by Isaac Asimov
'Oh-h,' Irene cried in sudden delight. 'Look at this!'
She was down on her knees in the mud, arms outstretched to the nearest female. The other three watched in fascinated silence as the nervous she-Phib clasped its tiny armful closer to its breast.
But Irene's arms made little inviting gestures, 'Please, please. It's so cute. I won't hurt him.'
Whether the Phib mother understood is doubtful, but with a sudden motion, she held out a little green bundle of squirming life and deposited it in the waiting arms.
Irene rose, squealing with delight. Little webbed feet kicked aimlessly and round frightened eyes stared at her. The other three crowded close and watched it curiously.
'It's the dearest little thing, it is. Look at its funny little mouth. Do you want to hold it, Henry?'
Henry jumped backwards as if stung, 'Not on your life! I'd probably drop it.'
'Do you get any thought images, Irene?' asked Max, thoughtfully.
Irene considered and frowned her concentration, 'No-o. It's too young, mayb - oh, yes! It's - it's -' She stopped, and tried to laugh. 'It's hungry!'
She returned the little baby Phib to its mother, whose mouth worked in transports of joy and whose muscular arms clasped the little mite close. The tiny Phib swiveled its little green head to bend one last goggling look at the creature that had held it for an instant.
'Friendly creatures,' said Max, 'and intelligent. They can keep their lakes and rivers. We'll take the land and won't interfere with them.'
A lone Tweenie stood on Scanlon Ridge and his field-glass pointed at the Divide ten miles up the hills. For five minutes, the glass did not waver and the Tweenie stood like some watchful statue made of the same rock as formed the mountains all about.
And then the field-glass lowered, and the Tweenie's face was a pale thin-lipped picture of gloom. He hastened down the slope to the guarded, hidden entrance to Venustown.
He shot past the guards without a word and descended into the lower levels where solid rock was still being puffed into nothingness and shaped at will by controlled blasts of super-energy.
Arthur Scanlon looked up and with a sudden premonition of disaster, gestured the Disintegrators to a halt.
'What's wrong, Sorrell?'
The Tweenie leant over and whispered a single word into Arthur's ear.
'Where?'Arthur's voice jerked out hoarsely.
'On the other side of the ridge. They're coming through the Divide now in our direction. I spotted the blaze of sun on metal and -' he held up his field-glass significantly.
'Good Lord!' Arthur rubbed his forehead distractedly and then turned to the anxiously-watching Tweenie at the controls of the Disinto. 'Continue as planned! No change!'
He hurried up the levels to the entrance, and snapped out hurried orders, 'Triple the guard immediately. No one but me or those with me, are to be permitted to leave. Send out men to round up any stragglers outside immediately and order them to keep within shelter and make so unnecessary sound.'
Then, back again through the central avenue to his father's quarters.
Max Scanlon looked up from his calculations and his grave forehead smoothed out slowly.
'Hello, son. Is anything wrong? Another resistant stratum?'
'No, nothing like that.' Arthur closed the door carefully and lowered his voice. 'Earthmen!'
For a moment, Max made no movement. The expression on his face froze for an instant, and then, with a sudden exhalation, he slumped in his chair and the lines in his forehead deepened wearily.
'Settlers?'
'Looks so. Sorrell said women and children were among them. There were several hundred in all, equipped for a stay -and headed in this direction.'
Max groaned, 'Oh, the luck, the luck! All the vast empty spaces of Venus to choose and they come here. Come, let's get a firsthand look at this.'
They came through the Divide in a long, snaky line. Hardbitten pioneers with their pinched work-worn women and their carefree, half-barbarous, wilderness-bred children. The low, broad 'Venus Vans' joggled clumsily over the untrodden ways, loaded down with amorphous masses of household necessities.
The leaders surveyed the prospect and one spoke in clipped, jerky syllables, 'Almost through, Jem. We're out among the foothills now.'
And the other replied slowly, 'And there's good new growing-land ahead. We can stake out farms and settle down.' He sighed, 'It's been tough going this last month. I'm glad it's over!'
And from a ridge ahead - the last ridge before the valley -the Scanlons, father and son, unseen dots in the distance, watched the newcomers with heavy hearts.
