by Don Wilcox
CHAPTER IV
When Stupe Smith awakened it was not yet daylight. Through his window he could see a bright planet in the dark sky. He gazed at it with a curious interest.
“Old mother Earth,” he said to himself. For several minutes he lay there, thinking to himself, how strange to be looking back upon the world I have always lived in. Only a dot in the sky. It was hard to believe that it could be, in reality, the home of two billion people, living together, building their civilization and reaching out—yes, reaching out toward other distant worlds.
“I’ll be back soon, old mother Earth,” he whispered. “But first I am going to see the wonders of this new land. So this is Venus!”
At the other window he looked out upon the landing field. In the gray of morning the spaceship was visible. Near it was a new object, much smaller. An airplane. One of the two planes constructed for Venus atmosphere. The mechanics had come through. They had worked through the night to assemble this plane so that this morning it was ready for flight.
By the time Stupe had dressed and walked on to the landing field the plane was already warmed up for flight. Velma Stevens had agreed to pilot today’s preliminary excursion. She and one of the Fiddle brothers were breakfasting together in the Venusian hotel. On the grounds Stupe met Captain Meetz as he came from breakfast.
“You’re starting out early this morning, Stupe,” Meetz said.
“Want to go along?”
“Wouldn’t mind. But there are several details I should attend to.” Captain Meetz regarded Stupe with a questioning eye. “You had a good conference with the Ambassador last night, I trust?”
Stupe nodded. He related briefly the substance of their visit. Captain Meetz turned slowly and began to saunter back toward the hotel, Stupe accompanying him.
“It looks as if we are off to a good start,” Meetz said. “As you know, I wish to leave as much of the responsibility in your hands as you want. The wildernesses are vast on this planet. It is no cinch, losing yourself in uncharted lands on a search of this kind. You know my function. I am to keep this patty ready for your service, so that you will have as much freedom of locomotion as possible. Today with your permission I’ll plan to stay right here and get things organized.”
An hour later, by their Venus twelve-hour watches, Stupe and five others took to the air.
From the air they looked back upon the Venusian capital. The pink light of dawn revealed it to be a city of domes and towers covering a fifteen mile square of land. To the north (as judged by the rising sun) stretched the open sea, an endless expanse of misty blue. From the beach southward to the distant hills the land rose in a gentle slope.
“If those pavements are smooth,” Hefty observed, looking down through binoculars, “I’ll bet the kids can put on roller skates and coast all the way across the city, right down to the water.”
“So they have roller skates on Venus?” Velma Stevens asked.
“Do they have kids on Venus, that’s the question,” said her sister Thelma.
“They gotta have kids,” said Hefty. “You know that. How could the city go on if they didn’t have kids?”
“All right,” said Velma, “Wherever there’s kids, there’s gotta be roller skates too.”
The city was lost from view. White ribbons of highway circled along the foothills. Villages appeared and disappeared swiftly whenever the plane followed at low altitude above the highways.
Rising to twenty-five thousand feet, following a southeasterly course, they looked down upon a mountain range. Jagged peaks threw long blue shadows to the West. The red dawn turned to yellow and the vast continent spread before them like a gigantic well-lighted map.
“Another sea!” Hefty exclaimed, looking far to the south.
“That’s what we’re after,” said Stupe. “Bear to the right, Velma.”
“Yes, you take in the sights while I do the work,” Velma said. “There’s no justice.”
The Stevens sisters were like that, Stupe decided. Always playing that they were getting the small end of any bargain. Probably it didn’t mean anything. No doubt about it, Velma was right on her job, and she was handling the plane without one wasted motion.
Dr. Jabetta, as silent as any person in the party, busied himself with a pair of field glasses. Stupe was surprised and pleased that the doctor had been sufficiently interested to come along.
“What do you see, Dr. Jabetta?”
“Land and water,” the doctor replied dryly and went on looking.
“What do you see, Hefty?”
