"Poke hands in soft middle," he grinned. "Pull insides out!"
Spike laughed uproariously. He stepped toward the plants.
They laugh, thought Rusty, and one of us is dead! They'll laugh when
the next one dies. Who will it be? All? He looked into the green walls
and the question arose from fact, not pessimism. He had thought those
two Plutonian months had hardened him. Could he stand this new world of
new terrors?
Warily moving around the body of the shuddering insect, Rusty followed
them into the jungle.
* * * * *
The great moon's vast vegetal areas were a monotony of green. Pools of
water, matted plants, glaucous mire underfoot, even the atmosphere was
a virescent mist, tinted by an unknown gas. But the life there had not
the monotony of the scene.
Pluto was a dying world; the moon, still upon its first step along the
timeless path of evolution. Every mile brought new terrors. Carnivorous
beetles. The purple _Gux_ dragon, twenty feet long, daggered with
venomous fangs. And the white spiders. The little gnats, slightly
smaller than an Earthian hornet, followed constantly, raised deep sores
upon bare faces and arms.
Slow against the resisting foliage, Rusty followed the maddening pace
and considered every step his last. Snatching at strange fruit, pausing
at shallow pools for unrefreshing sleep, they lost all conception
of time. There was no distinct night and day, no restful blackness,
only a change of hue in the tinted air and painted sky; a green which
deepened to a phosphoric glow, then faded again as the strange sun
burned redly over the jungle. Weary to falling, sick of mind with the
heat and the moist air, Rusty plodded along at Spike's side, marveled
at his fellow Earthian's endurance. But pirating about every planet of
the system, had hardened Spike to anything the Universe could inflict.
The little Venusian was not affected at all, but rather thrived in the
dank heat which was little different from his native world. And immuned
on a world that spun ceaselessly from hot to cold, his native Vulcan,
nothing fazed the mighty Lothar.
The Martian, however, fared worse than the rest. His body, covered with
thick, red hair, was matted with a viscous perspiration. His large ears
drooped as he struggled along, spindling form bent as he slid one
weary, primate foot after the other.
Rusty wondered how they knew the right direction. Dizzy with the heat,
he did not realize he had even asked the question.
"Depend on Lothar," said Spike, wiping a streaming brow. "Vulcanites
can find their way out of hell."
Hearing his name, the giant dropped back beside them.
"Any idea how much farther?"
As Lothar answered, a long, green coil fell silently upon the Venusian
at Rusty's side, yanked him swiftly up into the thick plants.
It happened fast. Rusty doubted his eyes. It must be the heat--but the
little green man was gone.
Spike yelled.
The Martian staggered up. They peered into the dense growth above and
there was only the heavy leaves. The Venusian had vanished, as if
spirited away by the Wisps of Jupiter.
"Another one," said Spike. He stepped on into the jungle.
"Wait!" cried Rusty. They couldn't just leave--without even looking. To
what depths had these men sunk? Was there no spark of humanity left?
He grabbed a limb, swung up into the matted roof.
It was a stifling mass of green. He could see nothing. He probed about,
futilely. There was not even a trace where the Venusian's body might
have been dragged.
Spike was climbing up when he came down.
"There's nothing there! I--!"
Spike shrugged. "Let's go," he said impassively. He kicked aside the
plants, struck off into the vegetation.
Rusty tarried, gazing up into the foliage. There was nothing he could
do. There was nothing up there. That made _two_. Men had never survived
this place. How long before it would be his turn?
He followed the three disappearing figures.
The heat closed in and the world swam, a green daze, before his eyes.
His body moved by sheer will. His mind was far away, a cub reporter
on his first assignment. He shook his head savagely as the Tele-news
office appeared before him, a wavering hallucination.
* * * * *
It was several miles before they noticed that the Martian was gone.
Rusty looked back and there was only the dark jungle, quiet and
ominous, green with a mirage-like beauty of fresh life, but a beauty
of silent death. What things watched unseen from those thick masses?
Watched their every move, ready to spring upon them? First the Martian
killed by a spider. Then the little Venusian. Now another--to what
death? God, if a man must die let him die _seeing_, not a swift
vanishing to unknown terrors.
"Let him go," said Spike. "I never did like Martians."
Rusty wearily started to turn back. He tried to persuade the others.
Spike and the Uranian laughed at his "girlish" exhortations. Every man
for himself--they were probably right. He had a story to tell on Earth,
one which he must live to tell. But Earth was far away.
They trudged on.
This time Rusty saw it happen. Or thought he did.
Spike was walking a short distance ahead. A thick, slender _something_
fell slightly over his head.
Rusty screamed to him.
Long acquainted with danger, the man fell flat.
And the rope-like thing whipped back, vanished into the plants above.
It had been long and green, a slick, menacing danger of no name.
After that, the three walked side by side.
And the jungle stopped abruptly. Before them was the purple sea.
The tinted ocean lay smooth as glass, not a ripple upon its dull
surface. Directly ahead, rising from the vast expanse of still water,
was a dim, distant island, mountains gently rolling.
"It's the Plain!" cried Spike.
It was faint on the horizon, a hazy undulation darker than the mist of
distance.
"Looks like mountains," said Rusty wearily. He despaired of finding
anything right in this irrational world.
"It's the Plain," said Spike again. "You can't see it. They're the
cliffs behind it."
He stepped to the water, waded in. Lothar followed.
"Hey!" yelled Rusty. "Why not build a raft? We can't swim that
distance!"