The one thing we could not prepare for - and it's happened.'
Arthur spoke slowly and reluctantly, 'They are few and unarmed. We can drive them out in an hour.' With sudden fierceness, 'Venus is ours!'
'Yes, we can drive them out in an hour - in ten minutes. But they would return, in thousands, and armed. We're not ready to fight all Earth, Arthur.'
The younger man bit his lip and words were muttered forth half in shame, 'For the sake of the race, Father - we could kill them all.'
'Never!' exclaimed Max, his old eyes flashing. 'We will not be the first to strike. If we kill, we can expect no mercy from Earth; and we will deserve none.'
'But, Father, what else? We can expect no mercy from Earth as it is. If we're spotted, - if they ever suspect our existence, pur whole hegira becomes pointless and we lose out at the very beginning.'
'I know. I know.'
'We can't change now,' continued Arthur, passionately. 'We've spent months preparing Venustown. How could we start over?'
'We can't,' agreed Max, tonelessly. 'To even attempt to move would mean sure discovery. We can only -'
'Live like moles after all. Hunted fugitives! Frightened refugees! Is that it?'
'Put it any way you like - but we must hide, Arthur, and bury ourselves.'
'Until-?'
'Until I - or we - perfect a curved two-dimensional stat-beam. Surrounded by an impermeable defense, we can come out into the open. It may take years; it may take one week. I don't know.'
'And every day we run the risk of detection. Any day the swarms of purebloods can come down upon us and wipe us out. We've got to hang on by a hair day after day, week after week, month after month -'
'We've got to.' Max's mouth was clamped shut, and his eyes were a frosty blue.
Slowly, they went back to Venustown.
Things were quiet in Venustown, and eyes were turned to the topmost level and the hidden exits. Out there was air and the sun and space - and Earthmen.
They had settled several miles up the river-bed. Their rude houses were springing up. Surrounding land was being cleared.
Farms were being staked out. Planting was taking place.
And in the bowels of Venus, eleven hundred Tweenies shaped their home and waited for an old man to track down the elusive equations that would enable a stat-ray to spread in two dimensions and curve.
Irene brooded somberly as she sat upon the rocky ledge and stared ahead to where the dim gray light indicated the existence of an exit to the open. Her shapely legs swung gently back and forth and Henry Scanlon, at her side, fought desperately to keep his gaze f ocussed harmlessly upon air.
'You know what, Henry?'
'What?'
'I'll bet the Phibs could help us.'
'Help us do what, Irene?'
'Help us get rid of the Earthmen.'
Henry thought it over carefully, 'What makes you think that?'
'Well, they're pretty clever - cleverer than we think. Their minds are altogether different, though, and maybe they could fix it. Besides - I've just got a feeling.' She withdrew her hand suddenly, 'You don't have to hold it, Henry.'
Henry swallowed, 'I - I thought you had a sort of unsteady seat there - might fall, you know.'
'Oh!' Irene looked down the terrific three-foot drop. 'There's something hi what you say. It does look pretty high here.'
Henry decided he was in the presence of a hint, and acted accordingly. There was a moment's silence while he seriously considered the possibility of her feeling a bit chilly - but before he had quite decided that she probably was, she spoke again.
'What I was going to say, Henry, was this. Why don't we go out and see the Phibs?'
'Dad would take my head off if I tried anything like that.'
'It would be a lot of fun.'
'Sure, but it's dangerous. We can't risk anyone seeing us.'
Irene shrugged resignedly, 'Well, if you're afraid, we'll say no more about it.'
Henry gasped and reddened. He was off the ledge in a bound, 'Who's afraid? When do you want to go?'
'Right now, Henry. Right this very minute.' Her cheeks flushed with enthusiasm.
'All right then. Come on.' He started off at a half-run, dragging her along. - And then a thought occurred to him and he stopped short.
He turned to her fiercely, 'I'll show you if I'm afraid.' His arms were suddenly about her and her little cry of surprise was muffled effectively.
'Goodness,' said Irene, when in a position to speak once more. 'How thoroughly brutal!'
