Donald A. Wollheim (ed)

by The Hidden Planet

  "You should have dug me up hours ago, sir. I'll take over now; fresh as a daisy." That was a lie and the other knew it. "You've done a beautiful job, but I know the controls better."

  The O.M. mustered a smile and looked up casually enough —even patted Ignatz—but he relinquished the job gratefully. "I couldn't have held on much longer," he agreed. "These controls are beyond me. Have to extend the navigator's knowledge in the future."

  Jerry looked his thanks. "I didn't expect the relief, you know. But don't think what you said about Anne means anything to mel"

  "So you did hear that? Look, son, I don't hold anything against you, personally—always liked you. But unless you give up that animal and get rid of your hoodoo—"

  Jerry's backbone stiffened visibly. "Ignatz stays."

  "I thought so. In that case, I don't want you around. Nothing personal, you understand, but I'm not taking chances."

  "Nothing personal, of course, sir." The door closed softly as the O.M. slipped out, and Jerry chuckled. For a second there was a sparkle in his eyes before the ache in his body cut it off. "Imagine the old boy taking over that way. Some father-in-law, eh, fellow?"

  They hadn't landed yet, Ignatz thought, and Anne might have something to say. There was heavy doubt in his grunt, which Jerry interpreted correcdy. But the Master was busy with his own thoughts.

  Now that the fingers of Venus' gravity were reaching out harder for them, the lack of full efficiency from the stabilizers made itself felt. The long, cigar-like shape put the center of gravity above the rockets and the old ship suggested that it would be so much nicer to turn over and let gravity do its work; the suggestion was mild at first, but the freighter grew more positive with each mile, shimmying sidewise toward the planet like a girl edging toward her first crush.

  "Easy, old girl," Jerry pleaded. "We've got to swing you in line with Venus' rotation and let you ride down with her." He babied the ship along, coaxed her into the new path, and performed mathematical magic in his head as the plot of the new orbit came down with corrections. The navigators were taking half-hour turns now, with the captain overseeing their work. Fast talk and absolute accuracy would have to be continuous until the tugs took over.

  But she came down smoothly, arcing in toward the south pole, held up by sheer nerve and stimulants. A thousand miles up, relative speed was nine miles a second, fall-rate three. Five hundred up, frontal speed checked to coasting, fall-rate down to normal landing curve. And then they hit the mythical cushion height, where the air was thick enough to support her on her fins, and the stabilizers purred pleasantly again. From there on they would coast into Hellas and let the tugs snag her.

  "Your damned luckl" The O.M. cut in crisply. "Just got a radio that tugs are on strike at Hellas, You'll have to coast to Perdition on North Venus instead of Hellas. Can you hold her up?"

  "I'll ride her. Navigator, I want co-ordinates for latitude 78° 43' 28" south, longitude 24° 18' 27" west."

  "But Perdition—" The navigator was cut short by a burst of language from Barclay.

  Jerry barked wearily. "Shut up I We're not going to Perdi-nition—nor Hellas! Navigator, you heard my orders. Give me data, and see that it's right. Get scared and blunder, and you'll never know what happened."

  "But the tugs are in Perdition."

  "To hell with the tugs! I'll set her down on her tail!" Gulps came over the phone, and Ignatz could hear the teeth of the navigator chattering. The O.M. was yelling about insanity, but he checked his raging and there was a muttered consultation too low to hear. Then Barclay's voice cleared.

  "You're all in the hands of a lunatic, but your only chance is to give him his data. We'd be dead by the time we could dig him out. Take orders from Lordl" He spoke directly into the phone. "Jerry, I'll break you like a dry stick if I live. Not one tail landing out of three works with whole controls. Listen to reason, man! We can't help her if we're dead."

  The junior navigator seized the phone, his nerves steady with desperation, his voice crisp and raw. Slowly the ship settled down, driving forward through the heavy air. Finally the navigator reported destination, and Jerry tipped the ship up cautiously. She protested at such unorthodox treatment, but, reluctantly answered her controls.

