by Ruthven Todd
“Hey,” Flyball was urgent, “aren’t you forgetting something?”
Fred turned his head. “No.” He was puzzled. “I don’t think so.”
“What about our little bits of moss and their daily dose of ammonia?” Flyball wanted to know, touching his locket with a gentle paw.
The Colonel nodded his head and opened the door of the lock.
Outside he examined the ground carefully for ammonia, but found that it had all sunk away through the blue pebbles. He walked to the edge of the sea and smelled the water cautiously. It had a faint smell of ammonia, but he did not think it would be strong enough for the moss. Finally, however, in a crevice on the Halley, he found a tiny pool which had been left from the torrential downpour.
He took a little bottle from his pocket and filled it with ammonia.
“You see,” he explained to Flyball, who sat there looking wise, “we can’t be sure that the ammonia here on Venus is exactly the same as that I’ve got in the chemical box on board the ship. I certainly wouldn’t like to feed our little friends here,” he fingered the locket, “anything that they wouldn’t like.”
He opened both their lockets and put a drop of ammonia on each of the fragments of moss. The smell was terribly strong and Flyball wrinkled his nose and twitched his whiskers as the fumes went up his nostrils. Then he sneezed.
“Really,” he thought, once again forgetting that Fred was listening in, “it would be much better if the moss only needed something nice, such as milk!”
“You are an ungrateful cat,” he was told.
Flyball, offended, stuck his tail up in the air and slowly, with enormous dignity, went up the beach ahead of the Colonel. He wasn’t going to stand still and let anyone insult him. Then he became aware that he had still forgotten to turn his locket round. Fred was laughing at him.
He switched his tail once or twice and then came to the conclusion that he might just as well give up his appearance of injured dignity. After all, there were only the two of them, some “mice” creatures and a lot of plants on the whole of the planet Venus. There was little doubt, that sometime he would get a chance to laugh at Colonel Fred Stone and then, by golly, he really would laugh!
At the edge of the fern-tree forest, the “milkweed” plants with the beautiful pods and the others again made way for them. This time, however, the thought seemed to have gone around that the visitors were really friendly, and that they were to be allowed to wander wherever they wanted to go. There was no attempt by the plants, as there had been earlier, to lead them in any special direction.
It seemed to Flyball, padding softly along beside Fred, that they went an awfully long way. Still, it did not feel so far, as the Colonel stopped whenever he wanted to take a photograph of a new and strange plant—and there were plenty of these. One of them was like a large red ball with tiny little green leaves, like rabbit-ears, sticking out at different places all over the bright globe, and another was a tall green stick with seven odd-shaped leaves, rather like a human hand with two extra fingers.
Fred, as he took his photographs, was aware that the plants were doing their best to help him. All the way they received whispered thoughts from the plants, passing the word from one to the other, “All’s well. They are friends.”
They knew, from what the moss had told them, that this word had been passed all round the planet and the feeling of silent peacefulness all round them was wonderful. No matter where they went on Venus they would find that the plants were friendly.
Fred was busy taking a color-photograph of a plant that looked rather like a vast tangled skein of different colored wools, with odd magenta knobs scattered through it. Flyball was amusing himself by trying to make his whiskers twitch in time with the bursting of a yellow plant’s brown pods. Suddenly he became aware that the plants round him were disturbed. He was not as preoccupied as Fred, so that the thoughts came to him clearly.
“Oh, no, no,” the plants were thinking. “Keep it away! Keep it away!”
If there was one thing of which Flyball had more than his fair share it was curiosity. He peeked through the stems of the plants which had huddled together. In the middle of a clearing made by the withdrawal of the friendly plants he saw the most appalling thing.
It was a kind of walking plant, standing on about fifty legs, each of them shaped somewhat like a banana. From the black center, where these legs joined, there arose thick red leaf-stems which finished in round flat pads, green tinged with pink. On each of the pads there were dozens of feelers, ending in round sucker-tips.
