Red Venus

by Garnett Elliott

  Schmidt glowered while the rest of the crew clinked cups. He drew a battered pack of Uritsky cigarettes from his uniform and lit up in defiance of the ship's air-scrubbers. "Now that you've all congratulated yourselves, what's the first order of business?"

  Nadezhda studied the ship's chronometer. "According to calculations, the Venerian night should last four more hours. We'll do an outside inspection of damage and initiate repairs. But no exploring until daybreak—the local flora and fauna's too dangerous."

  Schmidt crossed his arms. "That sounds acceptable."

  "What's your read of the atmosphere?"

  "Spectrograph confirms what we already knew. Nitrogen and oxygen in earthlike proportions, but very dense. Breathing it would be like sipping borscht."

  "We'll use respirators, then."

  "I'd go further," Schmidt said, wincing as he touched a hand to his injured temple. "We should wear vacc suits, with full environmental seals. Aside from bacteria, there are likely airborne molds and spores virulent to humans."

  "Noted." Nadezhda turned to Lev. "What does our Security Officer say?"

  "I say it's time we broke out the guns." He fished a key from around his thick neck.

  They climbed down into the hold. Lev opened the weapons locker and began handing out atomic pistols, barrels pointed at the deck. Nadezhda accepted hers with trepidation. It was a Topchev hand-ray, military issue, and the collapsed deuterium in the grip made it feel heavy against her slender wrist.

  Schmidt ignored them as they armed, instead fussing over Gregor VII's chest housing. Probably looking for more evidence of Nadezhda's carelessness.

  "Is your little boy alright?" Marina said, unable to keep a smirk from her gaunt face.

  "You'd better hope so. He—it—is vital to our mission."

  Marina tsked. "For all the weight he took up, we could've brought along additional crew."

  "And for all the rubles spent," Lev said, "developing your so-called 'psychic link' with that thing, we could've built another ship."

  "You doubt the veracity of psionic research?"

  "It seems very abstract, to someone who uses a wrench."

  "Well then, Mr. Mirov. Please observe." Schmidt thumbed the switch for Gregor's atomic batteries. Relays clacked from deep inside its armored torso; the spherical head lifted. Schmidt fiddled with instrumentation on the chest plate. He turned his back to Gregor and took several paces forward. Still facing away, he bowed his head. Furrows appeared on his brow. With slow deliberation, he brought his right hand up from his side and flexed it, open and closed.

  Servos whirred. Gregor imitated the gesture, its wedge-shaped fingers snapping together like a vise.

  "Ah," said Lev, still skeptical. "It could've just been watching you."

  "Did you hear me speak to it? Give it any commands?"

  "You could've programmed it just now, when you were pressing all those buttons."

  Schmidt shook his bandaged head. "Perhaps I should set up a curtain, like a stage magician."

  "Lev," Nadezhda said, "Dr. Schmidt's abilities have been demonstrated under laboratory conditions. Our government accepts such phenomena as fact."

  Lev gave the science officer a rueful look. "No wonder he always beats me in chess."

  "I don't need telepathy or precognition to beat you, Mirov."

  "That's enough." Nadezhda interposed herself. "Let's all suit up for inspection."

  Schmidt gestured towards the probes. "I still need to assess our payload for damage."

  "Fine. Stay in the ship." Better to keep you separated, anyway.

  * * *

  The moonless Venerian night, swathed beneath heavy clouds, was so black it made darkness palpable, a sooty fog held back only by the glare of the Sokol's lights. Stepping through the airlock, Nadezhda caught sight of the ocean twenty meters away. Its waves seemed listless, sluggish, stirred by a faint breeze. She climbed down until her boots crunched coarse sand.

  "What's the temperature out here?" Lev said, joining her moments later. "My suit's coolant unit is already running."

  "33 C. The atmosphere keeps it from dropping much at night."

  "Less gravity." Marina leapt from a high rung and landed in a crouch. "Though it's hard to tell after two months of ship's spin."

  "Don't try any gymnastics," Nadezhda said. Her hand strayed to the butt of her pistol. She turned in a wary circle. Who knew what horrors were crawling around out here?

  Beneath his Plexiglas helmet, Lev's face looked just as anxious. "Do you hear that?"

