by Earl
Weather still the same, as it always will be. Today, the natives finally visited us. But first, there was another attack by the ferocious king-killers. We were prepared this time.
Wilson was lookout, at the beach, and at his shout, we all ran either into the ship or house. Seven of the monsters milled around, waving their formidable pinchers. Then, from the roof of our house, Tarnay poured submachine-gun fire among them. From the lock of the ship, Greaves and Parletti used rifles. The rest of us watched in satisfaction as four of the beasts fell. It was revenge, in part, for Karsen’s suffering, who lay in pain and fever below.
The remaining three retreated, and after the succeeding scavenger and mold raids, we ventured out again. Two hours later Wilson let out another shout, reporting a native ship landing at our beach. We crowded forward eagerly as they, beached and hesitantly stepped to the sands.
We eyed one another, the rational beings of two different worlds. It was a thrilling moment. On Mars we had found the signs of a dead civilization, but here we were actually facing living creatures of intelligence, not born on Earth.
It is hard to describe them. They are long and seal-like and bear both fins and limbs. Swinerton says they have barely evolved from an aquatic environment. That is, within the last half million years, perhaps about the time, on Earth, that our arboreal ancestors descended to the ground. Their arms are really modified fins, with articulations at the end that are clumsy fingers. The legs are semi-flippers. But they stand erect and their heads are amazingly humanlike. They resemble Earth people more than the canal-building insectal race of Mars—now extinct—did.
We unanimously looked to Domberg to take charge of what might be called the welcoming.! On Earth, Domberg’s archeological pursuits had taken him among dozens of unlettered, isolated tribes, with whom he had made friends. He has an instinctive knowledge of the science of gestures, probably combined with a subtle telepathic sense. He began a pantomime that seemed a little ridiculous to us, weaving his hands. The Venusians stared dumbly but finally one of them stepped forward and made crude gestures himself.
It went on for a while, and Markers snickered. The contagion of laughter swept over us and soon we were all roaring heartily. We couldn’t help it. We had noticed a tendency to laugh easily since we had been on Venus. Wilson explains it as the high oxygen content of the air.
DOMBERG ignored our merriment as did the natives. They were engrossed in each other. Finally Domberg stooped and made marks in the sand with his fingers. We caught on immediately as he drew a globe with radiating lines, and then four successive circles of wavy lines. He made marks for the positions of Venus and Earth and tried to indicate that we had come from the third planetary orbit.
This apparently didn’t go over with the natives. After a while the leader made a farewell gesture and they left, as though satisfied for the time being at having seen us face to face.
Domberg was sweating when he turned to us. His hour of labor had resulted in a few vague facts. That they had come from another portion of the same island-continent we were on. They had seen us land in our space ship. They believed we were from some other part of Venus. The significance of Domberg’s sand-map had escaped them completely. But most of all, and Domberg was sure of it, they are entirely friendly in attitude. They had promised to return.
We noticed today, more markedly than before, how quickly metals rust in this watery atmosphere. Our entire space ship glistens with a bluish sheen, which Wilson explains as a thin layer of corrosion. We clean our guns twice a day. Captain Atwell is beginning to wonder how our metal things will stand up after fourteen months on Venus, until we return at the next conjunction.
Rainbow effects were particularly splendid today, if you can imagine about fifty of them, in the shapes of beams, arcs, crosses and circles.
Ion-charger spluttering. Will resume tomorrow.
FORTY-EIGHTH Day.
The Venusians kept their promise and returned today, three boatloads of them. Domberg spent nearly the whole day with them, on the beach. Greaves took his place as cook and UV operator.
Other duties occupied the rest of us. Captain Atwell is still driving to make our encampment permanently suitable. Tarnay and Markers set up the space ship’s gyroscope in our house, fitting it with vanes of sheet-metal. It now wafts a pleasant current of air through the interior, relieving the stifling humidity somewhat. Our problem on Mars was to keep warm; on Venus, it is to keep cool.
