by James Palmer
Contents
Archer of Venus
Books by James Palmer
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One-The Creature From Beyond the Stars
Chapter Two-Dance with Danger
Chapter Three-Far From Home
Chapter Four-The Flesh Harvesters
Chapter Five-The Fighting Pits of Venus
Chapter Six-A Lady of Cadmium
Chapter Seven-Champion of the City
Chapter Eight-Escape!
Chapter Nine-Attack of the Sky Beast
Chapter Ten-The Cave of The Thinker
Chapter Eleven-A Fighting Man of Venus
Chapter Twelve-The Battle of Cadmium
Chapter Thirteen-Homecoming
Alternate Ending
Alternate Ending
Newsletter Offer
Bio
Archer of Venus
Books by James Palmer
Slow Djinn
Four Terrors: Weird Horror Tales
Into the Weird
Mars McCoy and the Curse of the Star Lance
The Clockwork Conundrum
When the Dead Ride (West of Oblivion Book 1)
Mummy Train (West of Oblivion Book 2)
As Contributor:
Gideon Cain: Demon Hunter
Blackthorn: Thunder on Mars
Mars McCoy: Space Ranger vol. 2
Tales of the Rook vol. 2
The New Adventures of Semi Dual
The Amazing Harry Houdini (forthcoming)
As Editor:
Monster Earth
Betrayal on Monster Earth
Strange Trails
Robots Unleashed!
Archer of Venus
The Planetary Trilogy Book One
James Palmer
A Mechanoid Press Book
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are either products of the authors' imagination or are used fictitiously.
No Venusian princesses were rescued during the making of this novel.
ARCHER OF VENUS
Copyright © 2015 by James Palmer
Cover design by Percival Constantine
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portion thereof, in any form, save for brief passages to be quoted in reviews.
A Mechanoid Press Book
www.mechanoidpress.com
To ERB and REH
Chapter One
The Creature from Beyond the Stars
The creature rose out of the surf, water sluicing off its shiny green back. It raised its webbed hands—each one the size of a catcher’s mitt and ending in cruel talons—out before it as it climbed onto the beach, where a man and woman lay nearby, talking and laughing, unaware of the doom that awaited them.
The woman, a pretty blond with short curly hair, turned and looked at the creature, uttering a piercing cry. The creature took another step and faltered, wobbling in the thick sand that crumbled beneath its large webbed feet. It staggered and fell, almost going face first into the shifting sand.
“Cut!”
From inside the rubber monster suit, Jason Archer felt hands grab him and lift him upright. It was stifling hot inside the polyurethane dungeon, and his t-shirt and boxers were soaked with sweat. His assistant, Arnie Harper, lifted the head off and the warm sea air hit Archer in the face like an arctic blast. He looked around at the annoyed glances coming his way from the director and his co-stars, the man and woman who were supposed to be running from a raging sea monster instead of cooling their heels. The sun was beginning its climb through the sky, and the day was already hot, especially for Jason inside the thick rubber suit.
“Come on, Jason,” said Reggie Argyle, the director. He strode over to Jason and gripped his rubber shoulders. “It’s the last day of the shoot. One last scene, and we can go home, huh? I’m throwing a big party for everyone over at the Palace. Now can we walk out of the water without falling down?”
“I can do it, Reggie,” said Jason. “It’s just this suit. It’s black as pitch inside that head, and look at these feet.” He gestured to the bulbous appendages with his catcher’s mitt hands.
“Come on, work with me here. You’ve only been wearing this thing every day for ten weeks. It should feel like a second skin by now. Get it together or I’ll find someone else.”
Archer’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightened. He was tempted to call Reggie’s bluff. He’d find it difficult if not impossible to find anyone else willing to work for scale wearing a stinky rubber head, even for one day. After a long moment his gaze softened. “No, I can do it. It’s the last day.”
Reggie smiled and raised his hands in the air. “My hero. Places everyone. Let’s take it back to just before the fall.”
Arnie slammed the head in place, and he was the creature once more, chasing the lovely blond marine biologist so he could take her back to his undersea spaceship and return with her to the stars.
It really was that simple, and he found himself getting into the role like never before. Even though this was an early scene in the film, it was the last one to be shot. Archer had already filmed his big death scene, where the handsome scientist takes out the monster with a grenade. Just a few more lumbering strides and he’d have this movie in the can, which made his total film tally three bystanders, two walk-ons, one western where he worked as a stunt man, and his fourth playing a rubber-suited monster. It wasn’t exactly what he had envisioned when he came to Hollywood, but it was a living. At least that’s what he told himself when he looked in the mirror every morning.
“I was going to be a serious actor,” he told Arlo as his erstwhile assistant helped peel him out of his sweat-sticky and reeking rubber suit. They were in the makeup trailer set up on the edge of the beach.
