Contrary to the general belief earlier than 2070, when the explorer
Ramundsen first dipped down through the screening vapors of Uranus, the
temperature never approached the freezing point, and lurked instead
nearer to the boiling mark of water. The boiling point on Uranus varied
greatly, however, due to unbelievable fluctuations of the atmospheric
pressure.
Lonny made poor time, slogging along on the mud-shoes fashioned with
tough vines over a framework of metal. There was a limit to the speed
you could make on such contraptions. Baron Munchy, bordering on a
nervous frenzy at the promise of activity, had darted ahead, his filmy
wings dissolving quickly in the swirling mist.
He had a good general idea as to the whereabouts of Raeburn's
mud-submarine. Likewise, he had a fairly good estimate of the
mud-fisher's capabilities and did not think that Lana Hilton would
suffer much if Raeburn had not gone completely wacky.
At times the going was pretty good, where the mud was entwined with
thick layers of lightning-kelp--so called because tiny sparkles of
static electricity darted from it at each step of his clogged mud-shoes.
Mud, mud, mud! All Uranus was one vast ball of squirming mud!
Thirty-two thousand miles through of squashy mud. Stuff that would
run through his fingers, and through the webs of his shoes, and which
would suck greedily at his body if he so much as lost his footing. Mud
that would never solidify due to the varying turmoil of barometric
pressure. Mud that could never dry completely due to the quasi-soluble
consistency of Uranusian silt.
Two years he'd been here now, fishing for the precious mollusks whose
pearls might win him the security and prosperity he had never been able
to wrest from the over-populated earth. Two years it had been--or nine
days as time was reckoned on Uranus. Nine times he had gone around the
muddy world, keeping up with daylight--such as it was--and now--blast
it--the world was getting him--absorbing him mentally as well as
physically--or so it seemed.
Only four days before (Uranusian, a bit less than a year) the
feminine aridity of the planet had been shattered by the coming of
that headstrong, unreasoning female, Lana Hilton. Prior to that, there
had been company of a sort on Uranus--Link Raeburn's mud-submarine had
often drifted near enough for an occasional chat.
But Lana's coming had made a crowd on Uranus, if three can be called
a crowd, and Lonny was beginning to wish for the unbroken isolation
of other planets with no form of life whatsoever. There was only one
method of obtaining Uranusian pearls.
That method was relatively simple. You had to invest every cent of your
savings or heritage, as he had done two years before, and you had to
pay towing charges to some space schooner that was coming near Uranus.
Sea food came cheaply on Uranus but clothing was a different problem,
and you had to have a goodly stock of that.
Then, when you did find enough pearls to warrant the voyage home, you
had to send out an S. O. S. to a nearby space vessel, and the captain,
fearing the loss of his command if he disobeyed interplanetary law,
would have to come several million miles extra to pick you up, sans
submarine, of course, which by that time would be a rusted chunk of
worthless metal anyway.
He was wet to the skin when he heard voices through the mist. To his
nose came the suffocating down draft of the fishing vessel, mingled
with the faint aroma of ammonia.
"Sock 'im! Smack 'im down!" he heard Baron Munchy shouting at the top
of his tiny voice. "Plaster 'er another! Lead with right, dadblamee!"
Fearing the worst, Lonny tried to hurry, with the result that he became
tangled in his mud-shoes and had to flounder the rest of the way. On
the landing he shook off as much of the mud as was possible, kicked off
his mud-shoes and staggered toward the shaft of light boring up from
the hatchway.
In the center of the control room Baron Munchy was stalking back and
forth, yelling like a referee. Link Raeburn's angular body was sprawled
back disgustedly on a low bench, while Lana Hilton was flopped down in
a chair at a table, her dejected face propped up by both hands.
"Whyn't you wallop in kisser?" demanded Baron Munchy, hopping up to
the table beside her and trying to lift an arm. "Smash him over place,
Lana!"
"Damn that mosquito!" snapped Link Raeburn wearily. "Can't you swat
him? Why doesn't that fool Lonny keep him home where he belongs?"
