Battle on Venus

by William F. Temple

  He stamped his way to the stairs.

  Leep was disturbed. He, too, had made a bargain of a kind—offered escape to Earth for Mara and George. If the war was unleashed again, the spaceship would be destroyed before they could reach it.

  He scrambled up and pursued Senilde, calling, vainly: “Wait!”

  He overtook the fat man laboring up the stairs and grabbed his shoulders. And made a discovery, which he reflected upon as he went hurtling backwards down the stairs. Immortality was not protection against the force of Senilde’s electric repellant.

  Senilde turned, glaring down at him, and aimed his pistol.

  “Meddler! Conniver! Interfering fool!”

  Zip! A radio-active needle darted into Leep’s chest as he lay at the foot of the stairs. This time he felt nothing. He got to his feet. Senilde’s eyes became large with surprise.

  Zip! Zip! Two more needles ineffectually found their target. Leep said, with controlled urgency: “You can’t kill me, Senilde. We’re on equal footing now, so let us discuss the matter rationally. Don’t start the war again. I promise I’ll get your telescope back for you somehow.”

  Senilde frothed at the mouth. “You stole my elixir! You stole it! Don’t talk to me of promises. I want to hear no more promises. Oh, how I’ve been deceived!”

  He continued up the stairs, groaning with self-pity.

  “An old man like me—lied to, robbed, knocked down, imprisoned, betrayed on every side…”

  Leep started after him again, but Senilde reached the top of the stairs and flicked a wall switch, still moaning with anguish. The stairs snapped together into one steep, smooth incline. Leep slipped back to the bottom. By the time he’d found another route to the upper floor, Senilde was secure within the Chinese puzzle box of the control room.

  And already the sounds of war were beginning to thunder from the distances. Leep squatted in the passage and tried to peer with his mind into the secrets of the hidden panels and false walls. Perversely, his ungovernable faculty showed him instead the camouflaged exit door in one wall to the steel room, where the elixir had been preserved. It even revealed to him the combination of the lock, which had eluded Senilde’s failing memory for many hours before at last he remembered it, and released himself.

  But, obstinately, it refused to give him even a hint of the way into the control room. For it was subject to the basic psychological Law of Reversed Effort. Leep realized that he was trying too hard and defeating his own wish. He must relax and let the faculty take its own wayward course…

  Yes, instead, he kept wondering: supposing I do find the way in. I still can’t restrain Senilde. I can’t even touch him. I can’t end what he’s begun. I can’t end what I’ve begun.

  He felt a flicker of apprehension. There could be no turning back now. He’d set his foot on a road which led on forever. And ever. And ever…

  It was afternoon. The war chariot was trundling across a typical Venusian plain. George had found the telescope where Senilde had left it, in an open compartment, and employed it continually, hoping to spot the ship somewhere ahead.

  Mara was up there with him now. Suddenly, she said: “Listen.”

  They both listened. Gradually rising above the throb of the engine and the clanking of treads was a booming hum.

  “Planes!” George exclaimed. “The war’s begun again. Senilde must have gotten free.”

  The sky became a great sounding board for maybe more than a thousand planes. Their droning chorus had an ominous refrain: doo-oom, doo-oom, doo-oom, … It was the most menacing sound George had ever heard. It chilled his soul.

  Howling, the bombs began to fall.

  Captain Freiburg and his men heard the planes and the far off bombing. They ran out to the tanks. Renewal of the war must mean the power was on again. They confirmed that it was.

  Freiburg told them: “This is it—maybe our last chance. We can’t afford to muff it. For Pete’s sake stick to the drill I laid down. Never mind the fireworks—just concentrate on doing your own part of the job. Remember to keep your tanks in bottom gear. Avoid jerking: it might snap the cables. Watch my tank closely on your TV screens. When I raise this, start. When I drop it, stop —promptly.”

  “This” was Freiburg’s old stand-by, his shirt, this time tied like a flag to a long cane.