Parletti, Swinerton, Wilson and myself have been digging at a wide trench down to the beach. It will serve to drain away the water faster during the rainfalls. Physical labor is a trial in this oven-like climate. At each five-hour rainfall, we lie flat in the mud, with our mouths open, and let the water drain into our throats, to make up what we’ve lost in perspiration.
The Venusians left finally. Domberg was jubilant at his progress in communicating with them, solely by sign language. He had found out several things about them. They have a time system, based quite logically on the sun tide. The clock-like five-hour rain period is a smaller time unit they use.
The appearance and fading of the rainbows, in turn, is the smallest unit, about fifteen minutes. Having no systematic science, they need no finer subdivisions. In general, Domberg surmises they are comparable to Neolithic Man, in advancement and degree of intelligence.
He despairs of ever making them understand that we are from another world. Their skies eternally masked, they haven’t the slightest conception, it seems, of space and the Universe. Venus is the whole cosmos to them. The “sky-world” is simply an endless ocean of air, as the seas are an endless stretch of water. The rare materializations of the sun, through a chance hole in the atmosphere, are to them fires that start and die by themselves.
The last thing Domberg revealed was that the natives had actually invited us to visit their home community! Captain Atwell shook his head firmly, and said we wouldn’t do anything of that sort until fully assured they were friendly.
“They are friendly,” insisted Domberg, a little heatedly. “It is a misconception that uncivilized people are savage, whether on Earth or Venus.” Then he collapsed, probably from the excitement he had gone through. He revived quickly, however, in-the gyro-fan’s current.
FORTY-NINTH Day.
Today the great pincher-bears charged again, but were stopped, unexpectedly enough, by our drain trench. They growled meanly and ran up and down its edge, but did not essay to jump across. Swinerton says evolution has made them too ponderous to do any leaping.
Captain Atwell then quietly announced that we are pretty well settled and safe-guarded, and can begin to think of a scientific cataloguing of Venusian phenomena. The pincher-bears are no longer a menace. Other jungle creatures have not molested us in our open section. The food-mold has been conquered by our UV rays. And the natives are apparently friendly. We can look forward to our stay on Venus. Death and adversity stalked us far more relentlessly on Mars.
We are all eager to find out more about Venus. Swinerton wants to explore the jungle, to catalog wild life-forms. Markers hopes to measure the marked libration of Venus, as the rainbows oscillate from a fixed point. Parletti wants to look for radioactive deposits, indicated by the high ion-content of the air.
Greaves believes he will find hundreds of new organic compounds in this resource-rich world. Domberg is in a fever to examine the pyramid. Tarnay visions a way to produce electricity thermally. Wilson wonders what in Hades clicks his Geiger-Miller cosmic-ray counter at double rate since the cosmic-rays can’t conceivably be as plentiful as on Earth’s surface. The mysteries of our sister world intrigue us.
Something significant happened today, though we’re not quite sure what.
The Venusians landed at our beach again, and Domberg carried on his gesturing communications. Then, abruptly, the natives jumped up and left, after only an hour.
As Domberg explained it to us, he had made one more attempt to put across our other-worldly origin. As an inspiration, he ha
d drawn a picture of a pyramid in the sand. Then he had pointed at the pyramid faintly visible some distance along our plateau, and indicated that there were such in the “sky-world.” He had been amazed at the electrifying effect among the natives. They made their sudden departure, shouting in terror. What it means we don’t know. Domberg is very thoughtful.
There is something we miss greatly, as the eternal day of Venus goes on—the moon and stars. And darkness. Future colonists will find these things hard to forego.
FIFTY-FIRST Day.
I skipped a broadcast yesterday, as my ion-charger went haywire and had. to be taken apart and repaired.
The whole complexion of things has changed, with the swift pace that seems normal on Venus. I just said, two days ago, that we seemed well established for our stay on Venus. Now we are not so sure.
All day yesterday and today, boats began to appear in the fogginess offshore—hundreds of them. None of them landed. The natives seem to be gathering. Somehow, the move has a hostile air.