One of these pads held a little animal, pale blue in color, with six legs and a bushy, darker blue, tail. The little animal’s eyes were round with terror.
The plant was swaying backwards and forwards, just holding the little creature there as if pleased with its capture.
Flyball remembered what the moss had told him the day before. These little “mice” were the friends of the plants and yet this plant was frightening one of them. Then, too, all the other plants seemed to be frightened and shocked. This meant that the horrible-looking plant was an enemy.
Besides, Flyball went on to himself, if he was obeying orders in not hunting the little blue animals, the wicked plant had no right to catch one. He, Flyball, was a cat and as such had the first rights to all mice and other small game. If he could behave himself in the presence of mice he did not see why others should be allowed to misbehave.
“Miaow! Scraww!” he howled and hurled himself toward the plant, unsheathing his claws as he did so.
Unlike the other Venusian plants, this one did not shudder at the fearful noise. It flipped a lazy pad toward him. Flyball ripped at it. The pad jerked back and he took a good hard swipe at the thick red stem of the pad which held the blue mouse.
He managed to cut it almost half-way through with his sharp claws and slowly, ever so slowly, it drooped toward the ground. It did not, however, let go of the little animal.
Flyball was just about to take another slash at the stem, to finish cutting it in halves, when one of the pads grabbed him by the side. He had to turn his claws and his teeth on this attacker. Even as he clawed and tore, doing terrific damage to the pad which held him, another pad clutched him. It seemed that the plant was willing to let the little blue creature rest provided it could capture this much bigger and fatter victim.
He was ripping away with his razor-sharp claws, tearing at the red-stems, but he could not get into the black core of the plant. More and more pads were gripping him on every part of the body. They hindered him in his work of destruction. Now he became aware that the plant was moving over the ground on its banana-like legs, dragging both him and the blue mouse along with it. A lucky slash caught the center, the black core, and for a moment, as the plant shuddered, Flyball thought he had won.
But, from the black heart there sprouted more tentacles which fastened on to him, so that he was nearly helpless. At the same time, he realized that the plant, never having had to deal with a real fighter such as he was, was gradually weakening.
He redoubled his efforts, at the same time sending calls of help to Fred. Then he felt the rubbery ground shaking as Fred ran toward him.
Peeking out from under a pad which covered one of his eyes, he saw that Fred had drawn his gun. The pads, however, were waving about so violently that it would have been impossible to risk a shot without fear of hitting either Flyball or the little creature.
“Use your knife, Fred,” Flyball thought urgently. “Hit it in the black core.”
Fred slipped his gun back into his holster and, drawing his knife, approached cautiously. He slashed at the pads which held Flyball and they drooped to the ground, as the plant turned its attention to this new attacker. Whatever the plant was it was certainly brave. It tried to cling to Fred and succeeded in hampering him so that he could not get the knife into the core. But in doing so the plant neglected Flyball.
Suddenly he sprang, spitting and clawing, right into the center. He tore at it ferociously. The ban
ana-legs sprawled sideways and the pads fell limply to the ground. The plant was dead.
Free, the little blue animal stood upon four of its six legs with the other two held in front of it, looking at Flyball who had, so unexpectedly, rescued it.
“Hmm,” thought Flyball, smoothing down his fur where it had been ruffled by the pads. “Who’d have thought of me as the rescuer of mice. I just hope this doesn’t get around among my friends on Earth!” He looked at the little creature. “You’d better buzz, pal, while I remember that I’m on my best behavior, and before I begin to think that you’re only a mouse—even if you do have six legs and are bright blue. I can’t go on being too respectable for too long!”
“Hey, Flyball,” it was Fred, “remember your manners! These mice are O-U-T—OUT!”
The little blue creature put an end to possible argument by winking its dark ruby-red eyes as if in gratitude and then disappearing suddenly among the plants, which once again were drawing near to Flyball and Fred.