  "Eighteen thousand feet, directly over your destination. Weather quiet, no wind—thank God, sir! Fourteen thousand. You'll have to slow upl"

  Ignatz prayed fervently to his forest and swamp gods, but they seemed far away. And the ground was rushing up while the ship swayed first to one side, then the other. Jerry was dancing a war jig in front of the balance jet bars; his eyes were glassy, his hands shook on the controls, but he fought her down, foot by foot, while the sickening speed slackened.

  "Four hundred feet, level ground. Now the blast strikes, we can't see. Instrument at 300—2001 Slowed"

  She slowed grudgingly, but listed sidewise sharply; Jerry cut power for free fall, and she righted. Power boomed out again.

  "Forty feet—God help us!"

  That loss of power, short as it was, had been too much. She was all out now, but falling too fast. No, she was checking it. But another sway came. Ignatz groaned, saw that Jerry had deliberately swung her sidewise to land horizontal —at forty feet! There wasn't power enough in the laterals to hold her up. The speed picked up as she wobbled on her axis, slowed, and she righted. Jerry cut controls, grabbed a girder, and slumped. Ignatz went flaccid.

  It sounded like a heavy scrunch, with attendant yells. She bounced slightly before settling. And then there was silence, and they were down. Jerry picked himself up, felt Ignatz carefully. "You're tough, fellow, not even scratched. If I hadn't been limp with exhaustion, that ten-foot free fall probably would have messed me up a little; but the others should be all right. This section took most of the shock."

  Half a minute later there were groans and shouts all over the ship. The Master scooped Ignatz up. "Come on, fellow, we've got to go down and stock up on provisions."

  The after hold was crowded with miscellaneous items for the comfort and safety of the spore-hunters, and he located a ready-packed kit of provisions, ample for three months' trek if the bearer could carry the load. He adjusted it carefully, felt to make sure of the feverin bottle, and took down three pairs of mud hooks, like skis crossed with canoes; the light berylium frames would support a man's weight on slimy mud or water and let him shuffle forward through the ooze of the swamps without sinking.

  "Dumall's fool enough to go off in the mud," the Master told Ignatz. "That guy never did have good sense, so I've got to take three sets." He swung out to the emergency port, opened the inner seal, and pulled it shut. The outer one gave slowly, and opened—on the flat, sandy expanse of the Hellas landing field!

  The old freighter had berthed neatly in the center of the rocket dock, and crowds, who'd heard or seen the landing, were streaming out. Mechanics were working on the crew port, which seemed to be giving trouble again.

  Heavy hands reached up suddenly and dragged Jerry out onto the ground. "This way, fellow." Three dock flunkies held him securely, grinning as they felt him over for a concealed weapon. Then the leader motioned the others to lead him toward a waiting spinner.

  "Smart guy, eh?" He looked at Jerry appraisingly. "You gotta be up early to catch old Barclay. We got a radio you'd be coming out of the emergency, so we waited for you. Got a nice litde reception hall fixed up for you."

  Jerry stopped swearing long enough to ask the obvious. "Where to?" They grinned again, the three of them holding him firmly as they seated him in the spinner. At the motion of the leader, the pilot cut the motor in, and they rose and headed toward the outskirts of Hellas—but in the opposite direction from the jail.

  "You'll be nice and comfortable, you and your pet," the headman volunteered. "The Old Man's putting you in one of the private suites belonging to Herndon, our branch manager. Says you're to have a nice long rest, where nobody'11 bother you—or t'other way around."

  No use questioning these dock flunkies, w
ho probably knew less about it all than he did. Jerry slumped back silendy, and Ignatz curled up to wait for the spinner to meet with an accident; but even misfortune refused to smile on them. They landed smoothly on the roof of one of the company's apartment buildings, and the men dragged the Master down through the roof entrance, across a hall, and into a well-fitted apartment.

  "Make yourself to home," the big husky invited generously. "Hemdon probably won't come here, so it's all yours. You'll find the walls and doors made of steel, the windows transplon, and locks that stay locked." He pulled the visi-phone plug out and picked up the instrument. "Anything you'd like?"

  The Master shrugged, estimating his chances. But they were all strong, young, and alert. He gave up any foolish ideas. "You might send up a diamond mine, or a dozen chorus girls."