  A clicking noise carried over the waves. "It's coming from the beach."

  What she'd first taken as a line of grayish-white sea foam was moving … segmented bodies, rearing up on skeletal legs. Heaving themselves from the surf. A shoal of giant silverfish, each a meter long, waving their feelers and working pincer-jaws to make that eerie castanet sound.

  Nadezhda felt her stomach lurch. "Are they moving closer?"

  "Looks like they're just trying to get out of the drink," Lev said.

  She thought she could see a starfish shape further out in the black waters, glowing with pale green phosphorescence. The top Soviet exobiologists had speculated Venus's oceans teemed with life. But this wasn't an aquatic expedition.

  "The damage's over here," Marina called out.

  They joined her on the port side. Lev examined the multiple breaches in the ceramic-steel hull, clucking with disdain. "Well … it's not as bad as all that. Once we've cleaned the shrapnel out, it might end up just being a patch job."

  "How long?"

  "A day? Two? Depends. Good news is, it looks fixable."

  "I keep hearing a buzzing," Marina said, swiveling her head around. "It's not the com, is it?"

  "All I hear are those damn water-bugs." But a moment later Nadezhda did hear it. Almost like the throb of helicopter rotors.

  "Up there," Marina shouted, pointing. "I saw—"

  It was the last thing she saw. A dragonfly shape on six pairs of wings came swooping out of the night. When it passed by Marina her helmeted head separated from her shoulders and went bouncing across the sand. The co-pilot's body did a frantic dance, twin geysers erupting from her severed carotids.

  "Down," Nadezhda screamed, dropping to one knee. Another buzzing shape passed only a meter above. She drew her Topchev and squeezed the firing stud. A lance of brilliant crimson shot upwards, searing through a wing. The dragonfly tumbled out of the air and smashed into a nearby dune.

  Instinct made Nadezhda crawl until the Sokol's comforting metal frame stretched over her. She glanced towards the beach and saw a horrible sight: the silverfish had come scuttling in closer, and now fought with each other for possession of Marina's head. They had it free of the helmet, her short dark hair flopping as it passed from one set of pincers to the next. A big silverfish seized it and retreated towards the waves.

  Grim purpose enfolded Nadezhda. She reached down and switched the Topchev's firing setting from 'beam' to 'fan.'

  "Grab her body," she shouted to Lev. "We're going back inside."

  When she fired again crimson energy surged out in a spreading wall. Wherever it touched, silverfish blackened and died. Gray smoke roiled around the Sokol. Nadezhda crept forward, working the pistol side-to-side like a garden hose. A sudden feeling of scrutiny made her pause. Five meters away, a silverfish encrusted with some type of ochre fungus seemed to be watching her. Unlike its wriggling brethren, this creature remained still. Was it sick? Diseased?

  Didn't matter. She pointed and fired.

  "Right behind you," Lev said, dragging Marina's remains. Whatever had decapitated her had cut clean through the vacc suit's plastic seals. Nadezhda stopped blasting and scrambled halfway up the ship's ladder. With Lev's assistance, they hauled the dripping corpse into the airlock.

  Only when the outer door clanged shut did Nadezhda holster her gun. Too shocked for emotion, all she could do was grab a shoulder and help carry her comrade's body.

  Schmidt glanced up fro
m the stack of probes as they entered the hold. "Done already …?" His face paled when he saw what his crewmembers clutched between them.

  "Go get a bag from surgery," Nadezhda said.

  For once, Schmidt didn't offer protest. Nadezhda lay Marina down against the bulkhead and removed her own helmet. When she closed her eyes, she saw the silverfish tussling for the head. She opened her eyes and kept them open.

  "Does this change anything?" Lev said, his voice quiet.

  "The mission goes forward. We knew conditions here were hostile."

  "Marina was ship's astrogator."

  "We'll just have to make do. Luna Control can help with calculations, once we're back in orbit." Nadezhda noticed her vision blearing at the corners of her eyes. "She didn't like me. Not at first, anyway. She resented my promotions when I passed her in rank. Thought I was too young. Later …"

  "Nadia." Lev reached out to stroke a braid.

  "Not now."

  Schmidt's boots clanged against the rungs. Nadezhda and Lev straightened as he climbed down, trailing a long zippered bag. Luna Control had planned for all contingencies. Together, they managed to wrestle their crewmate into the bag with a measure of dignity. Schmidt used a length of gauze to mop up the blood.