But much more shocking to us was Greaves’ announcement, this morning, that most of our food supplies were ruined through mold! He had opened a sealed can of protein-sticks, to find the interior a mass of purple nauseation. We found the slight hole that had let the mold in—a hole eaten into the metal. Wilson turned pale. It was obviously, he said from the action of the highly moist and highly oxygenated atmosphere.
We investigated and found two-thirds of our other canned supplies molded. So at one stroke, our rations have been cut down to a starvation minimum! We spent the day gloomily discussing the outlook.
Captain Atwell came to a decision, an hour ago. We will return to Earth immediately!
We could not survive on our remaining food supplies. Fresh food is out of the question, with the decay-mold so diabolically active. We were sorry about the announcement. It is not easy to give up our cherished plan to spend fourteen months on Earth’s sister world. We hope you of Earth understand. The next expedition will have to carry large and adequate UV apparatus; at least this much we have learned.
Swinerton found a beetle today that changes color almost instantly, to match its background. It’s the most highly developed protective mimicry he’s ever seen. We amused ourselves with it, testing its range. We stopped it cold on Parletti’s blue serge suit. There is not much blue in Venus’ mist-filtered daylight, and it has not learned to imitate that color.
FIFTY-SECOND Day.
Trouble has piled up, as thickly as the clouds over our heads. We were awakened this morning by the startled cries of Markers, who was on duty as guard. Natives had suddenly materialized from behind rocks and bushes and run forward, besieging us. Evidently they knew our period of sleep. They were armed with clubs, wooden spears and dried pinchers. Down at the beach, hundreds of their ships landed, disgorging more.
Utterly mystified, but not too alarmed, we watched to see what they were up to. They milled around our ship and house, banging against the walls with their implements. We were forced to conclude that the “friendly” Venusians quite suddenly were after our lives. But why?
Captain Atwell sent Domberg to the roof, to see if he could find out what they wanted. A puzzled look in his eye, Domberg went out the door instead, before anyone could stop him. We snatched up rifles, prepared to cover him if the natives attacked. But they didn’t. His gestures of truce were respected.
Domberg came in an hour later, eyes dazed. He told a strange story and admitted it was mostly guesswork. The pyramid was the keynote. It had not been but by the natives, but by “invaders from the sky.” Evidently a story handed down from generation to generation, Domberg had found out that long, long ago the invaders had come, killing wantonly. They had built the pyramid, and others, but eventually died out. It was a bit out of a hoary past. But in their folklore, the Venusians remembered the invasion, and were determined to resist a second visitation.
That was as far as Domberg could piece it out. The startling conjecture faced us that some time in prehistory, Earth-people might have visited Venus. But Greaves made the most sensible suggestion of all, that the Martians had been the invaders. We veterans of the Mars Expedition remember that pyramid on Mars, incontestibly more ancient than any on Earth. Had the Martians, then, before their final extinction, colonized both Earth and Venus?
CAPTAIN ATWELL cut short our excited discussion. The important thing, he pointed out, was that we were besieged.
A moment later things were still darker. Our ship suddenly began moving, slowly! It was being dragged by the natives. They had fastened vinelike strands to the rear rockets and were dragging it away—toward the edge of the cliff!
Domberg had told them we were leaving their world. But that had made no impression. They had indicated that they must destroy our expedition, lest we return and bring more “invaders.” It seems to be a fixed obsession with them that we are the forerunners of armies who would be as cruel to them as the Martians apparently were. If we only knew the full history of that long-ago episode!
Captain Atwell picked up his rifle grimly and led the way to the roof. We were still not deeply concerned, except at the thought of having to shoot the natives. We thought them very foolish. One dead body among them would bring the death-mold and drive them away. So we thought.
Then we noticed something, before we made a shot. One native accidently nicked another with his weapon. The wound discolored quickly. Calmly, those around drove their weapons through the wounded one’s body, killing him. Then the corpse was dragged to the cliff’s edge and tossed over. Life is prolific and cheap on Venus!
