking officer turned and walked over to the cadet. "astro!" "captain strong!" "where's tom and roger and major connel?" demanded strong. astro told the captain of tom's attempt to save roger and that nothing had been heard from him since. "major connel wants us to attack together," astro continued. "he's jumping off in four minutes!" "right!" snapped strong. he turned to a young solar guard officer waiting respectfully near by. "you take them in, ferris. full frontal attack. don't use blasters unless you have to. take as many prisoners as possible." "very well, sir," replied the lieutenant. "i'll go back to the other position with cadet astro. start your attack as soon as you see major connel and his men go in." "got it, sir," said the lieutenant. strong and astro made their way back to connel's position quickly, and after a brief but hearty handclasp, the two officers began plotting the last assault against the nationalists' stronghold. while other marine columns were wiping up small groups of rebels fighting from disabled spaceships, repair shops, and other buildings, strong's column had been driving straight for the heart of the base. the administration building was the last barrier between them and complete victory over the rebels. strong and connel spoke briefly of tom and roger, neither wanting to voice his inner fears in front of astro. the nationalists previously had shown little regard for human life. now, with their backs to the wall, connel and strong knew that if tom and roger were captured, they might be used as hostages to ensure safe passage for some of the rebels. "let's go," said connel finally. "tom and roger will be expecting us." he forced himself to grin at astro, but the giant cadet turned and faced the building grimly. connel lifted his hand, took a last look up and down the line of waiting marines, then brought his hand down quickly. "over the top. spaceman's luck!" he shouted. the marines vaulted over the top of their defense position and charged madly toward the building, all guns blazing. the nationalists returned the fire, and for the first few seconds it seemed that the world had suddenly gone mad. strong found himself shouting, running, and firing in a red haze. astro was roaring at the top of his lungs, and connel just charged ahead blindly. marines began to drop on all sides, cut down by the withering fire. then, when it appeared that they would have to fall back, the main column, led by the solar guard lieutenant, broke through the last barricade and swarmed into the building. five minutes later the battle was over. the last remnants of the nationalists had been defeated and the green-clad troopers were herded into the streets like cattle. strong and connel, followed by astro, charged through the building like wild bulls searching for tom and roger. "no sign of them," said strong finally. "they must have slipped out somehow." "no!" roared connel. "they've been taken out of here as hostages. i'll bet my life on that. there must be a secret way out of here!" "come on," said strong. "let's find it." suddenly he stopped. "look! those three troopers outside that door! they're frozen! let's have a look there first!" they rushed over to the closet where the three nationalists had been frozen by sinclair. strong stopped and gasped. "by the craters of luna, it's sharkey!" "sharkey? who's that?" asked astro. "supposed to be the leader of the nationalists," said connel. strong quickly released sharkey from the paralo-ray effects and the man shuddered so violently from the reaction that astro had to grab him to keep him from falling down. "where are corbett and manning?" demanded connel. "lactu ... he took them both in there ... through a secret passageway." sharkey pointed to the closet with a trembling finger. strong jumped for the closet door and jerked it open. he saw the open wall and the stairs leading down. "come on! this way!" connel ran wildly into the closet, followed by astro. suddenly the big cadet stopped, turned, and fired point-blank at the figurehead of the nationalist rebellion. sharkey once again grew rigid. the two solar guard officers raced down the stairs into the tunnel and ran headlong through the darkness. time was precious now. the lives of tom and roger might be lost by a wasted second. [illustration] chapter 20 "what's that noise, tom?" the two cadets were walking through the tunnel when they heard the strange booming roar. behind them, sinclair overheard roger's whispered question and laughed. "that is the sound of the slaves being fed their lunch. they do not know yet that there has been a battle and soon they'll be free!" "slaves!" gasped roger. "what kind of slaves?" "you shall see. keep going!" sinclair prodded the cadets with his ray gun. the tunnel had grown larger and the downward slant of the floor lessened as they pressed forward. the noise ahead of them grew louder and stronger and now they could distinguish occasional words above the din. "we must pass through the big vault where the slaves are working," said sinclair. "i would advise you to keep your mouths shut and do as i say!" neither tom nor roger answered, keeping their eyes straight ahead. the tunnel suddenly cut sharply to the right and they could see a blaze of light in front of them. the two boys stopped involuntarily, and then were nudged forward by sinclair's guns. before them was a huge cavern nearly a thousand yards high and three thousand yards across, illuminated by hundreds of torches. along one side of the cave a line of men were waiting to have battered tin plates filled from a huge pot at the head of the line. the men were in rags, and every one of them was hardly more than skin and bones. at strategic places around the cavern, nationalist guards kept their guns trained and ready to fire. they brought up their guns quickly as tom and roger entered, and