The dead plant, on the ground, was quickly turning into a slimy jelly which was absorbed by the putty-like surface of the planet. They turned to the other plants.
Before them was a patch of the dark green moss with the tiny white flowers. They drew near to it and Fred stooped down toward it, with Flyball sitting beside him.
“I’m really sorry if we’ve done something we shouldn’t have done,” Fred thought. “But it seemed to be a case of that plant or Flyball.”
“That’s all right,” the moss replied. “In fact, we’re all grateful to you and are delighted that we have found friends who can deal with our only enemy. The ygrombumia is an enemy plant. We are peaceful but it is warlike. It destroys as many of us and as many of the snoryus—the little blue animals—as it can. We, the plants, have learned to avoid it, or else to sicken it by letting it capture decoy plants made of the red crystal you must have seen on the shore. The snoryus, being unintelligent, cannot escape.”
“Wait a moment,” Fred was excited. “You mean to say that you can actually work the red crystals? Why—they broke the point of my diamond!”
“Why, of course we can,” the moss was matter of fact. “It melts easily in the juice of the tlora—the filmy fern-trees. But, to go on, there are very few of the ygrombumia left. I don’t suppose there are more than half-a-dozen on the whole planet. You, with your weapons, could wipe them out easily enough.”
“Yes,” Fred agreed, “but next time I think I’ll stay out of reach and use a gun. What do you think, Flyball?”
Flyball, who was still feeling a little peeved by the picture of himself as a brave rescuer of mice, agreed.
The moss, seeming to cut its thoughts off from them, paused. Then it went on, “Word of your success has gone out all over Venus and all the plants wish to express their gratitude to their new friends who can defeat our only enemy. We don’t really know what we can do to show our thankfulness—unless it is to give you a banquet.”
The Colonel looked surprised. “Um, yes,” he was slow. “That’s a very kind offer, but what could we eat? After all, we don’t want to eat any of you plants, and the only other life is the snoryus. And we certainly don’t want to eat them either, eh, Flyball?”
Flyball, who was on his best behavior, agreed with him and went on washing his face. By thinking hard of the problems of smoothing his fine fur, he was able to keep from thinking that he, for one, would not object to a tasty dish of snoryus.
“Oh,” the moss was sympathetic, but it seemed to think they had less intelligence than it had previously given them credit for, “we can give you nectar to drink and, then, just so long as you don’t eat the seeds and see that they’re planted properly, there’s plenty of fruit around, as well as other things.”
CHAPTER
FIVE
It was certainly the strangest feast that either Flyball or Fred had ever attended, and they had been to plenty after their first flight to the Moon.
They sat upon the springy ground surrounded by all kinds of plants and ate the food which was brought to them by relays of plants, which passed it rapidly from one to the other, right from the other side of Venus, through the forests and jungles, over the seas and lakes.
The food was wonderful. The moss had examined their minds to find the foods they liked best. Flyball, for instance, was given a large cream-colored fruit, which, much to his surprise, had the texture of and tasted exactly like boiled cod. Fred was given a thick leaf which, when the green rind was peeled off, left him holding a slice of something which was, so far as he could tell, exactly the same as rare roast beef.
For drink they were served a slightly sweetish liquid in the cup-shaped leaves of a kind of water-lily.
Even though Flyball had never imagined himself enjoying a vegetarian meal, he had to admit that the meal they were eating was indeed excellent.
While they ate they talked, in thought, with their hosts. This kind of conversation had the great advantage that it could be carried on with one’s mouth full, without any appearance of rudeness.
It seemed that the ygrombumia plants were not native to Venus, at least so far as the history remembered by the other plants went. The moss had a theory that, several hundred years earlier, the seeds of the ygrombumia had somehow wandered through space, and had drifted in through the clouds and found the climate of Venus suited them.
“Hmm,” thought Flyball, the Space Cat, “space seeds!” But he went on paying attention.