Arlo simply nodded as he did his work, making slight noises of agreement at just the right moments. Arlo Harper was short, topping out at around five foot two, with close-cropped reddish hair. Finally he looked up at Archer, a hard look on his face. “Listen, you want a piece of advice? I’ve been listening to your bellyaching since shooting began. You know how many mooks would give their eye teeth just to sweat in this ugly thing in your place? I came here from Ohio to be a serious director. Before I got this gig I was pushing a sandwich cart. Before that I was selling papers on Santa Monica Boulevard. Come on, Jason. You gotta admit, this is the life.”
“Oh, you’re just saying that because people mistake you for Mickey Rooney” said Archer, scowling.
Arlo wagged a finger at him. “Not just any people. Girls.” He gave Archer a conspiratorial wink.
“I just feel like I’m still waiting for my ship to come in, that’s all. Just once I’d like to play the hero, the guy who slays the monster, instead of the monster who gets slain.”
Arlo grumbled. “Quit your griping. Things could be far worse. You could be the monster’s assistant.
“Very funny,” Jason grumbled.
His work complete, Arlo left in a huff, leaving Archer to shower and change and wonder what new dooms Monday would bring. The picture was over; now it was back to checking for gigs in Variety.
Chapter Two
Dance with Danger
Jason Archer was bored out of his skull. The promised party was anything but, just Reggie Argyle preening before a small group of his unit assistants, gaffers, the lighting director, and anyone who would pay him obeisance for his obvious genius as the pride of Majestic Pictures’ B unit.
Archer slumped against the bar nursing a glass of scotch. At least the booze was free; Reggie was good as his
word on that score, but food was extra, and Archer was hungry.
“Why so glum?”
Archer turned, surprised to see the female lead for the film they’d just finished shooting that afternoon. Monica Chesterfield was tall, blond and gorgeous, and had a smile that lit up even the Palace’s dreary interior. She had also barely spoken two words to him since filming began.
“I don’t know,” said Archer. “I guess I should be happy I never have to put on that suit again. Of course, next week I’ll have to put on another one.”
“At least no one can see your face. I’ll be lucky to get so much as a bit part after being in this bomb.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Archer. “The kids will love it.”
This got a laugh from her. Archer smiled. “Want to dance?”
Monica scowled. “No. I think I’m going to take off early. Thanks though.” She wandered off to rejoin the party, laughing too loudly at one of Reggie’s inane stories.
Archer looked around. Was this his life? Was this really what he’d signed up for when he came out here to be an actor? Dangerous stunts and monster suits? He drained his scotch as the band, a bunch of old geezers in white tuxedos, started up again. Big band stuff, jittery and bombastic, filled the dance hall. A few people from the picture paired up and stepped out onto the scuffed floor and started to dance. Many of them he didn’t recognize, meaning they were either the Palace’s regular patrons, or some more of Reggie’s hangers-on from the studio or a different movie he had worked on—he hesitated to call the schlock Reggie Argyle produced film. But he was top of the heap at Majestic, at least as far as bug-eyed monsters were concerned, and Jason Archer was his go-to guy when he needed someone to fill out a rubber suit formed in the shape of some ludicrous creature and terrorize unsuspecting teenagers necking in the dark.
“Excuse me.”
Archer twisted his head around as another female voice caught his attention. A brown-haired woman stood before him. She had blazing blue eyes, high cheekbones, smooth skin, and wore a trench coat and hat. “Jason Archer?”
“Yeah,” he said, warming up to her. “You know me?”
Did he have an actual fan?
“You want an autograph or—”
The woman leaned in close. “You have to help me,” she said, looking around the room quickly. “Someone is following me.”
“What? Who—”
“Come. Dance with me.” Her voice sounded forced, with just a touch of a strange accent Archer couldn’t place. She put her arms around him and half pulled half guided him onto the dance floor.
“Who are you?” Archer asked. “Did Arnie put you up to this?” In addition to being an almost dead ringer for Mickey Rooney, Arnie was also an over the top practical joker.
“Kiss me,” the woman said, leaning in, her mouth colliding with his.
He fought to pull away, but only for an instant. There was something electric in her touch.
“Listen,” he said when he was finally able to pull away. “I don’t know what’s going on here but—”
The woman was ignoring him, looking around the room once more. “Thank you, Mr. Archer.” With that she pulled away from his grasp and was gone, moving through the crowd of dancing couples toward the door. In another instant she was gone.
“Hey, wait!” Archer called. She somehow knew his name, but he had no idea who she was. He headed for the door.
The night air was crisp, and Archer suddenly remembered he’d left his coat and hat inside. He looked around. The street in front of the Palace was empty. The sound of a frightened female voice came to him from the alley off to his left. He headed in that direction.
Two deep male voices joined the woman’s, the sound echoing strangely through the alley. Archer stepped around the corner cautiously. Three men had cornered the woman, her back against the wall of the adjoining building. Even from this distance, they were strange looking. They were of average height but broad of build, wearing ill-fitting trench coats. Matching fedoras sat atop their bald heads, and in the glare from the nearby street lamp Archer could tell their faces were completely hairless, their heavy brows devoid of even eyebrows. Their deep voices carried that strange accent he’d heard from the woman. They had failed to notice Archer.