  "That's Herndon's specialty—chorines. See him about it." The flunkies grinned and began backing out. "The Old Man says he'll be down tomorrow, probably." The door closed and the key in the lock made a positive and unpleasant click.

  Jerry turned in disgust toward the bedroom. "Sometimes, Ignatz," he muttered, "I begin to think—" He cut it as he saw the zloaht's expression. "Never mind, fellow. I'll turn the heat on low in the oven, and you can sleep there tonight. We both need shut-eye."

  Sunlight was streaking through the translucent transplon windows when Ignatz awoke. His investigation showed that the Master was still sleeping, and he had no desire to awaken him. Muttering in disgust at the world in general, he turned to the library in search of information on the peculiar disease with which humans seemed afflicted.

  The dictionary defined love, and the encyclopedia gave an excellent medical and psychological version of it; but none of the sober, rational phrases gave any key to the idiocies Ignatz associated with that emotion. Other books bore gaudy tides that hinted at possibilities. He selected three at random, waded through pages here and there, honking and snorting loudly. They only served to confirm his preconceptions on the subject, without making things any clearer. Compared with the men in the books, Jerry was a rational being.

  Still, books had their uses. Ignatz sniffed them over thoughtfully and found the usual strong glue had been used in binding them. Since the dictionary and encyclopedia were useful, he put them back with some difficulty. Then he tipped down half a dozen other books whose titles indicated they were on the same subject and began ripping the covers off methodically. A most excellent glue, well-flavored and potent; of course, the paper insisted on coming off with it, but that could always be spit out. What was left, he pushed into the incinerator closet.

  With his stomach filled and the sleep out of his system, there was nothing left to do but explore. Sometimes these human habitations proved most interesting. He sampled a jar of vaseline, examined the workings of an electric mixer with some interest, and decided to satisfy his curiosity on another matter which had bothered him for months.

  Jerry Lord awoke with Ignatz's doleful bellow in his ears, mixed with sundry threshings and bumpings, and the jangling of an uncertain bell. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes with hands that were sure and steady again, and looked down, to grin suddenly. "I told you to let those spring alarm clocks alone, fellow. Suppose they do go tick-tick instead of purring like the electrics—do you have to see why?"

  Ignatz had found out why—with details. Jerry untangled the zloaht's tail from the main spring and various brass wheels, and unwrapped the alarm spring from his inky body. Once that was done, they both prowled around until satisfied that escape from the apartment was completely impossible.

  Jerry tried the stereovisor while eating breakfast, but there was no news; only the usual morning serials and music came over. He dug out a book on rocket motors to kill time, while Ignatz succeeded in turning on the hot water in the bathroom and crawling into the tub. If the O.M. ran true to form, he'd show up when it suited his own convenience.

  It was noon when Barclay unlocked the door and came in, leaving a couple of guards outside. "Crazy young fooll"

  Jerry grinned ruefully. "A nice trick, your fake data; I actually I was landing at Minerva's Breasts. Well, I didn't ruin your darned freighter."

  "Didn't even wreck the radio. Sweetest tail landing I ever saw, and I made a couple myself." He chuckled as the Master stared. "Sure, I used to pilot them, back when it took men. But I never tried a horizontal, though I've heard of it."

  He fished out an envelope. "Here, I keep my word. Deposit book, Prospectors Commercial, one million dollars. And the deed to the house in New Hampshire, if you ever get back there—which you won't on any of my ships. You can save your thanks."

  Jerry took it calmly. "I didn't intend to thank you; I earned it." He stuffed the envelope in the prospector's kit he'd brought with him. "What word from Anne? And when do I get out of here?"

  "I've made arrangements to have you leave today." Seeing Jerry's look, he shook his head. "Not to jail, exactly—just to the new detention house they've erected since you were here last; they use it for drunks and weed-chewers. I've booked you as a stowaway to be held for convenient deportation, and I'll make the charge stick. Judging from last night, I don't want you in any of my employees' quarters; they get hit by sudden bad luck." "Well?"

  "Herndon got married and left me in the lurch last night— when I most need him."