  "Hold on a moment," Nadezhda said, when Lev reached for the zipper. "I want to get something."

  She climbed to the control pod and took down Marina's slide rule from where it hung on a throttle. Her co-pilot had always claimed it was good luck. Back in the hold, she placed the ruler inside the bag and closed it.

  CHAPTER THREE

  They had decided to try and rest for the next few hours until sunup, but after crawling into her padded bunk and closing her eyes, Nadezhda knew sleep was hopeless. Schmidt had recommended a sedative, which her officer's pride could only refuse. After five minutes of staring at the polished aluminum surrounding her bunk, she crawled back out again. The habitation area had a rowing machine, to keep muscle tone intact during the long voyage. She nestled herself in the creaking apparatus and tried to imagine the blue-green waters of Lake Svityaz, parting beneath the keel of her little boat. The mindless exercise brought sweat, and eventually, a renewal of purpose.

  She rose to set water boiling in the samovar. Lev and a freshly-bandaged Schmidt joined her, neither man looking rested. They sipped tea in silence, before breakfasting on re-hydrated potatoes and cabbage.

  "I've been thinking about those mines," Lev said.

  Nadezhda drained her cup. "Go on."

  "If the Yanks are here, then they might've tracked us by radar when we made our descent."

  Schmidt glanced at the chronometer. "In that case, we've given them plenty of time to arrange a welcome."

  "Do you think they'd try anything?"

  "Besides blowing us out of orbit?" Nadezhda said. "Well, they can always claim that was an accident. The mines are automatic, after all. But as to showing up here with an armed party … I doubt it."

  "We're two hundred and sixty million kilometers from Earth," Lev pointed out.

  "And about five minutes by radio contact to Luna Control." Nadezhda shook her head. "I don't think they'd risk war. Not over Venus."

  "Nationalism aside," Schmidt said, "we still have a payload to deliver. What do you propose?"

  "We keep to the original plan. Reconnaissance first, then Gregor does the actual positioning of the probes. But—" she tapped her finger against the table "—we don't go outside unless absolutely necessary, and with all precautions in place. This planet's just too dangerous."

  "Agreed," Lev said.

  "I see no reason for Gregor to remain idle while we explore," Schmidt said. "I can program him to fix the ship. Or the simpler repairs, anyways. No creature out there can chew through titanium plate."

  Lev rubbed at his broad chin. "I suppose he could handle a welder, if we widened the straps a bit."

  "Just show me what needs doing," Schmidt said. "I'll make sure Gregor gets the picture."

  * * *

  At sunrise, they lowered the Sokol's landing gear until the craft was only centimeters above the beach. Gregor VII, an atomic torch slung over its shoulders, clambered out of the airlock. Nadezhda watched through external monitors as the robot made its way to the damaged section of the ship. Using pincer-like fingers, it began the slow process of removing blackened metal shards from the fuel lines. Minutes into the job, a two meter long eel with glaring eyes and a pair of hind legs came scrabbling out of the sand, to clamp its mouth around Gregor's ankle. As Schmidt predicted, the spiked teeth couldn't penetrate. After worrying its sleek head from side to side for several moments, the creature gave up and wriggled away.

  "Disgusting," Nadezhda said.

  Along with Lev and Schmidt, she suited up and went into the hangar to inspect the Dnieper.

  Schmidt sniffed when he saw the cracked viewport. The metal along the canopy had been scraped raw as well. "Damaged during your theatrical landing, no doubt."

  "Back to form, are we? The Dnieper's still flightworthy. We can wear our suits while inside, if you're worried about contamination."

  "I am."

  They entered the cramped cockpit. Nadezhda, realizing she no longer had a co-pilot awaiting orders aboard the Sokol, had to climb back out and work the manual release for the hangar doors. Sunlight poured in as the valves opened. Her first glimpse of daytime Venus showed the beach shrouded in fog, looking bleak beneath overcast skies. It might have been a view of the Okhotsk coastline, save there was no ice, and the light filtering down had a green cast like pale jade.

