The Yes Men of Venus
By RON GOULART
Illustrated by SUMMERS
_Privileged we are to bring you this historic
story--one which will warm the manly hearts
of the legion of devoted admirers of that
venerable fantasist, Arthur Wright Beemis._
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Amazing Stories July 1963.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
INTRODUCTORY NOTE: Let me begin by expressing my thanks to the
executors of the Arthur Wright Beemis Estate for choosing me to
complete his unfinished stories, of which this is to be the first.
Like so many others I have long been an admirer of the books of the
venerable fantasist. Nothing has ever given me the thrill that reading
his first novel, _Roo-So Of The Jungle_, in installments of varying
length in the old _Thursby's All-Star Electrical Fiction Weekly_ did.
Unless it was reading the twenty-three sequels, especially _Roo-So's
Revenge_ and _Roo-So, Friend Of Animals_.
This present story belongs with Beemis' planet adventure yarns. It was
in the winter months of 1929 that Arthur Wright Beemis penned the first
of his many scientifiction novels. In an era when space travel was
little known or speculated on Beemis had his likeable two-fisted hero,
Hyacinth Robinson, travel between planets with ease. Hyacinth Robinson,
as you may remember, had been standing too near a reservoir in upstate
New York and when the water evaporated he went with it, eventually
drifting to Venus where most of _Vandals Of Venus_ takes place. This
story was an instant hit and was soon followed by _Vagrants of Venus_,
_Mermen Of Mars_, _Misfits Of The Moon_, _Plundered On Pluto_ and many
more.
Now that many of Beemis' books are freely available it was felt by his
estate that his unfinished work should also be given to the public. So
here is the new Beemis we have all been waiting for.
Chapter 1: A Minor Cataclysm
My heart was heavy as I drifted over the remote reaches of the Pacific
Ocean in the atomic powered Zeppelin the World League of Peaceful
Governments had thoughtfully allowed me to borrow in order to show
their gratitude for my having ended the 4th World War several weeks
ahead of time with my lucky discovery of a powerful ray that made gun
powder ineffectual. This balloon cruise, as pleasant as it was, had
been planned as more than just a dedicated scientific attempt to map
the migratory routes of the Arctic Curlew. It was to have been, too, my
wedding journey.
As I followed, with my binoculars, the happily paired curlews flapping
to warmer climes I tried to think of some reason for the unpleasant
turn events had taken. When I had called for my beloved Joanna on the
prior morning her father, the noted munitions tycoon, John Plunderbund
Brimstone, had left, not his best wishes for a safe honeymoon but,
rather, orders for myself and my Zeppelin to be thrown unceremoniously
from the grounds. All my leaden heart could be sure of was that I would
never again walk hand in hand with the handsomest, most athletic and
yet feminine, girl in the state of New Jersey. The thought of what
I was doing would have brought tears to my eyes had I not been as
masculine and manly as I am. For the curlew was the one bird that my
Joanna and I had always thought of as _our_ bird.
But the rapid deflation of my Zeppelin vanquished all self pity from my
mind. I was galvanized into action. Placing my binoculars back in their
case, I dived without further thought from the gondola of the falling
Zeppelin and into the placid waters of the Pacific Ocean. Perhaps some
well placed parting shot from one of the minions of Joanna's father had
done its slow work and been the cause of the untimely cessation of my
means of transportation.
I am an excellent swimmer and so there was no dread on my part of the
long swim ahead. However, I had barely covered a mile when I became
aware that something was tugging rather forebodingly at my ankle. My
impression was that I had caught my foot in the compelling maw of some
great clam. Before I could reflect more the creature had pulled at me
so forcefully that my head, the hair of which I wore in a somewhat long
though manly fashion, was yanked below the breath stopping waters of
the ocean in which I had so recently found myself. I fought bravely,
being an excellent boxer. An old ring axiom has it that a good big
man can beat a good little man. However, most rules of honest boxing
were not made with giant clams in mind. For one thing, I could not be
sure if I was fouling the creature or not. As I struggled I became more
and more lightheaded and giddy. As I drove an excellent jab home to
what I hoped was a vital spot of the clam I suddenly lost consciousness.