Stupe got no reply from Hefty, however. Everyone was so much absorbed in watching the gradual approach of the Southeast Ocean—as it was designated on the map—that Stupe could only follow suit.
But at the same time he kept an eye on the pilot. And all the while he was wondering what thoughts were in the minds of Hefty and the others—especially Dr. Jabetta.
What a wonderful coincidence it would be, Stupe thought, if this very first excursion should bring success. A coincidence, but not an impossibility.
“If no planes have roared over this land for months,” Stupe said to himself, “who knows? The girl might be riding through the water at this very hour. If we should see her—”
His thoughts were interrupted by a very pointed question from Hefty.
“Stupe, old man—” That “old man” meant that Hefty was about to ask a favor.
“Well?”
“How much of a cut do I get if I spot the prize for you?”
“Do you think you’ve got a lucky pair of eyes?” Stupe said.
“I can spot a frog’s hair at thirty paces.”
“You’re good,” said Stupe. “I’ll bet you can spot a guinea pig’s tail at three miles. I’ll bet you can look in a mirror and see the little man that wasn’t all there.”
“Anyway, if I see a white object out there in the waves, I’ll put it in my bill.”
“And if that object turns out to be a white rock sticking up out of the water, we’ll name it Hefty’s Island and set you down on it.”
“Quit elbowin’,” Hefty said. “I’m busy lookin’ for a prize.”
For two or three minutes no one spoke. Everyone watched the coastline intently. The spray of waves against the rocks could be discerned as the plane drew nearer. Dr. Jabetta broke the silence with four low spoken words.
“We might see her.”
It has begun, Stupe thought. With such high stakes to play for, it was inevitable that there would arise a tension of jealousy. Dr. Jabetta wanted to be first to sight the object of their search. Hefty wanted to be first.
Thelma Stevens was watching so anxiously that she refused to speak. Her sister at the controls was chafing under the burden of duties. And there was that enigmatic Frenchman, passing from one window to another, looking over the other’s shoulders, wishing someone would offer him some binoculars.
For the first time Stupe began to wonder whether that million-dollar offer might turn out to be something less than an unadulterated blessing. Every other member of the party had come on flat rate of pay, a lump sum plus a per diem. He alone had taken the assignment as a gamble.
Stupe’s eyes lingered on the stony features of Dr. Jabetta. The doctor was a very cool man, sallow complexioned, black-haired, so very restrained in his manners that one could seldom guess what he was thinking. Nor could Stupe be sure, even now, that the doctor was as completely absorbed in the search as he pretended to be. There was room in his finely shaped head for many thoughts, and he might be imagining, for all Stupe knew, what a fortune in medicine could be made by the doctors who established themselves early in this rapidly growing American colony.
And what was Frenchy thinking? Those daredevil eyes were looking far without the benefit of binoculars, Stupe thought. They were seeing somewhere beyond the immediate coastline—perhaps to the award that was promised to Stupe. What would happen to that million if Stupe were to lose his life before the hour of success? Would Frenchy and the doctor and the Stev
ens sisters and Captain Meetz’s ambitious young secretary Dick Bracket all leap like wolves for their share? And Hefty? And the captain himself?
“Anything can happen in this Venusian wilderness,” Stupe said to himself. “Unless Hefty and I watch our steps, our lives aren’t worth more than one good splash in the Southeast Ocean.”
CHAPTER V
Shortly after his luncheon hour the American Ambassador called for his red and silver car and rode out to the spaceship. There he found Captain Meetz checking over the equipment.
“Would you like to take a little drive with me, Captain? Get in and we’ll ride once around the city.”
Meetz, smiling, gave a gesture of despair over disorderly heaps of baggage that had been piled on the ground. “You see what a mess I’m in.”
“Can’t you leave that work to an assistant? I hoped to talk with you. Who is your second in command?”
“Must we be technical about rank? Stupe Smith is of course the ranking officer. Then, there’s my personal assistant, Dick Bracket. Both of them are already off on a flight.”
“Are you sure about Bracket?”
“What do you mean?”