'Certainly. I'm a very well-known brute,' gasped Henry, as he uncrossed his eyes and got rid of the swimming sensation in his head. 'Now let's get to those Phibs; and remind me, when I'm president, to put up a memorial to the fellow who invented kissing.'
Up through the rock-lined corridor, past the backs of outward-gazing sentries, out through the carefully camouflaged opening, and they were upon the surface.
The smudge of smoke on the southern horizon was grim evidence of the presence of man, and with that in mind, the two young Tweenies slithered through the underbrush into the forest and through the forest to the lake of the Phibs.
Whether in some strange way of their own the Phibs sensed the presence of friends, the two could not tell, but they had scarcely reached the banks when approaching dull-green smudges beneath water told of the creatures' coming.
A wide, goggle-eyed head broke the surface, and, in a second, bobbing frogheads dotted the lake.
Henry wet his hand and seized the friendly forelimb outstretched to him.
'Hi there, Phib.'
The grinning mouth worked and made its soundless answer.
'Ask him about the Earthmen, Henry,' urged Irene. Henry motioned impatiently.
'Wait a while. It takes time. I'm doing the best I can.'
For two slow minutes, the two, Tweenie and Phib, remained motionless and stared into each other's eyes. And then the Phib broke away and, at some silent order, every lake-creature vanished, leaving the Tweenies alone.
Irene stared for a moment, nonplussed, 'What happened?'
Henry shrugged, 'I don't know. I pictured the Earthmen and he seemed to know who I meant. Then I pictured Earthmen fighting us and killing us - and he pictured a lot of us and only a few of them and another fight in which we killed them. But then I pictured us killing them and then a lot more of them coming - hordes and hordes - and killing us and then -'
But the girl was holding her hands to her tortured ears, 'Oh, my goodness. No wonder the poor creature didn't understand. I wonder he didn't go crazy.'
'Well, I did the best I could,' was the gloomy response. 'This was all your nutty idea, anyway.'
Irene got no further with her retort than the opening syllable, for in a moment the lake was crowded with Phibs once more. 'They've come back,' she said instead.
A Phib pushed forward and seized Henry's hand while the others crowded around in great excitement. There were several moments of silence and Irene fidgeted.
'Well?' she said.
'Quiet, please. I don't get it. Something about big animals, or monsters, or-' His voice trailed away, and the furrow between his eyes deepened into painful concentration.
He nodded, first abstractedly, then vigorously.
He broke away and seized Irene's hands. 'I've got it - and it's the perfect solution. We can save Venustown all by ourselves, Irene, with the help of the Phibs - if you want to come to the Lowlands with me tomorrow. We can take along a pair of Tonite pistols and food supplies and if we follow the river, it oughtn't to take us more than two or three days there and the same time back. What do you say, Irene?'
Youth is not noted for forethought. Irene's hesitation was for effect only, 'Well - maybe we shouldn't go ourselves, but -but I'll go - with you.' There was the lightest accent on the last word.
Ten seconds later, the two were on their way to Venustown, and Henry was wondering, if on the whole, it weren't better to put up two memorials to the fellow who invented kissing.
The flickering red-yellow of the fire sent back ruddy highlights from Henry's lordly crest of hair and cast shifting shadows upon his brooding face.
It was hot in the Lowlands, and the fire made it worse, yet Henry huddled close and kept an anxious eye upon the sleeping form of Irene on the other side. The teeming life of the Venusian jungle respected fire, and the flames spelt safety.
They were three days from the plateau now. The stream had become a lukewarm, slowly-moving river, the shores of which were covered with the green scum of algae. The pleasant forests had given way to the tangled, vine-looped growths of the jungle. The mingled sounds of life had grown in volume and increased to a noisy crescendo. The air became warmer and damper; the ground swampier; the surroundings more fantastically unfamiliar.
And yet there was no real danger - of that, Henry was convinced. Poisonous life was unknown on Venus, and as for the tough-skinned monsters that lorded the jungles, the fire at night and the Phibs during day would keep them away.
Twice the ear-splitting shriek of a Centosaur had sounded in the distance and twice the sound of crashing trees had caused the two Tweenies to draw together in fear. Both times, the monsters had moved away again.