then lowered them again as sinclair appeared. every eye turned to the nationalist leader as he marched across the floor of the cave, tom and roger walking before him. "you see," said sinclair, "these wretched fools thought my organization was a utopia until they learned that i was no better for them than the solar guard. unfortunately they learned too late and were sent here to dig underground pits for my spaceships and storage dumps." the small column of three marched across the floor of the cave toward another small tunnel on the opposite side. the slaves were absolutely still, and the guards smiled a greeting at their leader when he passed them. sinclair ignored them all. "beyond that tunnel," he continued, pointing to the small opening ahead of them, "there is a spaceship. we will board that ship and blast off. the three of us. where we will go, i haven't decided yet. perhaps a long trip into deep space until the solar guard has forgotten about you and me and the nationalists. then we will return, as i said before, to mars, or perhaps ganymede, and i will start all over again." "you're mad!" said tom through clenched teeth. "crazy as a space bug!" "we shall see, corbett. we shall see!" suddenly roger broke away and raced toward the mass of slaves. he shouted wildly, "get the guards! the nationalists are beaten! the base in the canyon has been destroyed! hurry! rebel!" the emaciated men milled around the cadet, all asking questions at once. sinclair signaled to the guards. "shoot him down!" four guards took careful aim. "roger! look out!" warned tom. roger whirled around in time to see the guards about to fire. he dived for a mound of dirt and hid behind it. the energy shock waves licked at the sand where he had stood a second before. roger got up and ran for better cover, the guards continuing to fire at him. then, around the cadet, the slave workers began to come alive. some hurled stones at the guards, others began climbing up the sides to the ledges where the guards stood. taking in the situation at a glance, sinclair shoved the ray gun in tom's back and snarled, "get going!" the young cadet had no alternative. he turned and marched hurriedly across the floor toward the small tunnel ahead of him. several slave workers tried to attack sinclair, but in their weakened condition, they were no match for the alert nationalist leader who froze them instantly with his paralo-ray gun. roger saw tom heading for the tunnel and made a sudden dash for sinclair. but the rebel leader heard the pounding of footsteps and turned to fire at roger as the cadet sailed through the air in a flying tackle. the jolting ray hit him squarely and he landed on the ground with a thud a few feet from sinclair, completely immobilized again. tom tried to seize the momentary advantage, but once again sinclair was quicker and forced tom back into the small opening of the tunnel. around them, the slave workers were being whipped into a frenzy after months of stored-up hatred for their guards. hundreds of them were climbing up toward the guards' posts, unmindful of the deadly fire pouring down on them. "get in there quick!" demanded sinclair. he shoved tom through the small opening, and after a quick glance over his shoulder at the surging slaves, followed the cadet. sinclair flashed a light ahead of them and tom saw the reflection of a bright surface. in the distance he recognized the outlines of a spaceship. "keep moving!" ordered sinclair. "you're my protection in getting out of here, and if i have to freeze you and carry you aboard, that's just what i'll do! now get moving!" tom walked to the air lock of the ship, sinclair right in back of him. the rebel leader pressed an outside button in the ship's stabilizer fin and the port swung open slowly. "get in!" growled sinclair. tom stepped into the ship and waited. sinclair climbed in in back of him and closed the air lock. "through that hatch," said sinclair, motioning toward the iron ladder, "and keep your hands in the air." "how do you think you're going to get through the solar guard fleet that's standing off above the canyon?" asked tom casually. "as soon as they see this ship blast off, you'll have a hundred atomic war heads blasting after you!" "not as long as i have you!" sneered sinclair. "you're my protection!" "you're wrong," said tom. "they'll open fire, anyway." "that's the chance i've got to take," said sinclair. "now climb up to the control deck and get on the audioceiver. you're going to tell them you're aboard!" tom walked ahead of the rebel leader toward the control deck, his mind racing. he knew that sinclair was going through with his plan and he also knew that the solar guard would not pay any attention to anything he had to say. if, after three warnings, sinclair didn't brake jets and bring his ship to a stop, he would be blasted out of space. he had to do something. "where's the communicator?" asked tom. "over by the radar scanner." sinclair eyed him suspiciously. "remember, corbett, your life depends on this as much as mine. if you don't convince them you're worth saving by letting me get away, you're a dead pigeon!" "you don't have to tell me," said tom. "i know when i'm licked." sinclair took his position in the pilot's chair, facing the control panel. for a brief moment his back was to tom as he bent over to turn on the generators. tom took a deep breath and lurched across the deck. but sinclair turned and saw him coming, and jerked up the ray gun. he wasn't able to get clear in time. tom's fingers circled the barrel of the gun as sinclair fired. the barrel grew hot as sinclair fired repeatedly. tom's fingers were beginning to blister under the intense heat, but he held on. with his other hand he reached up for the rebel's throat. sinclair grabbed his wrist and, locked together, they rolled around on the deck. [illustration: _sinclair