by Don Wilcox
At this point Meetz and Wellington exchanged glances which added weight to the Captain’s words.
“-insists that no part of this continent be exploited in any way. That is to say, all private enterprises, for whatever purpose, must be approved by governmental order.”
Stupe Smith sitting near the end of the table, nodded with satisfaction. Whatever venture might be in store, he thought, it was well to know that these promoters expected to square everything with the powers that be.
Captain Meetz might have gone on with a more elaborate description, but at that moment the door opened and there entered a small mysterious looking gentleman, obviously Mr. Vest.
Mysterious looking—this was Stupe Smith’s mental comment, although he couldn’t at first determine the source of his impression.
“Shall I come in?” the little stranger asked. He was smiling. There was a dreamy look in his eyes. He seemed at once to be fascinated by the ceiling rather than the group around the table. He gestured widely with his short arms, then drew himself up and adjusted his dressy bow tie and repeated the question to the ceiling. “Shall I come in now?”
There was something strange, Stupe thought, in his adding the word now. As if he had been waiting for some time for a signal, Wellington briskly ushered him to the table. Seated, he seemed more diminutive than ever, sitting next to his massive host.
“Gentlemen, I take extreme honor in presenting to you the explorer whose amazing accounts have made headlines during the past two weeks. This, gentlemen, is Mr. Vest. Mr. Vest is going to tell you something he has never revealed before to anyone, except myself—something he saw in the unknown regions of Venus. Go ahead Mr. Vest.”
Mr. Vest spoke slowly and his tones were like the deep notes of a cello.
“What I have seen, my friends, is so very unbelievable—” Mr. Vest was looking through the ceiling now. “So unbelievable that when I tell you about her—when I describe her in all her beauty—ah!”
CHAPTER II
The space ship took off on schedule at six A.M. Eastern standard time. Captain Meetz brought the crew together as soon as the painful ordeal of acceleration had been achieved, and gave a few general instructions regarding their duties on the ship during the flight. Then everyone was left to his own devices.
Hefty Winkle could hardly wait to catch Stupe for a private conversation. In the rear of the cabin they watched the diminishing globe within the velvety blackness of the sky. The earth’s continents were no longer visible. The haze of atmosphere obscured oceans and mountains alike.
“I feel like I have jumped off into a bottomless pit,” said Hefty. “You never even told me what this is all about and here I am shooting off into space.”
“On your way to Venus.”
“Yes, you told me that. But what? What’s the pitch? What’s all the secret about?”
The expedition had been brought together in such a hurry that Stupe himself was still a bit dizzy, but there loomed in his mind a chance for an adventure beyond anything he would ever experience on the earth. This was his first hop into space. However, it was not so much the novelty of climbing away from the earth as the importance of the goal which attracted him.
“You should have eavesdropped on our conference with Wellington,” Stupe said. “I never saw a bunch of important people sold on a new idea so quickly. It was this strange little Mr. Vest who did it.”
“Isn’t he the guy that claims to have floated back from Mercury or somewhere recently?” Hefty asked.
“If you can believe all the stories the newspapers are printing he has seen more of this solar system than anyone else I know. But he revealed one particular experience to Wellington and that’s where we come in.”
Stupe settled down on the overstuffed chair and propped his long legs over a table. Hefty settled himself on a hassock and waited for Stupe’s story.
“The whole idea is,” Stupe said, “that one of Wellington’s sidelines is a string of entertainment houses—ritzy joints for the millionaire class. He has a notion that there’s something on Venus that he needs. A very unusual attraction—”
“To be specific—”
“To be specific, a beautiful girl.”
Hefty’s shoulders suddenly dropped in disgust. “I might have known it. Don’t tell me that Wellington is sending this party all the way to Venus to pick up someone for the spotlights.”
“Wellington is paying me one million dollars, cold cash to find and sign up this one particular dame,” said Stupe, and he smiled as if the money were already in the bag. “He is also bearing the cost of this expedition to accompany me—”
“To accompany you? Then why aren’t you the captain?”
“Don’t be hasty, my friend. I have a certain reputation and this is my chance to multiply it about a hundred times over. The expedition is in the hands of Captain Meetz because there are a lot of technical details that Wellington thinks I should not be bothered with.”
Hefty shifted restlessly. “All right, all right. What about the girl? Blond or brunette?”
“She lives under the sea,” said Stupe, and his listener suddenly came to attention. “Yes, you heard me right. She rides on a beautiful white horse. This Mr. Vest has seen her riding up out of the sea, racing along the beach, and chasing back down into the waves.”
Hefty batted his eyes. “Into the waves? How could she?”
Stupe laughed. “That’s exactly what everyone asked around the conference table. But Mr. Vest remembered every detail of what he had seen and—well, to make a long story short, that’s why Wellington is willing to pay me a million dollars. Can you imagine what this will mean to his entertainment world? He’ll put on an underwater show that will leave them gasping.”
For almost a minute Hefty said nothing. He looked back at the cottony ball that had been the earth and Stupe knew he was wondering whether this would be a wild goose chase.