  She hurried aboard the Dnieper before any new monster could appear. With engines at one-eighth power, the boat slid out on a curtain of thrust. A brief argument followed about the optimum altitude. Nadezhda wanted high, for relative safety. Schmidt wanted low to view the terrain closer. They compromised at five meters above the ground, Nadezhda figuring they could always climb if needed.

  "Glad you two got that sorted out," Lev said. "Now where are we going?"

  Schmidt unfolded a survey map across his knees. "My calculations put us here." He indicated a smooth section of coast along a peninsula. "Several kilometers west there should be jungle, and beyond that, rolling hills. I'd like to inspect both biomes. They're likely good places for Gregor to install a probe. What's more interesting, the Sokol's radar picked up an anomaly during our descent, right here." Schmidt's finger rested on a point in the middle of the jungle.

  "What kind of anomaly?" Nadezhda said.

  "High-density metal."

  "Alright. It bears checking out."

  She pointed the Dnieper's needle-nose in a westerly direction. All three occupants craned their heads around to get a final look at Gregor. The robot's limbs gleamed dully as it continued its work, cleaning shrapnel from the Sokol's guts and welding patches in place, oblivious to the dangers that slithered, swam, and stalked through alien fog.

  * * *

  Mudflats. Endless grey mud, stretching to the limits of vision.

  Some of the mist burned off, as the sun climbed invisible behind emerald clouds. Schmidt spotted movement and told Nadezhda to stop.

  A two-legged eel, similar to the one she had seen earlier, heaved itself from the mud and went slip-scuttling along. Several meters away lay a patch of limp, sickly yellow weeds. The eel began to wriggle its way across. But as soon as it had covered half the distance, tooth-like stalks sprang up and folded over the creature's slick flesh. The eel stopped thrashing; its tubular body sunk in on itself, deflating. In moments the stalks had reduced it to a slimy husk.

  Schmidt made a notation on his map. "Leech grass. Zarubin had mentioned it during the third expedition."

  "This planet," Nadezhda said with finality, "is one abomination after another. I don't understand what Moscow sees in it."

  They moved on.

  In less than an hour the ground elevated, and a dark fringe of jungle appeared. Sprawling before it lay a huge lake choked with slime. Nadezhda took the Dnieper down close t
o shore, at Schmidt's insistence. Humanoid shapes, walking erect, were both emerging from the rancid waters and diving below it, reminding her of the comings and goings of an ant colony. But these creatures were not insects. They had blunt, frog-like faces, and the most colorful markings she'd seen in her spacefaring life. Spirals of ultramarine, crimson stripes, and spotted patterns of canary yellow covered their glistening skin. Some bore what looked like spears. Two carried a litter piled high with squirming insect larvae, which they lugged with purpose towards the lake.

  Schmidt made cooing sounds, pleased with the find. He began scribbling notes on a pad. "Another of Zarubin's discoveries. He called them 'salamen.' Amphibians, of course, with a primitive intelligence. I don't remember him documenting tool use, though."

  Nadezhda saw another giant eel slither up to the group and braced herself for the gory outcome. But neither eel nor salamen paid much attention to each other, the former slipping into the water without a fight.

  "Did you see that?" Nadezhda said. "The monster ignored them. You'd think with those bright markings every predator would be here, trying to gobble them up."

  Schmidt shook his head. "Those markings serve as a warning for poison. Just like certain tree frogs on Earth. A beautiful defense."

  "I've seen nothing here I'd call 'beautiful,' so far."

  "It's all relative."

  She was preparing to argue when a feeling of déjà vu struck. On a flat rock near the shore, three salamen appeared to be 'sunning' themselves. Their markings had been crusted over with the same ochre fungus she'd seen the night before. And like that particular silverfish, they were watching the new arrivals, staring up at the Dnieper with serene expressions. She pointed it out to Schmidt.

  "Hmm, yes. Symbiotic fungus, I'd imagine. Not everything finds the salamen poisonous, apparently."

  "Why are they watching us like that?"

  "The sense of 'watching' is in your mind. They're probably addled with whatever neurotoxins the fungus produces, like people who've eaten ergot."

  Nadezhda didn't think their observers looked addled. She thought to sense contempt in those unblinking eyes. Or maybe it was just her mind, as Schmidt suggested. Who could gauge alien emotions? All the same, when the science officer signaled to continue she felt relief.