This was the third night out, and Henry stirred uneasily. The Phibs seemed confident that before morning they could start their return trip, and somehow the thought of Venustown was rather attractive. Adventure and excitement are fine and with every passing hour the glory of his scintillating bravery grew in Irene's eyes - which was wonderful - but still Venus-town and the friendly Highlands were nice to think about.
He threw himself on his stomach and gazed morosely into the fire, thinking of his twenty years of age - almost twenty years.
'Why, heck,' he tore at the rank grass beneath. 'It's about time I was thinking of getting married.' And his eye strayed involuntarily to the sleeping form beyond the fire.
As if in response, there was a flickering of eyelids and a vague stare out of deep blue eyes.
Irene sat up and stretched.
'I can't sleep at all,' she complained, brushing futilely at her, white hair. 'It's so hot.' She stared at the fire distastefully.
Henry's good humor persisted. 'You slept for hours - and snored like a trombone.'
Irene's eyes snapped wide open, 'I did not!' Then, with a voice vibrant with tragedy, 'Did I?'
'No, of course not!' Henry howled his laughter, stopping only at the sudden, sharp contact between the toe of Irene's shoe and the pit of his own stomach. 'Ouch,' he said.
'Don't speak to me anymore, Mister Scanlon!' was the girl's frigid remark.
It was Henry's turn to look tragic. He rose in panicky dismay and took a simple step toward the girl. And then he froze in his tracks at the ear-piercing shriek of a Centosaur. When he came to himself, he found his arms full of Irene.
Reddening, she disentangled herself, and then the Cento-saurian shriek sounded again, from another direction, - and there she was, right back again.
Henry's face was pale, in spite of his fair armful. 'I think the Phibs have snared the Centosaurs. Come with me and I'll ask them.'
The Phibs were dim blotches in the gray dawn that was breaking. Rows and rows of strained, abstracted individuals were all that met the eye. Only one seemed to be unoccupied and when Henry rose from the handclasp, he said, 'They've got three
Centosaurs and that's all they can handle. We're starting back to the Highlands right now.'
The rising sun found the party two miles up the river. The Tweenies, hugging the shore, cast wary eyes toward the bordering jungle. Through an occasional clearing, vast gray bulks could be made out. The noise of the reptilian shrieks was almost continuous.
'I'm sorry I brought you, Irene,' said Henry. 'I'm not so sure now that the Phibs can take care of the monsters.'
Irene shook her head. 'That's all right, Henry. I -wanted to come. Only - I wish we had thought of letting the Phibs bring the beasts themselves. They don't need us.'
'Yes, they do! If a Centosaur gets out of control, it will make straight for the Tweenies and they'd never get away. We've got the Tonite guns to kill the 'saurs with if the worst comes to the worst-' His voice trailed away and he glanced at the lethal weapon in his hand and derived but cold comfort thereform.
The first night was sleepless for both Tweenies. Somewhere, unseen in the backness of the river, Phibs took shifts and their telepathic control over the tiny brains of the gigantic, twenty-legged Centosaurs maintained its tenuous ho!d. Off in the jungle, three hundred-ton monsters howled impatiently against the force that drove them up the river side against their will and raved impotently against the unseen barrier that prevented them from approaching the stream.
By the side of the fire, a pair of Tweenies, lost between mountainous flesh on one side and the fragile protection of a telepathic web on the other, gazed longingly towards the Highlands some forty miles off.
Progress was slow. As the Phibs tired, the Centosaurs grew balkier. But gradually, the air grew cooler. The rank jungle growth thinned out and the distance to Venustown shortened.
Henry greeted the first signs of familiar temperate-zone forest with a tremulous sigh of relief. Only Irene's presence prevented him from discarding his role of heroism.
He felt pitifully eager for their quixotic journey to be over, but he only said, 'It's practically all over but the shouting. And you can bet there'll be shouting, Irene. We'll be heroes, you and I.'
Irene's attempt at enthusiasm was feeble. 'I'm tired, Henry. Let's rest.' She sank slowly to the ground, and Henry, after signalling the Phibs, joined her.