Storm on Venus

by R. A. Bentley

  'Why, it's beautiful!' declared Daphne, and not just politely, for the quaint little town with its homely, stuccoed walls and iridescent, blue-tiled roofs stood in very agreeable contrast to the grim world that surrounded it.

  'Thank you, Voorni,' said the Migraani, clearly delighted. 'Erijuaan is celebrated for three things: its beauty, its flowers and the quality of its textiles.'

  'And the elegance of its women,' added the Tuuntu gallantly.

  'They say that also,' agreed the Migraani, smiling.

  Standing a little apart from the town was the remarkable viceregal residence. The entire site, with its several imposing buildings, was surrounded by a high perimeter wall of curved and polished bronze plate, apparently designed to resemble, from the outside at least, a Venusian spaceship. To add to the effect, the main entrance was approached by a broad ramp leading to elaborately carved doors, while above them was set a bronze gatehouse made to look like a ship's bridge.

  'Fascinating!' whispered the professor. 'One gets an impression of great age. Just look at those ancient and gnarled trees. Spaceflight must long have been a central part of their culture, don't you think?'

  'Take your position,' commanded the Migraani, and with a few puffs of glowing vapour the great vessel came entirely to a halt, the thaal skilfully holding it about a hundred feet above a central courtyard.

  It was an exceedingly difficult manouevre, and Wilfred was just about to ask why they did not land immediately when a number of scurrying, blue-clad men suddenly appeared, each carrying a spear or other mediaeval-looking weapon. Quickly and smoothly they formed themselves into four sides of a square, leaving just enough space for the ship to settle between them. A blue carpet was even at that moment being rolled out.

  'Observe the guard of honour,' grinned the Tuuntu. 'They must have drilled for weeks to achieve such precision. One thing Eriju is not known for is the discipline of its troops. 'In my own fair province of Griju, on the other hand . . .'

  But the Tuuntu was never to finish his latest boast, for at that moment something quite unexpected happened. The Migraani, who had been watching these manoeuvres with slightly bemused satisfaction, suddenly gave a little start, her mouth dropping open in a mixture of consternation and disbelief. 'Hawghi, fly on!' she ordered, 'Do it now!'

  'Where to, Migraani?'

  'Anywhere! Just go!'

  'But they are waiting for us,' protested the Tuuntu, as surprised as anyone by this sudden turn of events. 'What on earth is the matter?'

  'Dija taas! Have you gone blind?' cried the Migraani. 'My standard — it is flying upside down!'

  With the engine roaring in protest, Hawghi immediately soared away from the mountain, the city rapidly diminishing to a point behind them.

  'I knew there was something wrong,' said the Migraani. 'Where were my people? The streets were empty. We must return to space immediately. Hawghi, go faster! Our lives depend upon it.' But they had not risen even so far as the clouds when another spaceship, considerably larger than their own, suddenly appeared beside them.

  'Holy Moses! Who the Devil is this?' said Freddy. For just yards away, on a brightly illuminated bridge the size of a tennis court, stood a scowling figure in purple doublet and hose, augmented by an outsize leather codpiece. Though short and stocky he had an unmistakable air of authority about him and his upstanding collar was decorated with numerous gold pips. At a respectful distance stood his officers, one of whom now indicated in dumb show that they should descend. To reinforce the message, several vessels of about their own size now appeared below and above them, while another rose up directly ahead, cutting off any possibility of escape.

  'It is Ishtan Nigluundo!' cried the Tuuntu, his already pale features a picture of terror. 'What shall we do?'

  'Why ask me?' snapped the Migraani angrily. 'You are a man — you should know!'

  'Me?' squeaked the Tuuntu. 'I am a courtier not an ishtaar!'

  'Will you please tell us what is going on?' interrupted the professor. 'Who are these people? What do they want?'

  The Migraani ignored him. 'Hawghi,' she cried, 'show us your skill. Your freedom if we escape these shaabid!' But the thaal responded to this unprecedented offer only by spreading his webbed hands in a gesture of helplessness. In truth, there was nothing he could do, for though he continued on their present course they were effectively in a moving prison.

  Can't you see it is impossible?' cried the Tuuntu. 'He knows it. We have no option but to go with them. Perhaps even now they will spare us.'

  'You would surrender?' demanded the Migraani, turning on him incredulously. 'You would throw away all our years of waiting, all our sacrifice, just to save your own miserable skin? Ishtaar inar nuunt! I knew you for a half-wit; now I find you are a coward also!'

  'I am a realist,' protested the Tuuntu. 'They are five to our one, and heavily armed. What would you have us do, throw paan at them?'

  'Pah! You disgust me,' snapped the Migraani angrily. 'All you Yellows are cowards and puusht-eaters; I should never have relied on you.' Then another thought seemed to occur to her and her eyes narrowed as she began to move threateningly towards him. 'Or is this your mother's doing? Has she perhaps found it expedient to change sides?'

  'That is unfair!' cried the Tuuntu. 'My mother is a woman of honour; she does not break her word.'

  'Your mother is a sijndu reed,' sneered the Migraani. 'She bends with every wind that blows. What wind is bending her now, I wonder?'

  'I really must insist . . .' began the Professor.

  But the Migraani cut him short. 'You insist nothing. This is not Earth.'

  She sounded so fierce that for a while no-one dared speak. Meanwhile, as the jungle landscape continued to pass rapidly beneath them, their enormous captor kept perfect station not fifty feet away. Wilfred turned to study it. Just as with their own ship, the task of running that vessel seemed to fall entirely on the thaalid. Two sat at the con, while others peered at instruments or came and went with messages for the officers. They looked slightly absurd in their own military uniform: a purple pea-jacket with matching breechclout and pillbox hat. Suddenly he realised — purple was the colour of the royal house.

  Charles had evidently come to the same conclusion, for he now stepped forward. 'I demand you surrender to them,' he said. 'We know your little game; you're trying to kidnap my fiancée. This isn't a royal ship and you don't represent the Court. Do you think us fools?'

  The Migraani gave a wry smile. 'You must make that judgement for yourself, Mr Prendergast. However you are correct in asserting that this is not a Purple ship; it is mine. As for the Voorni, she is presently under my protection, both for her own good and for that of Venus. Now please sit down.'

  'Why of course — a revolution!' cried Freddy. 'I should never have thought of that.'

  'Well if that's what it is, they're remarkably incompetent,' said Charles. We've only been on this confounded planet for half an hour and already their city is taken and their ship surrounded. Meanwhile the two of them squabble over who has betrayed whom! Come on, Simms, Carstairs. I think it's time for us to take over.'

  But stepping smartly backwards the Migraani now produced from beneath her skirts a small and curious-looking weapon, which she levelled at him. 'Did you think I would go unarmed among a ship-full of Earthlings?' she snarled. 'Sit down or I will shoot you where you stand.'

  She must have a holster strapped to her thigh, thought Wilfred, and found the idea disturbingly exciting. He was much closer to her than Charles and thought he could probably overpower her if he moved fast enough, but what then? Besides, there was always the risk of someone getting hurt.

  'You are wise, Mr Carstairs,' said the Migraani, barely glancing at him. 'Mr Prendergast could learn much from your example.'

  Since the arrival of the Purple ships, Daphne had said nothing, but now the Migraani's threat to Charles seemed to break the spell. 'Then what is to become of me?' she asked, adding reproachfully, 'I thought you were my friend!'
>
  The Migraani's expression remained inscrutable but her voice became unsteady with emotion. 'I am your friend, Voorni, and your loyal servant! Never say that I am not. You know nothing of these matters and must trust me.' Keeping her pistol trained on Charles, she backed away to stand beside the thaal. 'Hawghi, do you understand what is happening?'

  Hawghi hesitated. 'Yes, Migraani, I think so.'

  'Then if you love your goddess you must get her away from these people. I do not care how you do it, even to our lives, but you will take her somewhere safe, where they will never find her, and there you will care for her until I or my successor order you otherwise. I make you responsible for her. Now get on with it, or you shall know the terror of my wrath. 'Taal mijshaal mehaal!'

  At this frightful oath, Hawghi visibly flinched, but then his arms fell to his sides and he slowly shook his head. 'Hawghi serve Voorni first,' he said. Voorni is Voorni, Migraani only migraani. Hawghi do what Voorni tell him.'

  Gasping in anger, the Tuuntu half rose from his seat but the Migraani impatiently waved him down. 'Very well, then you had better get on with it.'

  'It's all right Hawghi,' said Daphne. 'Please do what the Migraani says.'

  It was clear that this was not the answer that the thaal had hoped for. He must certainly act now, yet he could do nothing. There is no knowing what desperate stratagem he might have attempted had there not come at that moment a flash of light so intense that it seemed to burn itself upon the retina of the eye.

  Instantly, the Ishtan's ship began to lurch dangerously towards them. A thaal steersman could be seen struggling with the badly damaged helm as the watching group of officers became a tumbled heap, sliding down the crazily tilting deck. Then the leading vessel exploded in a ball flame, and passing through its fiery debris they saw, diving out of the Venusian cloud, a tiny, wingless teardrop of an aircraft; so small, indeed, that the head and upper body of its pilot could clearly be seen, sticking out of it. Mounted on its nose was what appeared to be a giant version of the Migraani's pistol, and from it came another beam of unbearably bright light.

  'It is an erijuk!' gasped the Migraani. 'And here are more! Oh, you fools! You wonderful, brave fools! Hawghi, get us out of here. Let not my people give their lives in vain.'

  But Hawghi was already banking sharply away, causing she and Charles swiftly to throw themselves into their seats. Many more identical machines had now appeared, firing as they came, and one by one the surviving spaceships broke away to defend themselves, similar weapons suddenly appearing at their bows and along their flanks. Soon there were ferocious dogfights in progress on all sides, the narrow bolts from the miniature attackers and the larger ships' heavier answering fire searing across the sky.

  'I never thought to be in a show like this again,' shouted Charles, as Hawghi, desperate to avoid the swirling combatants, threw the ship wildly about.

  'Madness! It is madness!' whimpered the Tuuntu. 'We never agreed to war!'

  Only with difficulty did they extricate themselves from the vicious melee, a battle in which no quarter appeared to be asked or given. With the benefit of surprise now lost, the more powerful ships had already begun to gain the upper-hand and even as Hawghi accelerated away they saw two of the brave little machines tumble to the jungle below.

  The Earthlings gazed at each other in consternation. Whatever was going on here, it was clearly not the action of a few disaffected individuals but a full scale insurrection, with people ready to sacrifice their lives for the cause. Like it or not, they were right in the middle of it.

  'Oh my noble ishtaarid, my poor Blues!' cried the Migraani, visibly upset. 'Let the Fates take me in their place!' But she had little time to mourn, for now they became aware of a metallic banging from somewhere behind them, and a hot draught began to stir the foetid air.

  'We must have been hit,' said the Tuuntu, and immediately went aft to investigate. Wilfred followed him.

  They traced the noise to the engine compartment. A stray bolt from a ray gun had cut a long, curving gash in the ship's skin, the plating folded back like a badly-opened tin.

  'It is far too large to patch,' said the Tuuntu morosely. 'We shall not be able to return to space until it is repaired.'

  Wilfred examined the engine. There seemed no obvious damage in the way of fractured pipes or cut wires, but beyond that he could not tell. Bending, he peered through the gaping hole, the wind snatching at his hair. No-one appeared to be in pursuit, and although Hawghi had throttled back considerably they were still making reasonable speed, perhaps comparable with that of an aircraft on Earth. He also noticed that some distant mountains had appeared ahead, suggesting the thaal had changed course. 'Well, at least we're still flying,' he said, ducking back inside. 'We've had a lucky escape.'

  The Tuuntu shrugged. 'That is true. But to what purpose? For our plan to succeed, it was essential we establish ourselves at Erijuaan before the Purples knew of our arrival. Now there is nowhere we can safely land. Wherever we go, they will find us.'

  'But what about your friends? Won't they shield you?'

  'They will be watched, or taken. Even if some are not yet discovered, our landing would immediately identify them. Our moment has passed, Mr Carstairs. You will regret coming to Venus, I think.'

  Back on the bridge the Migraani took the news of the damage more stoically. 'Then we are obliged to stay and fight,' she said. 'Where are you taking us, Hawghi?'