"Build a raft from what? Those trees won't float. And the water's only
five feet at the deepest."
Rusty gingerly waded in. The liquid, thicker than water but of similar
elements, according to Spike, was covered with a thin film of vegetable
oil. It was sticky, hot.
Making slow progress in the heavy stuff, Rusty splashed along in the
wake of the ponderous Lothar. The water slowly deepened to his chest.
A scaly head popped up beside him. Water snake!
Impulsively, Rusty struck out with his fist.
The head disappeared, came to the surface again a short distance away.
It was not a snake. It was a Venusian--_the_ Venusian.
He looked at Rusty and scowled, if a _fish_ can scowl. Rusty stared,
unbelieving. He had appeared so quietly the others had not turned.
Where could he have come from? How could he have escaped the thing in
the jungle?
"How did you get here!"
"Why do you strike at me, Earthman!"
Rusty uselessly attempted to explain. They could never understand
Earthian reactions. Rusty hated the green creatures.
The Venusian sneered, swam silently to the others.
"Well!" said Spike, with his usual calm. "We didn't expect to see you
again! What happened?"
"Tree _vwark_."
"Oh," said Spike. He turned and waded on.
Rusty stared, aghast. These men weren't human.
"Hey!" he called. "What the hell's a 'Tree vwark?'"
Spike turned and smiled.
"_Vwark_ that lives in trees," he answered, turned back to the water.
And Rusty knew he could expect nothing more. The Venusians were strange
of body, had stranger ways. They never spoke of their activities. It
was an instilled custom of their kind. And he knew why Spike had not
interrogated further, uselessly.
* * * * *
Scattered and splashing, the four waded toward the distant hills.
Earthmen, Venusian, Vulcanian.
The Venusian swam easily ahead, often disappearing for long periods
beneath the surface, absorbing oxygen from the water as adequately as
from the air.
Rusty, succumbing to his innate get-the-facts complex, asked if the
seas contained life, was answered in the negative. But he questioned
the statement when they passed a half-submerged creature that weighed
well over five tons, heavy clawed limbs rearing stiffly. The air about
it was a nausea.
"Mud animal," explained Spike. "Life here came from the mire instead of
the sea. With the exception of the Plain, the whole planet is covered
with soft mud, thousands of miles deep. It is there that most of the
life exists. This one probably got wounded, came blindly up and died."
As the Earthian spoke, he halted, his face suddenly darkened.
Rusty, advancing to him, felt a strong suction beneath his feet. Go
back! But he could not turn back, nor go forward.
"Lothar!" yelled Spike, but the mighty Vulcanian was also caught fast
in the grim pull.
The mire under the water had softened, like quicksand. It tugged at his
feet and legs, pulling him slowly down into the green ooze. He splashed
with powerful strokes. He sank deeper.
"Fish!" cried Spike. The lithe Venusian idly tread water beside them,
showed little interest. "Get us out of here!"
The water slowly climbed up Rusty's fear-tingling body. He could feel
the liquid creeping up, as he was pulled down, into the slime. He
strained with all the power of his legs. Seized them with his hands and
pulled. He sank deeper, slowly. He could feel the bottomless suction.
Like a nightmare in which one falls slowly. It was no nightmare. It was
stark reality. Thick water, green ooze. He splashed wildly.
Fish stared from one to the other, curiously.
"Get you out?" he asked.
This was madness. It could not happen to him. He was Rusty Carter, an
ordinary Tele-newsman. He could not die here. The water was beneath
his chin. Rusty remembered no aid could be expected from the Venusian.
His nature, utterly individualistic, could barely conceive of anyone
needing, much less asking for help. Damn Venusians.
"Damn you, I'll twist your scaly neck!" cried Spike. "Help us out of
here!"
Rusty sank lower. Neck muscles strained to hold his head above the
surface. He remembered once on Mars seeing six Venusians killed
separately by a lizard, when together they could have easily torn it
to pieces. He choked as water entered his mouth, swallowed. Must keep
mouth closed. It had a sour taste.
Spike's tone changed. "Pull us out and I will give you much whirl-water
when we reach Earth!"
Whisky was the one temptation of the bright star's people, something
they coveted, could not understand. Rusty's eyes were filming, the
water upon his face, straining back and upward. Interplanetary Control
had long forbidden the sale of liquor to Venusians. The water was
at his nose, burning, bubbling. He gasped. It entered his nose, his
throat, tickled in his chest. He wanted to cough. The water covered his
mouth. This was all. This was drowning. Wild fear, insane rage surged
through him. His head went under. He tugged mightily at the water above
him, felt hands in air. His lungs screamed for air, his chest bursting.
He opened his mouth, and took a deep, gasping breath....
Coughing, he was carried a safe distance, dropped unceremoniously into
the water again. His eyes were blurred and he was sick. He wanted to
kill that Venusian. They were all that way.
Sputtering, Rusty rubbed his eyes, saw Spike and Lothar watching from
shallow water. The Venusian swam ahead.
They turned and waded on.
* * * * *
It was night when they reached the Plain. Then it was pitch black,
like fingers against his eyes. They had passed the balanced zone. Here
there was a kilo-rev of darkness, they said. Rusty was told to get in
line--the Uranian, cat-like, would lead the way.
With Spike before him and the cold fin of the Venusian to the rear,
they were led for hours into the darkness.
Rusty's head vaguely ached. He walked with closed eyes, almost slept.
He bumped into something--Spike. Had he slept?