  "That looks like your bad luck, not his," Jerry pointed out. "Though I suppose you fired him."

  "He quit—to lead the glamorous life." The O.M. smiled wryly. "His bad luck was that he married that woman who dances at the casino with a Martian sand-eel."

  Jerry nodded; he'd seen her act, and there was no answer. Instead, he steered the conversation back to Anne. "You know I could locate the Burgundy in a couple of hours if you'd let me out of here. I didn't spend two months in Despondency for nothing. And Ignatz is supposed to bring good luck out there."

  Barclay shrugged. "Good luck for you; that's what I'm afraid of. It so happens we've located the Burgundy already, without your help. Now we've been sending out searching parties on mud hooks for Anne and Pete; the captain had to take orders from her and let them go." His face was momentarily bitter. "I thought Durnall had better sense than to go lugging her around the swamps where even the compass is cockeyed."

  "I was afraid of that. You made a mistake, sir, in making me land at Hellas instead of the Breasts."

  Barclay grunted, and let it pass. They all knew there was about as much chance of one man finding her in the steaming swamp jungle as the proverbial needle. "If I thought you could find her, I'd probably be fool enough to let you go. Better pack up your luggage. These men will take you over to detention house."

  The detention ward was comfortable enough, and Barclay had arranged for all the Master's ordinary wants. But it was no nearer Anne. He paced the room endlessly until Slim, the flunky, brought his supper. Bribery had failed before, but he tried it again.

  The guard grinned. "Here's your supper, such as it is. We found the food's mostly turned sour since you moved in this noon. And your check's no good; Prospectors Commercial closed its doors until a new shipment of gold can come through from Earth."

  Ignatz grunted, but the Master refused to give up. "But the check will be good when it opens."

  Slim hunched his shoulders. "Not with your money in it; it won't open."

  "You don't believe that superstition, do you?" Jerry's voice was not particularly convincing.

  "Huh? Look, mister, since you come here, I got word my wife just had triplets—and me a poor manl I don't want nothing to do with you or youm." He shoved the food in and swung on his heel.

  Jerry swore, then called after the jailer. "Hey, waitl Can you get a message to Manager Barclay? Tell him I know how he can find his daughter. Tell him I want to see him tomorrow morningl"

  Slim nodded glumly and went on. Jerry turned to his meal, refusing to answer Ignatz's inquiring grunts. The zloaht watched his Master finish and begin the endless pacing again, smoking incessandy on the pungent Venusian cigar
ettes. He picked up a butt and honked curiously.

  "Nerves, fellow," Jerry answered. "They're supposed to calm you when something bothers you—like my pipe that I left back on Earth. Want to try one?" He placed one between Ignatz's sharp lips, and lit it. "Now, you puff in, take the smoke into your lungs, then blow it out. Sure, like that."

  Ignatz coughed the smoke out and bellowed hoarsely, swearing heatedly at the Master. An odd sensation stirred in him somewhere, however, and he regarded the cigarette thoughtfully; sometimes a thing was better after a time or two. Dubiously, he picked it up with his antennae and tried again, with slightly better success. It didn't taste so nauseous that time. And the third try was still better.

  "Better go easy on it, fellow," Jerry advised. "I don't know how it'll affect your metabolism; alcohol had no results with you, but this might."

  Ignatz heard vaguely, but didn't trouble his head about it. There was a nice warm feeling stealing along his nerves and down toward his tail. He'd been a fool to think life was hard—it was ducky—that's what. And this room was beautiful, when it stood still. Just now, it was running around in circles; he pursued the walls in their crazy rotation, but gave up—they were too fast for him.

  Jerry giggled for no reason Ignatz could see. "Ignatz, you're acting drunk. And that butt's going to bum you if you don't spit it out."

  "Hwoonk!" said Ignatz. Still, it was a little warm; laboriously he removed the burning thing and tossed it away. "Hwulp!" Now why did his tail insist on jerking him up like that? "Hwuppl" If it insisted, he'd be the last one to stop it. He gazed up at the moon that had mysteriously sailed away from Earth and was gliding across the ceiling of the room. Such a lovely night. Must make a song about the lovely night. Lovely song.