  They settled in their seats. All engines were performing smoothly. Freiburg thrust the cane up through the open hatch above his head. Slowly, the tanks moved forward in concert. The cables became taut.

  The prostrate ship seemed to groan aloud. Then a widening sliver of daylight showed between it and the ground. All the cables held. Operation Hoist had begun well.

  The war was hotting up in the vicinity of the war chariot, which didn’t deviate in the slightest from its course. Nothing was deliberately aimed at it, for it was registered as everyone’s friend. But the air was full of missiles and some came dangerously close.

  A wheeled torpedo overtook the lumbering monster like an express train. Its jet glared white-hot as it shot past.

  Small tanks weaved around, sometimes as thickly as bugs, and collisions seemed constantly imminent. But always they skipped out of the giant’s path at the last moment. Gun flashes danced around the horizon like jumping squibs. The bombing was the chief hazard. George got the impression that it was becoming quite indiscriminate. It was as though Senilde, via the control room, was lashing out wildly, hoping to hit the space-ship by blind chance. George made Mara stay below, while he confined himself to only occasional swift surveys of the storm-ridden plain.

  The straining tanks, like so many dogs on leashes, were making heavy going of it, but none had failed or lost ground. The critical point was attained, with the ship canted at an angle of 45 degrees. If they got it past that, with the center of gravity moving in their favor, the task would become progressively easier.

  … 46… 47… 48… 49… 50 degrees. And still the cables held. The spidery legs of the landing gear were beginning to set down their flat feet, ready to bear the main load in their turn.

  Shells from huge, long-range cannon now and then sighed overhead on their high trajectory, bound for unknown targets.

  The bombing had gone marching off madly to the north. It became reasonably safe for George and Mara to resume the lookout from the high platform. From somewhere way off on the half right quarter came a thin screeching. George swung his telescope that way. He sighted a queer erection standing solitary on the plain. It was largely a pyramid composed of innumerable gears. Strung along the axle at its apex were several of the great knife-edged wheels. They appeared to be spinning with the axle at an incredible speed. As George watched, a forked arm reached up from the machine’s interior and gradually edged one of the outer wheels off the free end of the axle. The wheel dropped to the ground, remained upright and darted off at terrific speed. As the slight earth drag began to slow it a little, the note of the whirling flutes dropped from the almost ultrasonic screech.

  When the wheel became small with distance, it began to howl. Wheeee-eeeee

  .

  George gave the telescope to Mara. “Take a look at that natty launching gear.”

  She did so. “So those are the dreadful cutting wheels you told me about.”

  “Yes. Fascinating to watch, so long as you happen to be in an armor-plated chariot. However, they’re not bowling our way.”

  They watched alternately until the last dully-gleaming wheel dropped and rushed off. By then the launcher had become a misty blur. It faded from view.

  “Darn it, I wanted to see how that thing gets its refills,” said George. Mara consoled him with a kiss. They hugged for a while. Then George returned his attention to the landscape ahead. Almost immediately: “Good griefl”

  He’d seen the spaceship. It was still a long way off, looked no bigger than a splinter, a mere darkish stroke against the mist. The cables were invisible at this distance. To George the ship seemed magically held at an angle of some twenty degrees from the p
erpendicular.

  Then, of course, he realized what was happening— the very thing which he had to prevent happening. It seemed a life-time ago when he, Freiburg, and the mate had discussed using the cables to raise the ship. More vividly he recalled Senilde’s prediction: “The moment the tanks finish the job, they’ll register the ship as an enemy again, and turn around and blast it point-blank.”

  He fought back his panic, and peered intently, trying to see beyond the limits of his vision. He just discerned the arc of tanks. Then, presently, he could see the hairlines of the cables stretched back from them. But he couldn’t make out whether the ship was stuck temporarily at that angle or whether it was imperceptibly moving.

  He thumped the platform rail with his fist. “If only we could make this blasted crate accelerate!”

  “What is troubling you?” asked Mara.

  He sketched the position.