"What's the big idea?" demanded Lonny, looking from one to the other
and clawing miserably at his mud coating. He gazed accusingly at the
girl in tattered metalline slacks and faded blouse of vitrisheen.
"So you finally got here," she commented casually. "I thought that
would bring you. He's chivalrous, isn't he, Link?"
"Look here, Raeburn," snorted Lonny, doubling a grimy fist and turning
to the flint-featured man. "Are you trying to play some sort of a game?"
"Ask Lana," said Raeburn, puffing at a smoking stem of mud-kelp. "She
was the one that screamed."
"Maybe it's me that's nuts!" exploded Lonny indignantly.
"Right!" chorused the twain boredly.
"Sock 'em Boss!" wailed Baron Munchy, shadow-boxing on the border of
the table. "Don't lettim get away with that! Splatter 'em."
"Aw, sit down," growled Link Raeburn, plucking thoughtfully at the
delicate outline of a tiny mustache. "Lana yelled all right. That was
her way of calling the meeting to order. The three of us constitute
the majority on Uranus. And in case you're getting ideas, her virtue's
safe. She's got quite a problem on her hands. Tell him, Lana."
"You seem to be doing all right," said the girl, crossing her legs
nonchalantly.
"Well, to put it shortly, her mud-submarine, which was a second hand
job, finally caved in from oxidation. So she came around here and
demanded that I put her up with room and board for half of her take."
"Look here," demanded Lana Hilton, taking a chamois bag from her
bosom, which when opened, displayed a goodly fortune of pink Uranusian
pearls. "My shack begins to crumble. Any minute it'll be heading down
to the muddy locker, and that dirty robber wants them all for my keep.
Everything I got, I tell you."
"Nuts! The gal's buggy," said Link Raeburn coldly. "She's safe enough,
I tell you, and if she weren't there's not a blasted thing you could
do about it. This planet has got her brain whirling. I told her she'd
better sound out an S. O. S. and take a powder for earth."
"What do you expect from me?" exploded Lonny. "I told you I would have
nothing to do with that nova-skirt from the first, when she tried to
play us one against the other."
"I give up!" cried Lana Hilton, spreading empty hands in a gesture of
defeat. "Once I had the lead role in a chorus, and I gave all that up
for this. I thought I could handle men with kid gloves, but when it
comes to you, Lonny, I'll say you've cast-iron defense."
"Raeburn can have you!" snorted Lonny. "For all I care!"
Spat! Her open hand had snapped out and landed on his cheek.
"Swat 'er, Boss!" pleaded Baron Munchy delightedly. "Whee! Does that
dame have a punch!"
"Maybe I exaggerated, a trifle," stammered Lonny, taken aback by the
startling reaction.
"That's better," returned Lana Hilton, beginning to pace the control
room worriedly. Lonny Higgens wiped a gob of mud thoughtfully from his
chin and grinned when he saw that her hand was grimy.
"Oh, hell!" he said grudgingly. "I'll have to get back before this mud
cakes up on me."
"So long," said Link Raeburn, without looking around.
"C'mon, Munchy," called Lonny. "No fireworks."
"No fireworks?" repeated Baron Munchy dolefully.
"None at all. Lana, I'm still a white man, though it's much against
my will. If worse comes to the worst you can have an extra room in my
mud-swimming hovel. And you can keep your handful of marbles."
The girl whirled around, wide-eyed with surprise. A sunburst of hope
and relief spread slowly over her features.
"So you are human, after all!" she gasped. "I'll just take you up
on that before you change your mind, but in order not to have a
misunderstanding I'll let it be known that I'm going to pay half my
pearls, whether you like it or not. Don't stand there grinning like an
ape! You act as though I ought to throw in a kiss for good measure."
"Go ahead," snorted Link Raeburn smirkingly. "Right on that muddy
kisser."
Climbing back into the upper mists, Lonny almost regretted his
decision. She had donned a slicker suit and a pair of mud-shoes and was
ready to go. The mist swirlers were tumbling about as though alive, and
Lonny had never felt so uncomfortable in his whole life.