And when we began firing into their massed numbers, the wounded and killed were swiftly dragged away. More natives came every moment. Atwell called a halt in the carnage quickly. It had been, calculated to scare them, rather than decimate them. It was obvious that we would run out of ammunition before the Venusians ran out of numbers. And it was starkly apparent that they didn’t scare!
There was only one hope left. If one of us could get into the ship, a few blasts from the rear rockets would settle the matter. The rocket fire would drive away the natives dragging the ship. But it would be death to try to run the gauntlet of natives, for even a hundred feet.
Will resume tomorrow; ion-charger low.
FIFTY-THIRD Day.
We are sitting in the ship now, safely in command of the situation. How it was achieved is easy to tell—but hard, also. For Domberg’s life was the price.
Yesterday, after realizing we could not shoot our way clear to the ship, our position seemed hopeless. In another few hours the natives would have succeeded in dragging the ship to the cliff’s edge. It would fall two hundred, feet and be wrecked on sharp rocks. Our only hope seemed to be a desperate mass attack on the chance that a few of us would win through to the ship.
Swinerton declared gloomily that even then it was near hopeless. All of us would be nicked by the Venusians’ weapons. We would arrive at the ship with our wounds contaminated by the death-mold. The UV apparatus could only save one of us. That one could not pilot the ship back to Earth. It was cold logic, undisputable. And all the while the ship was being dragged closer to its destruction.
A little later, we suddenly noticed that Domberg was gone. He had quietly slipped out of the door. We rushed to the roof and looked down. With peace gestures, he was outside, facing the menacing natives. Atwell called to him but he didn’t turn. Gesticulating, he held the attention of the Venusians. We saw his daring purpose as he slowly moved toward the ship.
We knew it couldn’t work. Halfway to the ship, the natives solidly blocked him. Weapons were raised threateningly. They were calling his bluff.
Domberg acted suddenly. Jerking out his two pistols, he fired into their ranks and plunged forward, bowling over the natives in his way like tenpins. We all began firing, at the flanks, trying to clear the way for Domberg. He was making a desperate, almost mad attempt to gain the lock, and we could only try to help.
Bleeding in a dozen places f
rom wounds, Domberg’s burly form reached the nose end of the ship, nearest us. A solid body of natives blocked the entrance lock. There wasn’t the slimmest chance for Domberg to get through. Our barrage had little effect against their numbers!
WE all stopped firing suddenly. Domberg had done an amazing thing. He had climbed up the nose of the ship, using the outjutting rocket tubes as handholds. Lying flat, he crawled agilely up the smooth hull’s slope, to the highest point of the ship.
Here he stayed, waiting calmly. His infected wounds became encrusted with the black death-mold. His legs and arms began to; swell. The natives threw implements at him. trying to dislodge him from his perch. Several climbed after him, but he easily shoved them back with his foot.
We saw then what he had done—how he had saved us. In a few minutes his whole body was puffed, diseased, with the terrible death-mold. He waved to us once, then died—horribly. But still clinging to the top of the hull. In a few minutes a cloud of mold-corruption eddied from his corpse, driving the natives back. It surrounded the ship. Those pulling at the vines coughed and stumbled away. Some collapsed, adding further to the death-cloud.
At last the natives fled entirely. An hour later, when rain had partially cleared the air, the rest of us ran across to the ship, holding wet cloths to our faces. We gained the haven of our ship. The natives made a half-hearted attempt to attack again, but knew they had lost. Their boats left.
There was nothing left of Henry Domberg to bury. He is the first Earthman to die on Venus, sacrificing his life for others. However, we held a short funeral service at the spot of his death. Captain Atwell’s voice broke a little on the brief prayer for him. It was a doubly sorrowful occasion for him, and for Markers, Greaves, Parletti and myself. We were remembering those other times, on the Mars Expedition.
They have consecrated Man’s venture into space, Domberg and those others. There is no more fitting epigraph.
FIFTY-FOURTH Day.