“Listen, fellas,” he said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. “If you don’t leave off, I’m going to call the cops.”
The stranger closest to Archer spun around and stalked toward him, malevolence smoldering in his dark eyes. He swung at Archer, but it seemed painfully slow for all his girth, and Archer ducked out of the way easily, countering with a hay-maker that connected solidly with the bald man’s jaw. His hat fell from his head as he went sprawling. He said something unintelligible, alien, like no language Archer had ever heard, then lunged, huge fists striking Archer’s sides like pile drivers. Archer crouched into a boxing stance, well-remembered from his days growing up on the streets of Red Hook in Brooklyn, and let the bald stranger have it, decking him after just a few blows. The man fell on his back in the garbage-strewn alley, his nose a bloody mess, his eyes closed.
Archer looked at the remaining two strangers and raised his fists at them. “You want some now? Let her go.”
He had no idea what he was doing. He had no business trying to fight three guys in an alley. He felt like Errol Flynn or John Wayne, adrenaline coursing through his veins.
One of the remaining strangers reached into his trench coat and pulled out a shiny metallic object. Archer froze. Was it a gun? But it was too wide and blunt. It looked more like a flashlight.
While the third man held the woman, the stranger held the cylinder out toward Archer, and a bright flash of light erupted from it, striking him. His whole world was engulfed in light.
Chapter Three
Far From Home
When the cold light dissipated a scant second later, Jason Archer was surrounded by jungle green, and it was bright daylight. He blinked, looking around, his mind refusing to believe what his senses were telling him. “Hey, lady?” he called, his voice sounding strange to his own ears. There was no sound but the rustle of large, thick leaves of a type he had never seen before. He was standing amid dense jungle. Strange smells came to his nose. The scent of dank, wet growth, of green things rotting. But also something else. Some kind of weird animal smell. Like the one time he’d visited the Bronx Zoo as a child.
“Lady? Arlo? Reg? Where is everybody?”
He spun around in a circle, fearing another one of Arnie’s elaborate pranks. Maybe one of the boys had slipped him a mickey, then tossed him onto a jungle movie set. Wasn’t there a new Tarzan picture being shot somewhere? Yeah, that was it. Just a practical joke, one last hurrah for the final day of shooting. They would all get a good laugh out of it at Archer’s expense. Once he caught up with them.
“Where is everybody?”
Louder this time. Only the fluttering of what could only be some jungle animal answered his cry. He looked up at the sky, where the sun blazed down on him, looking larger than it normally did. He glanced at his watch, saw that the time was still after nine-thirty, same as it had been the last time he checked it at the club, just a few moments ago. That couldn’t be right. He would have had to have been out for at least an hour for Arnie and the knuckleheads from the studio to bring him somewhere that had a jungle set. And he had been standing up, same as when that light had hit him.
The light. The strangers. The alley. Something wasn’t right here. Either this wasn’t a prank, or Jason Archer had lost his mind.
He ran, his feet getting tangled up in weird growths. He crashed into a thick forest of twisting, winding trees. Small creatures that looked like frogs but were not frogs darted out of his way. He passed a cluster of large fan-shaped growths dripping sweet-smelling ooze that imprisoned strangely segmented and many-winged insects. A blur of motion above him caught his attention, and he looked up to see a lizard-like creature, just a bit larger than a squirrel, swoop down out of the can
opy on bright pink wings and gobble up one of the misshapen frog things before disappearing above the tree line.
“What is this place?” Archer said, panic filling his voice. He was panting hard. It was hot, the humidity covering him like a wool blanket. He tore off his dinner jacket and kept running, heedless of where it landed or what would happen to it. His white dress shirt clung to him like a wet napkin, and he clawed at the buttons as he ran.
He moved faster and faster, stumbling into a small clearing before he had even recognized the shift in his surroundings. Before him was a small pond, fed by a shallow creek that wound away into the distance. A few people were standing in or near the water. They appeared to be collecting water or bathing. They talked in low voices, but the content of their words was indecipherable. They were dressed in leather and fur rags and boots, like cavemen from some dinosaur picture. Archer ran toward them.
“You’ve gotta help me,” he said, panting. A few of them turned and stared at him.
“Please,” he said again. “Can you tell me where I am? Is this a movie set? Where’s the director? The cameras?”
Again the blank stares. “Come on, man! Help me!” He gripped the closest man’s shoulders, and he flung Archer backwards into the water. Archer fell onto his back in the cooling liquid. Archer lay there for a long moment, enjoying the feel of the water. He pulled off his shirt and let it float next to him in the water, then he stood. The man and his companions had gone back to whatever they were doing, not caring about the stranger now in their midst.
“What is wrong with you people?” he shouted. A few heads turned in his direction, then looked away, back to business. He heard a man and woman speak to each other, and it was in some unknown tongue. Archer realized then they couldn’t understand a word he was saying. He stood there for a while, letting the water thoroughly soak his pants and shoes, considering his next move. For the moment, standing waist deep in water sounded like as good a plan as any, so he watched his strange companions go about their water gathering and bathing in peace.