  She took the telescope. “My sight is keener than yours, George.” Then: “I’m afraid the ship is still rising. Very slowly, but steadily. If it continues at the same rate, and if we can’t better our speed—which we can’t—then the ship will be standing upright before we can get there. It’s just a matter of simple—”

  The word came through the Teleo as an amalgam of “counting” (Mara’s term) and “arithmetic” (George’s term).

  “How can we warn them?” asked George, in agony.

  “They must be able to see the chariot coming now,” said Mara. “Maybe they’ll stop and take cover.”

  Before the skipper saw, on his TV screen, the huge bulk of the distant chariot, the instruments in his tank detected it with a flutter of nervous movements. But the tank made no atempt to take up a battle position. It continued to respond to his manual control.

  Retrospectively, Freiburg wondered why. Did the other vehicle belong to some neutral force? To some sane Venusians coming at last to help?

  Or was he kidding himself again with wishful thinking?

  Could be it was a new kind of trick attack.

  The spaceship was coming up faster now. If he halted the operation at this juncture, the cables might give.

  He looked up at the white flag hanging limp in the air. He knew the crew, in their tanks, were watching it, poised to switch off the moment he yanked it down.

  “Hell!” he swore, and left it.

  First get the ship erect and balanced. Then he’d be free to give his full attention to this approaching monster vehicle, whatever it might be. The ship continued to rise smoothly.

  … 69… 70… 71… 72… 73… 74 degrees

  George and Mara were waving their arms to draw attention to themselves. Almost uselessly, they felt sure. They were still nowhere near enough. George could see the ship still rising. He judged it to be less than 20 degrees from the perpendicular. Maybe only 15…

  Within minutes those friendly, helpful tanks would complete their task—then swiftly turn and rend. The resultant havoc on the ship would be quite irreparable. Any human survivors would, like themselves, be marooned on Venus, with small chance of rescue, less chance of finding food… Until either they starved or Senilde’s mad war machine hunted them down at last. The chariot plowed on at the same obstinately unhurried pace.

  … 78… 79… 80… 81… 82 degrees.

  Captain Freiburg was strained as tautly as any of the cables. At any second now the shifting center of gravity would cause the ship to swing to the vertical position automatically, without need of further hauling. He glared angrily at the nearing armored vehicle, resenting its presence at such a crucial moment. He noted that it carried no visible armament. Nor could he see either a circle or a triangle sign on it. Perhaps it intended no harm, after all. All the same, it was an untimely disturbance.

  But then, events had never timed themselves to suit him. Quite the reverse, in fact.

  Was that something moving on the flat top of this huge, ugly intruder? A speck. Two specks. People?

  Damn them, nothing was going to stop him now. He’d failed too often because of unexpected, ill-timed interferences from the extraneous world. He was in rebellion against the unjust treatment of a lifetime. He’d see this thing through, anyhow. He set his teeth and kept the tank pulling steadily.

  … 84… 85… 86 degrees.

  Came a thin wail, very high, rushing by, and then it was gone. There was an appalling jerk and Freiburg’s tank was dragged back for some metres. He slammed on the brakes as it stopped, and yelled aloud with bitter anger and despair.

  Fate was still against him, and had struck again.

  He slumped in his seat, sunken in a private mental world of gloomy gray and funereal black. He fumbled for his pipe, and lit it. The infantile sucking soothed… Presently, he roused and took a look outside. The towering spaceship had slewed around, dragging all the tanks, save one, back a little distance. The one tank remaining out in front was the mate’s. The mate himself was standing beside his tank, holding one end of the parted cable. He was white-faced, divided between apprehension of the chariot thundering towards them and realization of what had just missed his tank. Childishly trying to shift some of the blame, Freiburg bawled: “Thought you said the cables would hold, mister.”

  The mate shook his head, disclaiming responsibility, and pointed to the ground at his feet. With a qualm, Freiburg saw the brand-new, straight slice marking the path of a great steel wheel.

  He jumped to the conclusion that it had been shot at them by the approaching juggernaut. He shook a futile fist at it, knowing it would be equally futile to open fire with their small guns against that immense mass of armor-plate. Anyhow, it was too late: the thing was almost upon them… It ground to a halt with a clangorous noise. Then he saw it was George Starkey and some strange girl up there.

  There was too much to explain. This wasn’t the time or place for explanations. A flight of bombers dropped its cargo three kilos away. Another steel wheel screamed by eagerly making for the bomb smoke, George said, rapidly: “This is Mara. She’s my girl. She’s on our side. Nobody else is. Get this, Skip—all of the bombers, tanks, and war machines are out to get us. All of ’em—we have no friends. There’s a crazy warlord behind it—tell you about him later. First, lower the ship to the ground again, pronto.”

  “What? We’d nearly got it up. Would have been up if that blasted wheel hadn’t cut the cable—”

  “Best bit of luck you ever had,” said George. “My, Providence was sure on your side that time. Tell you why later. Look, trust me, do as I say, for Pete’s sake. No time to lose. These damn tanks may get the order to move from the warlord at any moment. If they do, the ship will crash down and get smashed again.”

  Freiburg argued no more. He issued orders. The crew slowly reversed their tanks, let the ship down.

  “Now,” said George, “disconnect the antenna from every one of these tanks. Then they’ll be powerless to turn on us.”

  “Also powerless to raise the ship again,” the mate demurred.

  “Yes,” snapped George. He pointed to the great war chariot. “But that won’t be—it’s self-powered. And it’s got more traction power than all of those tanks put together.”

  “Jump to it, mister,” growled Freiburg.

  Even when, at last, they were all sealed in the ship, the racket outside was scarcely muffled. Waves of planes were methodically pattern-bombing the whole area. It would only have been a matter of time…

  The ship’s vents roared a defiant answer. The ship rose vertically amid a cloud of dust and smoke that was not all of its own making. Gathering speed, it drove up into the grim Meknitron cloud belt. It got through unscathed and emerged like a leaping salmon into the powerful sunlight above.

  When they were far enough into space to see both Earth and Venus as globes, the occupants of the ship were still exchanging their stories. Earth was distant and minute, and gleamed like a tiny ball-bearing. Venus was near, and looked like a ball of lamb’s wool: white, fluffy, innocuous. Mara alone was silent, wrapped in wonder at the si
ght of her planet as a sphere floating in nothingness.

  Suddenly, she exclaimed and pointed. Tiny black spots were beginning to speckle that pure, dazzling cloud-surface.

  Everyone watched the sullying spots spread slowly. And tried to visualize the immense catastrophes causing them.

  George said: “Senilde has gotten well into his stride now. That’s a full-scale atomic war. Immortal or not, I can’t see how he or Leep can possibly survive it.”

  “Maybe some Earthman will go there again someday and interview the winner—if any,” Freiburg remarked.

  “Know something? It won’t be me. I’m a pipe and slippers man after this.”

  “What does he mean, George?” asked Mara, baffled by an inexact Teleo translation.

  George drew her closely to him. “You may find out for yourself soon, dear. You know, I never really had a home of my own before. I’m looking forward to it.”

  She responded, as ever, passionately. Freiburg, slightly embarrassed, turned away to regard dwindling Venus and its dark stains of disaster. George and Mara had already forgotten it.

  —«»—«»—«»—

  [scanned anonymously in a galaxy far far away]

  [A Proofpack Release]

  [October 3, 2005]

  FB2 document info

  Document ID: 9123c9ce-f93d-4308-bc9e-b0820c43d055

  Document version: 1

  Document creation date: 10.4.2012

  Created using: calibre 0.8.10 software

  Document authors :

  William F. Temple

  About

  This file was generated by Lord KiRon's FB2EPUB converter version 1.1.5.0.

  (This book might contain copyrighted material, author of the converter bears no responsibility for it's usage)

  Этот файл создан при помощи конвертера FB2EPUB версии 1.1.5.0 написанного Lord KiRon.