“Well, Stupe, I’ve strung along with you through some curious deals before. I’ll string along now. But this girl—this under water creature that Mr. Vest thought was a girl—Well, I’ll believe it when I see it.”
From a skyscraper observatory somewhere in New York, J.J. Wellington watched the space ship disappear into the white morning sky. He mused with satisfaction. It had all worked out very smoothly. His program for gaining a foothold on the newest and richest of earth man’s frontiers was under way at last.
“They’ll never find what I sent them to find,” he said to himself, “but the hoax went over perfectly. And it’s ten to one that when they don’t find that ocean-dwelling beauty, they’ll manage to pick up some curiosity or other.”
For J.J. Wellington’s purposes, the return of Mr. Vest from his solar peregrinations had been a godsend. For several years Wellington had had his eyes on the commercially promising regions around the American colony on Venus. But not until Mr. Vest had appeared, with his preposterous stories about the wonders of far-off worlds, had Wellington contrived a workable scheme for getting around the law.
Captain Meetz, fortunately, had been willing to shoulder the responsibility for a fair percentage.
“You and I understand each other perfectly,” Meetz had said. “For a man with Stupendous Smith’s reputation to get permission to explore those regions will be a pushover. He’s as honest as they come. And just unsuspecting enough for our purposes.”
“Exactly,” Wellington had agreed.
“And so we’ll let Smith square things with the American embassy right from the start. He won’t know there’s any purpose but to pick up this sea-dwelling girl who rides the white horse—”
“A figment of Mr. Vest’s insane imagination.”
“Obviously,” Captain Meetz had agreed with a restrained smile. “And while he carries on heroically looking for a girl who isn’t there, I will see to it that the rest of the party surveys the land and its resources.”
“Exactly.”
“And we’ll plant a few secret bases along the way for
future expeditions. And by the way, what about future expeditions?”
“I’m way ahead of you,” Wellington had said. “After a reasonable length of time, when your man Smith fails to find what he’s looking for, I’ll send another party to your rescue. They’ll bring more supplies.”
For a moment Captain Meetz had squinted dubiously. “What about the leader of the second group? Will he know our game?”
Wellington had not revealed any discomfort over that question. “You and I are cooperating, Captain Meetz. We have agreed upon your share in the long-term receipts of this venture. When I send a second party, you may be sure that they will act under your instructions after they arrive.”
Yes, Wellington thought, as he watched the fading trail of dark smoke in the wake of the spaceship, Captain Meetz was a man to be depended upon. He would gain a secret foothold on those Venus lands, and he would never let Stupe Smith know the real purpose of the expedition.
CHAPTER III
“You find more things to worry about, Hefty, than anyone on board. What’s the trouble now?”
Hefty was again ushering Stupe back to a quiet corner in the rear of the observation cabin for a private conversation. They opened two bottles of pop, drank leisurely, and gazed out at the dark sky.
“Stupe, you say they’re giving that million dollars to you if you find that fanciful fantastic girl that rides through the sea?”
“That’s right, Hefty.”
“Why aren’t they giving it to Captain Meetz? Is he just going along for the ride?”
“Now, Hefty, I didn’t arrange this setup. When they toss a million dollars at you, you don’t ask too many questions. Do you?”
Hefty scowled. “Did you get to choose these crew members? Did you decide, for instance, that the three Stevens sisters would come along as airplane pilots for knocking around Venus?”
“The Stevens sisters won three prizes on their around the earth flights. I don’t think anyone would question their ability as pilots.”
“I’m not questioning that. I just asked, did you choose—”
“No.”
“Did you select that guy Frenchy that looks like a refugee from a pirate?”
“No.”
“Did you choose Gypsy Brown to come along and cook our grub?”
“What are you getting at, Hefty? Have you got any reason to be suspicious of any of these people? Don’t you see that if I had had to go to the trouble of selecting every member of the crew we might have been delayed for a week? Now what’s this all about?”
Hefty sipped at his straw and watched the orange pop fade away.
“Maybe I am suspicious or something. I never fancied riding around with a lady driver, even on the safest streets. The idea of tearing over the mountains of Venus with women pilots doesn’t appeal to me.”
Stupe laughed. “So that’s it. Well don’t let it worry you. You can walk.”
They landed at sundown. The field at the Venusian capital was already lighted with a blaze of white lights. The landing signals, flashing in mile-long streaks of red, were coordinated perfectly with the spoken instructions that came in by radio.
“They speak English with a Venus accent up here,” Captain Meetz remarked, working at the controls.
At last the ship came to a dead stop, and the party moved through the air locks. Arriving on a new planet was always an exciting time. Stupe was eager to try out his new Venus legs, as the saying went.
“Don’t let the change in gravity throw you, Hefty,” Captain Meetz warned, half in jest. “And you Fiddle boys, careful how you handle that luggage. It may bounce right out of your hands.”
Actually, they had been adjusting themselves to this change for many hours in the past, wearing the specially constructed electric shoes and respiration belts that helped to bridge the shift from earth to Venus conditions.
Stupe Smith took fifteen long strides upon the table-smooth landing floor, breathing deep, glorying in the ease with which his muscles worked. He felt the need of exercise. The air was sweet and exhilarating.
“You don’t have to run out on the patty so soon,” one of the Stevens girls called after him. “Good-bye, then. There goes our explorer.”
“They call him Stupendous,” one of her sisters said. “Give me a guy like Jake Fiddle. At least he’s polite enough to carry a girl’s suitcase.”
Instantly Hefty Winkle bristled to Stupe’s defense. “Cut it out. You know those Fiddle brothers are paid to heave the suitcases.”
“What are you paid for?” one of the girls retorted.
“I’m Stupe’s bodyguard, Sis. Wanna fight?”
The girl, a full head taller than Hefty, said that when she wanted to fight she’d pick on someone her own size.
The ribaldry ended a moment later when a red and silver car drove up, its headlights glowing on the side of the spaceship. Stupe remembered having seen pictures of the American Ambassador to Venus. A tall, stately man with a solid handshake, he at once gave Stupe the impression of being democratic and reserved.
“The news of your coming reached us about twenty-four hours ago—we still speak in terms of earth time, you see—before you began to radio in. The Venus Clipper made an hour’s stop on its regular run yesterday and it carried a letter from Mr. Wellington. So you see, I already know all about you.”
Captain Meetz nodded. “Excellent. That will save us the trouble of explaining.”
“Not altogether. Mr. Wellington stated that Mr. Smith would elaborate upon the exact nature of the mission. First, however, I must show you to your hotel accommodations.”
Later that evening Captain Meetz bowed out of the picture for an early good night, leaving Stupe and the Ambassador alone in front of the fireplace at the embassy.
“The nights in Venus are quite cool,” the Ambassador observed. “And besides, I’ve always fancied burning logs as a setting for diplomatic exchange. I’m burning, too, by the way, with curiosity about the particular secret to which Mr. Wellington referred.”
Stupe smiled. “Did you know Mr. Wellington personally?”
“Only a movie acquaintance,” said the Ambassador. “Every week the Venus Clipper brings us a newsreel from the Earth. You don’t realize how much that means, when you’re isolated from the bright lights.”
“Bright lights? Those lights on the landing field were a good match for anything on the earth. Doesn’t this capital have anything to match Broadway?”
“It tries hard enough. The American Colony here has transplanted a few theaters, and we try, after a fashion, to operate our own Hollywood. But our local film products haven’t caught on. We have the material here, don’t doubt it. Do you like a good western?”
Stupe smiled to himself. In his private scale of values there was nothing that could take the place of a good western movie.
“We have something here that makes your cattle rustlers of the old lawless days look pale. The winged men. Ever hear of them?”
“Winged men?”
“You’ll see them within a few days. Once we used them in a few scenes of a local movie, and sent the finished product back to the Earth. But Hollywood didn’t believe it was genuine.”
The Ambassador laughed softly to himself. Stupe was somewhat puzzled over this allusion. He had never heard of winged men. In all of Mr. Vest’s fanciful descriptions, no such monstrous creature had been mentioned.
“Never mind,” the Ambassador continued. “I can see that you’re as unbelieving as the others. Hollywood thought our film was faked. We talked it over, here at the embassy, and decided that we wouldn’t bother the earth with any more wingman reports. What the Earth people don’t know won’t hurt them. And why, after all, should we give this new planet a black eye? Don’t you agree with me, Mr. Smith?”
Stupe nodded, not quite certain of himself. Wingmen?
The word had a fantastic sound. Its meaning couldn’t quite be fathomed. But it gave Stupe the opportunity to say more about Wellington’s foibles. “If y
ou have seen Mr. Wellington in the movies, you must know that he is a man who gets everything he wants. His money reaches out in many strange directions. Where some millionaires might go on a big game hunt for sport Wellington would be more likely to buy the whole Congo valley. Just now his imagination has been stirred by the tales of one Mr. Vest. Do you recall Mr. Vest?”
The Ambassador knitted his brows but apparently found no Mr. Vest in his memory.
“He must have visited this land a few years ago,” Stupe continued. “What he saw impressed him so much that he has sold Wellington a bill of goods. We have come on this expedition to find one particular specimen of humanity—a girl who lives under the sea.”
Stupe waited for the Ambassador’s response. The tall man looked at him through stony eyes that gradually began to twinkle.
“You’re quite serious?”
“That is my mission. Wellington wants what he wants. He is running a chain of entertainment houses for his millionaire friends and he thinks that this particular attraction, if it can be captured, kidnapped, or otherwise obtained—” Stupe was smiling broadly—“would create a sensation.”
The Ambassador laughed gently. “I understand. I had guessed Mr. Wellington to be that sort. Well, I can only wish you luck. I don’t know what you will find, but in a land of winged men and two-ton snails, you may run across any number of other strange creatures.”
Stupe drew a relaxed breath. It was good to know that the Ambassador would not throw any legal stumbling blocks in his path.
“I presume you intend to do a little sightseeing before your search party goes to work?”
“I was solemnly warned that this is not a pleasure jaunt at Mr. Wellington’s expense,” said Stupe. “If you will give us the lay of the land we will set out in our airplanes tomorrow.”