“Venusian Police Headquarters just called me,” said the Ambassador. “Your man Bracket has been hauled into court. He would like for you to come down and straighten things up.”
“Bracket? I thought he—”
“You did think that Bracket went up in the plane with the others this morning? He told you he was going?” The Ambassador watched Meetz’s reaction sharply. “Because if he did, then his actions become more than ever suspicious.”
The captain paused for an answer. “No, I am probably mistaken. I jumped to the conclusion that Bracket had gone in the plane. But he didn’t tell me he was going. What is the charge against him? Nothing serious, I’m sure.”
“Come along and we’ll see.”
The captain left a few orders with the Fiddle brothers, then drove away with the Ambassador for a bout with the Venusian police.
“Now whaddy’e make of that?” said the elder Fiddle. “That goldarned Dick Bracket has run off and got himself in trouble the first morning.”
“He’s a queer one,” said Jake. “I don’t mind workin’ for Captain Meetz, and I don’t mind Stupe Smith. But I don’t understand that guy Bracket.”
“I don’t like the way he gives orders.”
“An’ he’s always trying to push us around. Even you, Bull, and you must outweigh him two to one.”
“I weigh two hundred forty,” said the elder Fiddle. “You’re short changin’ him. He tips the scales at a hundred sixty.”
“I figure he’s got it in for Stupe. You notice the way he’d keep watchin’ Stupe outa the corner of his eyes all the way up here? Stupe ‘ud be readin’ a book or studyin’ his maps, not payin’ any attention to anyone—”
“What I noticed was that whenever any of those Stevens gals made a play for Stupe, Dick ‘ud always happen to walk in and start tellin’ one of his funny stories. He does git off some good stories, though, you gotta hand it to him. Those Stevens gals go for that.”
A feminine voice from inside the spaceship intruded at this juncture. “Did I hear my name mentioned?”
Selina Stevens came through the open air locks and down the portable steps. The men had forgotten that she had been working over the books in the ship’s office.
“It was a polite conversation,” said Jake. “Don’t act insulted. We was just wondering whether you’re gonna fall for one of those sissies like Dick or the doctor or Stupe Smith, or whether you’ll go for the real stuff like Bull and me.”
“I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it,” said Selma. “Where’s the boss?”
“Gone to town with the Ambassador.”
“The dog. Sightseeing, Huh? Why didn’t he take me along?”
“Dick got pinched. He’s gone to bail him out.”
“Oh.” Selma repeated the comment with a rising inflection. “Oh-h?” Then, as if the situation came upon her in a new light, she added, “Well, that’s just fine. So the car’s away.”
Jake nudged his brother. “How’d you like to be a mouse.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” said Selma. “You boys are in charge of a lot of goods, and I can see you’re occupied for the afternoon. But I happen to have the afternoon off, and the mechanics have just phoned me that our second plane has been assembled and is warming up for a test flight. I think I’ll take a nice little joyride high over the capital.”
“I’m in the mood for a ride myself,” said Bull. “Jake, you can watch the goods.”
“Listen, we’re supposed to get this stuff sorted in three lots before evening.”
“Okay, Jake, go to work.”
“You go to the devil. Selma asked me—”
“She asked me.”
“Why you dogs, stop your growling. I didn’t ask either of you.” Selma turned and walked away as fast as she could go. The Fiddle brothers followed after her, wrangling, half in fun, half seriously. She laughed, telling herself that she didn’t care a snap of the fingers for either of them. The mechanics taxied the plane around the field to meet her. The brothers were still following.
“Go on back to your baggage, you wolves. If anything happened to it—”
“What you worrying about? Aren’t the people honest in Venus?” Jake retorted. “Aren’t all these American colonists handpicked, graded, and sorted, and labeled with blue ribbons? How about it, monkey?”
Jake directed the question to the American mechanics.
The fellow answered slowly, in a thin drawl, as if his suggestion were quite casual.
“You’d better watch your goods, buddy. I see a flock of wingmen are takin’ a fancy to it.”