wasn't able to get clear in time_] sinclair continued to fire the ray gun and tom's fingers were burning with pain from the heat. suddenly the cadet let go the gun, spun around, and jerked sinclair off balance. he swung his free hand as hard as he could into the rebel's stomach. sinclair doubled over and staggered back, dropping the gun. tom was on top of him like a shot, pounding straight, jolting rights and lefts to the man's head and stomach. but sinclair was tough. he twisted around, and quick as a cat, jumped to his feet. then, stepping in, he rapped a solid right to tom's jaw. the cadet reeled back, nearly falling to the deck. sinclair was in on top of him in a flash, pounding his head and body with vicious smashing blows. tom fell to the floor under the savagery of the rebel leader's attack. sinclair lifted his foot to kick the cadet as tom's fingers tightened around the barrel of the discarded ray gun. he brought it up sharply against the planter's shin and he staggered back in pain. tom took careful aim. he fired the gun. nothing happened. the gun was empty. sinclair rushed the cadet again, but tom stepped aside and swung the heavy gun with all his might. the metal smashed against sinclair's head and he sank to the deck, out cold. the last rebel of venus had been defeated. * * * * * "we found roger trying to keep the slaves away from the guards," said strong. "they were ready to tear them apart!" "can't say that i blame them," snorted connel. "some of those poor devils had been working in the caves for three years!" tom, roger, and astro sat sprawled in chairs in one of the offices of the nationalist headquarters listening to strong and major connel sum up the day's battle. the entire army of nationalist guards, division chiefs, and workers had been rounded up and put aboard the troop carriers to be taken to a prison asteroid. each individual rebel would be dealt with under special court proceedings to be established by solar alliance decree later. "there are still some things i don't understand," said astro. "how did they know you were going to investigate them in the first place?" "after our meeting with commander walters," said connel, "we sent a special coded message to the solar alliance delegate here on venus. his secretary intercepted the message, used stolen priorities for himself and two assistants to get to earth and back on an express space liner without being missed." "the secretary!" shouted tom. "that's the same fellow i saw in atom city when we were bumped out of our seats on the _venus lark_!" roger looked up at tom with a scowl. "a fine time to remember!" strong grinned. "we discovered him, tom, when that attempt was made to kidnap you by the cab driver. we also picked up the owner of the pawnshop." "the most amazing thing about this space joker, sinclair," commented connel, "was the way he had everyone fooled. i couldn't figure out how he was able to get around so quickly until i learned about those buildings." "what buildings?" asked tom, suddenly remembering how the rebel leader had disappeared so quickly and quietly when he was being held captive with mr. and mrs. hill in the sinclair home. "every one of the important members of the organization, the division chiefs, they called themselves, had a small shack on his property near the edge of the jungle. it was nothing more than a covering for a shaft that led to a tunnel, which, in turn, led to other tunnels under the jungle and eventually connected with one leading right into the base." "you mean," said astro, "they have underground tunnels all through the jungle?" "that's right," asserted connel. "if they had been prepared for our attack, they could have beaten the pants off us. not only in space, but on the ground. they could have run circles around us in those tunnels. i got suspicious when i found a hut at the sharkey place with no windows in it." "say, remember the time sinclair barked at me for going near that shack on his place when we first arrived?" said roger. connel grinned. "i'll bet you a plugged credit that if you had opened that door you'd have been frozen stiffer than a snowman on pluto." "well, anyhow," said tom happily, "we got what we came after." "what was that?" asked strong. "a tyrannosaurus!" replied the curly-haired cadet. "and that's another thing," said connel. "that tyrannosaurus we killed was a pet of the nationalists. i don't mean a household pet, but it fitted into their plans nicely. the tyranno's lair was near the top of that canyon. any time a stray hunter came along, the tyrannosaurus would scare him away. so when you three came along and said you were deliberately hunting for a tyrannosaurus, they got worried." "worried?" asked roger. "why?" "they thought you were actually hunting or investigating them, and when i started nosing around, they were sure. that's why sinclair ordered his boys to burn down his plantation--to try to throw us off the track. so you see," connel concluded, "your summer leave really started the ball rolling against them." "summer leave!" shouted roger. "what day is it?" "the twenty-ninth of august," replied strong. "oh, no!" moaned the blond-haired cadet. "we start back to class in three days!" "three days!" roared astro. "but--but it'll take three days to write up our reports of everything that's happened! we won't have any time for fun!" "fun!" snorted connel. "fun is for little boys. you three space-brained, rocket-headed idiots are spacemen!" [illustration] +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | | | transcriber's note | | | | one instance of "nearby" was changed to "near-by" to conform | | with the hyphenation in the rest of the text. | | | | the following typos were corrected: | | | | get "get | | it it | | get's gets | | surpressed suppressed | | order ordered | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ 