John Rackham

by We The Venusians

  "None that I can see. All right, come on. Quick!" He led her out of the hall, and the temple. The city, so far as they could see, was deserted. "A car . . . there!" He pointed and ran, had it humming by the time she scrambled up by him. "Cover yourself as much as you can, with that cape, just in case we meet anyone." He set the car skimming, and after a false start, got himself pointed to one of the exit-gates. It was open, he saw, as they swooped close.

  "All right, so far." He shut off the power and they got down. "But from here, we're afoot." He led her into the great open door, and the glare-lit compartment inside, made for the outer door, looking hastily for the controls. "Nobody about," he muttered, pressing a button, and jumping as the quick zoom of power came from behind him. Then he saw that the inner door was swinging shut, and cursed his nerves. Got to keep calm, he urged himself. No point in panic, not now. There's a whole world out there. Then he gasped, and heaved for breath, as the outer door cracked and the heat washed in. Martha gripped his arm, frantically.

  "We can't go out there," she wailed. "It's dark . . . and hot. . . I"

  "We haven't any choice!" he snarled, and put his foot over the coaming. She hung on to him. He turned, savagely. "Come on ... or let go. . . !" He could see her eyes widen in panic, but she came, stepping high. Three paces from the door they might as well have been in a steam room. He went ahead, putting on a boldness he didn't feel, but as helpless as a blind man, sweat clogging bis breath. Then, faintly through the dull white glare, he caught a hint of brightness.

  "Searchlights!" he said, remembering the Harvest. "Over that way," and they began to tramp, cautiously, seeing the brightness grow. Then, litde by httle, it broke apart into several sources, into great milky shafts of light, hanging in mid-air. A great lemon-yellow pillar of fire grew out of the mist. A tree. Then there was another, rose-red glowing. The searchlight glares grew plainer, and they could hear yells, and laughter, and screams. He took her hand.

  "We'd better be careful, now," he warned. "Take it very

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  easy." They edged forward, and came across the bulk of a car, then another, and circled past them. Now he was able to pick out ghostly figures, in the thinning mist, and he could see that they were ranged in orderly fashion, some six or seven feet apart, in between the glare-colums, but on the shaded side of the light. Gripping her hand tight, he moved closer, close enough to see what was going on. "We had better watch this," he muttered, "we might learn a trick or two." Over to the right there was a burst of laughter, the snap of a whip, and a hoarse scream.

  Then he caught his breath as a trio of shambling green figures blundered out around the bole of a bright blue giant tree and into the glaring light. Each had cradled in skinny arms a treasure of bean pods. Faces contorted into blindness because of the light, they shambled forward, and a shadow went to meet them, became a white man, in black shorts, with a yellow plastic bag over one shoulder. He put out a rough hand to grab the nearest Greenie by a skinny shoulder, and used his other hand to snatch the pods and stuff them into his bag. The Greenie whimpered, went to pull away, but the man aimed a casual kick at those spindly legs, the Greenie howled and hopped, and the man went on with his plunder.

  Anthony shifted his gaze to where a second shadow had moved out, intercepting another of the helpless trio. A female, this time, with a pod in her mouth, as well as full-armed. The man, naked as Adam, slashed the edge of his hand across her throat, so that she gagged and disgorged. Then he, too, began to grab and stuff, while the dazed female stood, trying to swallow, and retching.

  The third Greenie had taken fright, had turned to run back into the dark. Anthony groaned as he saw a third shadow step into the harsh glare. With only a twist of cloth about her loins, and a whip twirling in her hand, this was a blonde woman he had never seen before. Setting her feet apart, she brought her arm over, the lash licked out, and the Greenie screamed. Another lashing stroke caught its foot, and the blonde walked up the taut line, reversed the whip-handle, brought the stump-end down with a crack on that patchy-haired skull. Then, calmly, she collected the pods, for her bag.

  "Get a good look," Anthony advised, savagely. "See how

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  they treat the Greenies . . . how they would treat us." He could feel Martha shivering, but he was steady. Indignation could wait. He fixed his attention on the bags. He meant to get one. They were valuable, even to the Greenies. "Wait here," he hissed, "until there's a full bag. Then we take itl"

  "Why? They aren't worth anything, to us. Not now."

  "The Greenies value them. We're going to have to live with Greenies, and like it." More shambling green figures broke from cover, and the Harvest went on. Anthony saw, with sick hate, that the blonde woman seemed fond of her whip, using it at every opportunity. Soon her bag was fulL

  "Nowl" he said, giving Martha a shove. "Here she comes, loaded." His eyes followed her into the gloom. Then he was up to her, seeing her surprise, her quick gasp and attempt to shout, which died as he hit her, a smash on the jaw that jarred his hand and arm right up to the elbow. Ruin my fingering, he thought, crazily, if I were a piano-player any more. He stooped to grab her bag, heard a scuffle at his back and wheeled round. The man in black shorts had trapped Martha, was holding her close and peering. Anthony took two long steps, swung his arm, and lashed out again, enjoying the vicious pain of the blow, as the man sank down without a sound.

  "You all right?" he demanded, flexing his fingers. She nodded, stupidly, looking down at the prostrate man. "All right, then. Grab his bag, quick!" He went back to the blonde woman shoved her over with his foot, got her bag, slung it over a shoulder, went to Martha, helped her to shoulder hers. "Now, come on . .. let's get away from here."

  "But where?" she wailed, as he plunged off, turning his back on the glare. "Anthony. . . 1" He slid, stumbled to one knee, got up again, waited, and she came up, out of the gloom. "I couldn't see you. . . ." she gasped. "Where are we going?"

  "How do I know?" he snapped. "Who cares, anyway? We have a whole planet We just go, and keep on going, that's all."

  He took her hand, and they went forward together, slipping and staggering, into the slimy, greasy-wet inferno, into a multicolored nowhere.

  Going nowhere.Nowhere to go. The words went round

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  and round in his mind. Just keep going. Keep going. Until you drop. And then, what? The glowing mist swirled, lazily, round him, ever changing, ever the same. Shreds of shifting color came and went, glowed and passed by, tempting the mind to build figures and phantoms, peopling the silence with a myriad things.

  And it was a silence, such as only cloying, sound-swallowing mist can make. His feet made no sound on the spongy slippery moss. Nothing seemed to live or move, out there . . . nothing . . . until he became aware of fugitive touches, now and then, against his ankles. Litde things, scurrying away into the safety, making no sound. All he heard was the drum-pounding of the blood in his ears, the rasp of breathing, and the click and chuckle as he swallowed. He moved in a bubble a yard in diameter, and everything else was a dream. He had the softness of Martha's hand in his, and he could see her as a blur, by him, in the haze, as they blundered along together. But all else was insane nightmare. The ground under his feet, spongy and wet, was even, like a table. Now and again he caught his foot in a stunted tangle of something, a bush, possibly, but that was all. No break in the monotony. Nothing. Just walk, and keep walking.

  He felt for the bean bag, seeking the fastening, and his fingers skidded on the slimy surface as he tried to get it open. Then, when he had succeeded, he took out a pod, sealed the bag again. A black and yellow thing, about three inches long, banana-shaped. On Earth, this would have kept him in luxury for years. Right now, he had to open it, eat the contents, and be nourished, or it was worthless. He gripped it, squeezed, and it burst open at one end, like a three-cornered mouth. There were four black-and-red beans inside. He shook one into his palm, took a deep breath, and put it into his mouth. He bit on it.<
br />
  The texture was fibrous and woody, like a nut. The taste was acid-sour, flooding his mouth with saliva. He chewed, cautiously, then swallowed the juice. It stung his throat, sending quick tingles along his arms and legs. He chewed more, reducing the fiber to a pulp, and gulped it. Then he waited. In a moment, his stomach roared at him, making him shudder. But he could feel the dragging weariness and lassitude drop away.

  "Here!" he said to Martha, roughly. "Get one of these between your teeth."

  "Ugh! It's bitter," she complained, but chewed, obediently. They shared the remaining two, finding them not quite so bitter on the second taste.

  "We shan't starve for a bit, anyway," she sniffed, more cheerfully. And they resumed their journey with a lighter step.

  "God in Heaven!" he suddenly gasped, as the featureless mist right behind them was rent by a monstrous, gargling scream.

  Martha's hand clamped on his like a vice. They swung round, peering into the swirling gray. The hideous noise came again, like the blast of an angry steam-whisde, magnified by a hundred times.

  "There," she said, and he could see it, too, a great dark mass, looming up . . . black . . . no, it was green, a dark, glossy, olive green ... a huge, blunt-snouted thing, weaving and questing, as big and round as a man's waist ... and stretching back enormously, into the mist

  "It's a snake, or a worm, or something of the kind," he muttered.

  "Can it see us?"

  "Lord knows. I can't see anything that looks like an eye.

  The blunt-pointed snout swung, and came to an uneasy rest, pointing right where they stood. In some awful way, it knew they were there. Then Martha screamed, uncontrollably, as a cluster of lamp-like eyes, glowing purple, opened in a circle about the great head, and stared at them. She flung herself round, and Anthony felt his knees turn to water as he stared over her shoulder into that ring of eyes. Then, from the center, yellowly, a great gaping mouth opened, peeling back, and that gargling scream came again, deaf-eningly, borne on a hot stench of breath.

  The next thing Anthony knew, he was running, senselessly and terrified, from that gaping mouth, and the ring of razor-edged teeth he had seen within it. His breath bumed in his throat, and the bean-bag bumped awkwardly across his back, hammering him, as he ran, and slipped, and slithered, skidding down to his knees and scrambling up again, forgetting all else in his blind need to escape the honor. His imagination felt the hot breath of it on his neck, the

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  shudder of the soggy ground under its ponderous body, and he fled, gasping, sobbing, squandering every last ounce of energy he could find, to get away. Something caught his foot, so that he went sprawling in a heap. Cursing, he fought up to his fee and ran again . . . and the dark ground fell away under him. He fell and slid, scrabbling at the slimy moss, over an edge, into gray nothingness . . . into a smashing blow at his middle, a bursting flame in his head ... and then, nothing.

  He lay in glorious, cool comfort, deliciously at ease, in the quiet of a shady grove, close by a tinkling fountain. At his side knelt a lovely maiden, smiling on him, and every now and then dipping her fingers in the crystal water, to sprinkle the cool drops on his forehead. He was only pretending to sleep, and she, knowing it, was teasing him.

  "Come, beloved, open your eyes," she called, but he would not. Somewhere, in the distance, an orchestra was playing the ballet music from Faust . . . and he knew that if he did wake up, something dreadful would happen.

  "Awakel" she cried, impatiently, flicking water in his face. He rolled his head aside. "Wake up!" she insisted, in a different kind of voice altogether, and the splash of water was vigorous.

  Anthony opened his eyes, and groaned as ache sliced through his daze.

  "My head!" he moaned, and tried to sit up, cringing from another knife-slash of pain across his middle. "What the hell . . . P" Martha sat back on her heels and watched him, anxiously. Fighting the wrench in his stomach, he sat all the way up, looked round. It wasn't a grove at all, but a dark, dim-lit hollow. He saw the distant standing-flame of trees. There was no mist. And no snake-worm.

  "What happened?" he mumbled, not daring to open his mouth too wide, in case his stomach revolted. "Where's the thing . . . the snake?"

  "Up there, somewhere," she pointed round and up, vaguely. "You went right over a cliff. I thought you were dead."

  "Yes, I remember that." He nodded, and then groaned, wishing he had kept his head still. "I was running like hell, thinking it was after me, and then down I went." He frowned, looked at her, searchingly. "How did you get here? How did you find me?"

  "The snake . . ." She shuddered. "I saw it coming, and you yelled, and I was rooted. I couldn't move, at all. It just came—all mouth and eyes—and I waited, gave up . . . and then it went straight past. Knocked me over. There must have been a mile of itl"

  "It certainly was big. What then . . . ?"

  "It just went past me. Never saw me at all. And then, when I saw it going by, I knew it was chasing you. So I ran after it."

  "And what would you have done, if you'd caught it? My God, do you realize what you're saying?" He stared at her. "Suppose it had caught me, and then waited for you?"

  "I never thought of that," she said, blankly. "All I knew was, if I kept after it, I was keeping after you . . . and I daren't lose you. So I ran after it. Then it sort of stopped. And I got scared, then. I thought it must have . . . caught you. So I stood as still as I could. And it coiled back, and went away. And I went along—it leaves a groove, you know —and I fell over the edge. But I landed in Some bushes, so it wasn't too bad. Then I found you, all in a tangle, around a little tree-stump. I thought you were dead, at first. Then I saw the water—"

  "Water? It wasn't all a dream, then. Where?"

  "Over there, look!" He twisted round, painfully, and, in the half-light, he saw the oily-rippling edge of a sheet of water that stretched away, a long way, into the gloom.

  "I managed to drag you down as far as this. And then I got some water, with my cape, and threw it over you. I'm so glad you're not dead I"

  "So am I, for the moment," he said, wryly. "I owe you my life, for what it's worth. I wouldn't have given a snap for it, back there. Let's hope there aren't too many of those about. I fancy we'd be just a couple of bites, for him." He shifted, painfully. "Still, water's something to be glad of. I could do with a big drink." He gathered himself, made the effort, and got to his feet, swaying but managing to keep his balance. He felt her hand on his leg.

  "I don't think we'll be able to drink it," she said, unhappily. "It's cramful of little fish-things. Millions of them. And they bite. Look!" She put out her arm for him to see. It was covered, up to the elbow, in red splotches.

  "Hell!" he growled- "You shouldn't have done that, not

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  just to get water to throw over me. I'm going to take a look."

  He set off, weavingly, for the water-edge. In the last yard, he sank to his knees and crawled, until he could peer down into it. Then he saw that the oily blackness was illusory. The water was clear, enough so that he could see the bottom, and the masses of hair-like, waving weeds. But, even as he put his head down, there was a sudden flurry, and a shower of darting neon-lights, spearing through the dark. Shifting his weight on to one arm, he dabbled his fingers, and winced as he felt the instant sting of needle-sharp teeth. The water was alive, now, with sparkling flames.

  He tried to imagine gulping a mouthful of that, and groaned. A bead of sweat ran from his chin and splashed into the water. Wringing wet with sweat . . . and parched with thirst... it didn't seem right, somehow.

  "What are we going to do?" she whispered, as he sat back, to think. The pain in his head was abating a little. He rubbed it, feeling the greasiness and slime in his hair. To get clean, cool, and inwardly moist ... it was a crying urge. There had to be some way.

  "You were splashing me," he said. "How?"

  "I dropped the edge of my cape in the water, then shook it, to get the fish out. And then I wrung
it out, over your face."

  "Let me seel" he held out his hand for the cape, to feel it. Plastic, still a vivid red, crimped to give a fleecy feel, and wet. He shook it out, to find that it was an almost perfect square, a yard a side. A cord threaded through it, one third of the way from one edge, made it possible to wear it as a coat, or a cloak with a hood . . . but he saw it only as a spread-out sponge. Setting himself on his knees, he swung the cape out, let it flap into the water, drew it out, shook it, and stood up, to wrap the soaked materia] around his head. It felt good. He did it again, and had rinsed the worst of the slime from his head and face. Once more, but this time he held the cape high, balled it, and squeezed, sucking greedily at the drops as they fell on his face.

  "Best we can do, for the moment." He passed the cloth back to her. "You have a go. It's worth it, just to feel cool and partly clean." She took the cape, did what she had seen him do, and he left her to it. Looking round, he saw

  70 where she had lugged the two bean-hags, and went for them, to bring them to the edge of the water. The effort tied his abused stomach in knots, but he felt better for it, after the twinges had subsided. Next thing, he thought, were his clothes. He was still cumbered by jacket and pants. A quick glance showed him that Martha was busy, still, with her shower-bath. He stripped off the garments, dipped them in the water, shook them vigorously, and they came out much cleaner. Then, as he wrung out most of the water, he argued with himself.

  Habit said he should cover himself again, but the tremendous improvement in freedom and comfort made him hesitate. Who was to care, here? Except Martha, of course. He squinted across at her, again, to see that she had peeled off her clothes, too, and was luxuriating in the dribble of water over her nakedness.

  "Don't look round," he called, gently. "But I'm having an argument with myself. I don't want to swelter in these silly clothes. Do you mind?" She held still for a moment, with the dripping cape over her head, then brought it down, and turned, facing him.