Selma, Jake, and Bull all turned to look back at the parked spaceship about a hundred yards distant. What they saw made their eyes open wide. A flock of a dozen or more winged men, brown skinned, half clad, dipped down out of the air, their huge five-foot wings flapping noisily as they landed. They pounced upon the packages like so many giant gulls snatching for fish.
“Robbers! Thieves! Get away, goldarn you!” Bull Fiddle yelled. For a second he and his brother stood in their tracks as if paralyzed. Then they beat the dust as hard as they could go. But before they could reach the ship, the winged humans flapped away, carrying with them all the plunder they could handle.
“There!” Bull Fiddle growled. “I told you you should have stayed on the job. Now see what you’ve done.”
“Yeah,” said Jake, “you and me both.”
CHAPTER VI
J.J. Wellington paced the floor is of his private study. Each time he passed the four-foot globe of the planet Venus, his puffy fingers flicked against the surface to keep it whirling. His servant entered with a tray and he took a drink.
“Are you feeling better, Mr. Wellington?”
“I’m feeling fine. Why shouldn’t I?”
“I thought perhaps you were worried, Mr. Wellington.”
“Me? Worried? Certainly not. Oh, by the way, has any mail come in from Venus yet?”
“It’s like I told you this morning, Mr. Wellington, the regular Venus Clipper doesn’t arrive until next week. You really shouldn’t expect any mail until—”
“Oh, get out, stupid, and leave me alone. Can’t you see I’m busy?”
The phone rang. It was a certain psychiatrist whom Wellington had employed privately.
“Oh, yes, Dr. Steenman, I hoped you would call today. Have you been following Mr. Vest? . . . Good. What news? . . . Nothing of interest, eh? You attended his interviews with the press? What was your opinion? . . . Too early to draw any conclusions, eh? All right, we’ll wait until next week.”
The American Ambassador on the planet Venus brought Captain Meetz and his errant assistant back to their hotel and returned to his office. The desk was stacked with unfinished business, but he found himself in a restless mood. It was late afternoon. The sunlight was growing red over the Venusian
capital. It was the time of day that the Ambassador liked to take his family for a drive. But this evening he preferred to drive alone.
“Now, why,” he asked himself, as he skimmed along the highway, “did that young Dick Bracket take such a strange turn? Why did he take the chance of trespassing on forbidden grounds in the first twenty-four hours of his visit to this land?”
The red and silver car floated along noiselessly up the gentle grade to the south. There was little traffic on the road, for the automobile invasion of Venus was still in its infancy. The majority of American settlers lived in the Venusian capital, the one great city of this region. One small auto manufacturing plant had been established a few years ago, and it supplied those settlers of the outlying districts with trucks. A few cars came from the earth by space freight, but in general, as the Ambassador often observed to earth visitors, the market in this land for American made vehicles was tremendous.
And yet, for some strange reason that Ambassador Francis Jewell did not quite understand, the people who had transplanted themselves from the Earth to Venus were content to do without many of the gadgets and mechanical advantages they had formerly enjoyed.
“Perhaps it is the mild, satisfying climate,” he had sometimes decided. “Perhaps it is the pink dawns and the deep blue shadows at sunset. Or perhaps it is the contentment that comes from knowing that a whole vast undeveloped planet is theirs to enjoy. No one need be crowded. Except for a few minor annoyances from those predatory winged men that live across the Divide, there is little to fear or dread.”
This condition of space and plenty was something that he often contrasted in his mind with the congested state of affairs that prevailed in many parts of earth’s civilization. Even on the wide deserts of the Earth, he remembered, the square miles were blocked out so that they definitely belonged to someone or other.
He drove farther than he had intended this evening, for his thoughts had been locked by the puzzle of this new American expedition, its strange mission—a millionaire’s whim, apparently: the curious earnestness of the young explorer Smith, the slightly lackadaisical management of Captain Meetz—and above all, the inexplicable conduct of young Dick Bracket.