  'Dameefu, Migraani,' said the thaal.

  'Dameefu! That is the last place I should have thought of. Why there?'

  'Voorni safe there. No bad men in Dameefu.'

  The Migraani nodded grimly. 'Well that's true enough. But surely we should be discovered eventually, even there — a lone ship on a bare mountain?'

  The thaal shook his head. 'Not on mountain, in jungle.'

  'In the jungle!' cried the Tuuntu. 'It would mean certain death!'

  'Then try to die like a man, and not some vapouring fansaati,' snapped the Migraani. 'In the meantime it behoves you to be silent. Your people have let me down and mine are paying the price.'

  'I wasn't thinking of my own life,' protested the Tuuntu. 'I was thinking of the Voorni, and you!'

  'Hawghi will not let anything happen to his goddess,' said the Migraani. 'He knows the jungle; he was born there. He is right: those loathsome shaabid will never find us in the forests of Dameefu. Even this ship will be quite swallowed up among those mighty trees. We will do as he suggests.'

  'Then I fold my arms,' said the Tuuntu, and sulkily did so.

  The mountains for which they had been heading were now rising up ahead. Unlike the strange and isolated tablelands they had previously seen, these formed a formidable range, their sharp peaks reaching high into the ever-present cloud and stretching away to the horizon in both directions. With the hull breached, it was no longer possible simply to climb over them, for the thinness of the air would have made breathing impossible; they had to find a way through. As they came ever closer to that seemingly impenetrable barrier, it appeared certain they must perish in the attempt, but suddenly there were peaks to the left and right and they were flying through a high pass, the jagged rock often just tens of feet below them.

  Thus they continued for several hours with Hawghi following a tortuously erratic course, sometimes through narrow canyons barely wide enough for the ship, sometimes hanging over valleys so deep and dark they appeared bottomless. Even when the mountains at last gave way to gentler foothills, the desolate landscape continued for mile after mile, with only the occasional dusting of scrubby vegetation. At first they were forever looking apprehensively behind them but eventually they realised that an undamaged pursuer would have easily caught up with them by now. Nevertheless they continued to travel in tense silence, the Migraani sunk in abstraction, the Tuuntu gazing glumly out of the window.

  'Are there no towns of villages hereabouts?' asked Wilfred, in an attempt to lighten the mood. 'It all seems very wild and empty, very like parts of Eart
h.'

  'The Migraani shook her head. 'Of all Venus, Dameefu is the most inhospitable to man. Some say it is the cradle of our race, but that was long ago. No-one lives here now.'

  'Then are we quite alone?' asked Freddy.

  'Alone, but for the wild thaalid,' nodded the Tuuntu gloomily. 'And man-eating plants, and savage beasts.'

  At length the mountains fell behind them, only to be replaced by the familiar unchanging prospect of green-black forest, meandering rivers and swampy lakes. It was difficult to see how their steersman could navigate his way over such relentlessly similar terrain except by the same mysterious instinct that had brought him home from Earth.

  After a while, Charles said, 'Since we appear to be safe for the moment, perhaps the Migraani would be kind enough to tell us about this little conflict of hers.'

  The others waited for the explosion, but the Migraani merely sighed. 'That is easy enough to do, although words can never do justice to our suffering. We are, as Mr Carstairs said, making a revolution. Not, of course, against the Voorni – who all revere – but against the Purple House, which has tried our patience for too long. Can you imagine how depraved and degenerate a royal dynasty can become in nearly two thousand years? I do not think you can, for you are fortunate on Earth in having nothing like it. Here on Venus there is no wickedness or cruelty that is foreign to our rulers, and no degradation to which they will not subject us. For countless generations our young noblewomen and men have had perforce to enter the seething cauldron of vice and violation which is the royal Court, while to serve there is presented as an honour and a duty. Nor are they safe thereafter, for on the whim of some Purple stripling, anyone from the humblest citizen to a migraani may be ruined, imprisoned or sent to their death. Meanwhile, the houses do nothing. They are fearful, and with good reason, for anyone who dares stand against the Purples will see their family tortured and murdered in front of them and themselves destroyed. They are universally hated, but until now no-one has had the courage to stand against them.'