The plants had always been willing to suppose that, even if they could not imagine it, there had to be some other place beyond the clouds. One of the reasons they had been worried by the arrival of the Halley, with Flyball and Fred on board, had been that they feared it might mean that their world was being invaded by plants even more ferocious than the ygrombumia. In that case, they would have had to think of new methods of dealing with such enemies.
Of course, never, even in their wildest dreams, had the plants been able to think it possible that animals, such as the snoryus, could be the guiding brains behind such a ship. They still found it difficult to understand that, on Earth, the smallest animal was more intelligent than the largest tree.
“Perhaps,” the moss, whose name was pyxyx, asked, “the trouble is that you have failed to get in touch with your plants and are therefore unable to understand their minds?”
“Perhaps,” Fred allowed doubtfully, “but in that case I’m afraid we must have caused a great deal of trouble in the vegetable kingdom. Men have, over the last few thousand years, taken wild plants, such as the potato, maize, oats, carrots and the rest of them, and have bred them into plants for their own use. Still, I must say that I don’t think that the earthly domesticated cabbage could possibly be sensible. What do you think, Flyball?”
Flyball, who had no affection for cabbage, or at least no more than most cats, agreed that vegetables on Earth were completely lacking in sense. Furthermore, he wished it understood that a good many Earth animals, notably dogs, were also short of real brains.
Fred laughed as he explained to the plants the odd fact that dogs and cats did not, as a general rule, get along well together on Earth. The sound of Fred’s laughter seemed to upset the plants almost as much as the noise they had made earlier had done.
Then, too, the plants could not understand why a man should be amused by the thought of two intelligent creatures quarrelling. Fred tried to explain that his laughter had been caused, not by the thought of strife, but by Flyball’s prim self-righteousness. The more Fred tried to explain about Earth and its attitude to wars, the more puzzled the plants became.
Finally pyxyx, who seemed to be looked upon by the other plants as a wise counsellor, made a suggestion.
“Why don’t you collect the seeds out of the fruit you have eaten and take them back to Earth with you? They will grow easily if you remember they have to be given ammonia daily. Then, when they are fully grown, and have had a chance to observe the world around them, you can bring them back here and they will r
eport to us?”
“That seems a good idea,” if Fred was amused by the thought of plants observing and reporting on men, he was careful not to show it, “but once the plants grow I don’t think the botanists will like having to give up their charges. Perhaps you’d better give us several seeds of each kind so that there will be enough to go round.”
The plants nodded in silence for a few moments and neither Flyball nor Fred could catch their thoughts. Finally, however, they found they were being presented with seeds which had been brought at express speed from wherever the plants grew. Fred put each lot of seeds in a separate envelope and on the outside he wrote the name which pyxyx told him.
All this took a long time and then pyxyx made a request. “But there is one thing further we must ask of you. You must not divide your portions of me with others. We would like to keep to ourselves the right to give thought-exchange to those whom we think deserve it. You, as our friends and the slayers of the ygrombumia, can keep your own pieces, but we would like you not to talk about them. Is that all right?”
Flyball and Fred thought this was a reasonable request, but the latter wondered how he could explain the plants and their ways on Venus to his superiors. Pyxyx broke in on his thoughts.
“You can, of course, explain that we were able to exchange thoughts with you. You must, in fact, do this, for if others of your kind come here we wish to be able to live in peace with them. And,” the thought was a little wistful, “it may be that those others, able to move all about the planet, will, with our help, hunt down the last of the ygrombumia?”
“Of course they will,” Fred responded. “We would do it ourselves, but our ship does not move easily from place to place for short distances. Now,” he glanced at his watch, “I’m afraid that we’ll have to go back to the ship to avoid the rains.”
They said good-bye to their new-found friends. It was a sad parting for they had become fond of the plants. Then they returned to the Halley, without having to hurry. Fred placed a large jar with a funnel in it, on the ground outside to collect enough ammonia to give their pyxyx its daily ration for years, even if they had not returned to Venus before then.
