Venus was civilized ... so the Universe thought! But
deep in its midnight caverns ... beyond light, beyond
the wildest imaginings of an ordered System ... dwelt Horror.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Winter 1940.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
They stood in the _Orestes'_ tiny observation turret, Mallory's
defiant arm still tight about the slim and lovely girl, just exactly
as bull-voiced Captain Lane had found them. The shimmering reflection
of the planet Venus, only a few thousand miles ahead, bathed the trim,
hard-jawed man and the softly pretty girl in a gentle glow, but it
failed to soothe the grizzled space ship skipper.
"What in hell does this mean?"
Mallory, remembering an old forgotten saying--something about a soft
answer turning aside wrath--spoke rapidly. "Sorry if we gave you a
shock, sir," he said. "But your daughter and I are engaged."
Few medical men would have guaranteed Space Captain Jonathan Lane
a long life at that moment. His usually ruddy face was a violent
mauve-scarlet, his eyes hot pin-points of anger, his lean, hard body
was atremble with emotion.
"Engaged. _Engaged!_" He made a convulsive motion. "Did you say
engaged? To this inane young fool. You're talking nonsense. Go to your
cabin, girl."
Dorothy Lane sighed and looked hopefully up at Mallory.
Tim Mallory had forgotten his old and wise quotation.
"Why not engaged," he snapped. "What have you got against me?"
"What," growled Captain Lane. "He asks me _what_!"
He had a reason; one which he shared with all fond parents who have
ever seen a beloved child slipping from their arms--jealousy. Jealousy
and grief. Now his mind pounced on a substitute for the true reasons
that he would not--could not--name.
"Well, for one thing," he said curtly, "you're not a spaceman. You're
nothing but a blasted Earthlubber!"
Mallory grinned.
"You can hardly call me an Earthlubber, Captain. I spent two years on
Luna, three on Mars; I'll be five or more on Venus--"
"Pah! Luna ... Mars ... Venus ... you're still a groundhog. I'll not
see my girl married to a money-grubbing businessman, Mallory."
"Tim's not a businessman," broke in Dorothy Lane. "He's an engineer."
And anyone seeing her young fury would have smiled to note how much
alike she was to her bucko, space captain father.
"Engineer! Nonsense! Only an astrogation engineer deserves that title.
He's a--a--What is it you do? Build ice-boxes?"
"I'm a calorimetrical engineer," Mallory answered stiffly. "My main job
is the designing and installation of air-conditioning plants where
they are needed. On airless Luna, the cold Martian deserts, here on
Venus. The simple truth is--"
"The simple truth is," stated the skipper savagely, "that you're a
groundhog and a damned poor son-in-law for a spaceman. You being what
you are, and Dorothy being what she is, I say the hell with you, Mr.
Mallory! Perhaps I can't prevent your marriage. But there's one thing I
can do--and that is wash my hands of the two of you!"
He watched them, searching for signs of indecision in their eyes. He
found, instead--and with a sense of sickening dread--only sorrow.
Sorrow and pity and regret. And Tim Mallory said quietly, "I'm sorry,
sir, that you feel that way about it."
Lane turned to his daughter.
"Dorothy?" he said hoarsely.
"I'm sorry, too." Her voice was gentle but determined. "Tim is right.
We--" Then her eyes widened; sudden panic lighted them, and her hand
flew to her lips in a gesture of fear. "Something's wrong! Venus! The
ship--!"
* * * * *
Captain Lane did not need her warning. His space-trained body had
recognized disaster a split-second before. His legs had felt the smooth
flooring beneath him lurch and sway. His eyes had glimpsed, through the
spaceport, the sudden looming of the silver disc toward which they had
been gliding easily but now were plunging at headlong, breakneck speed.
His ears howled with the clamor of monstrous winds that clutched with
vibrant fingers the falling _Orestes_.
In a flash he spun and fought his way up a sharply tilting deck to the
wall audio, thrust at its button, bawled a query. The mate's voice,
shrill with terror, answered:
"The Dixie-rod, sir! It's jammed! We're trying to get it free, but it's
locked! We're out of control--"
"Up rockets!" roared Lane. "Up rockets and blast!"
"They're cut, sir! The hypo's cold. We'll have to 'bandon ship--."
Abandon ship! Tim Mallory did not need Dorothy's sudden gasp to tell
him what that meant to the trio caught in the observation turret.
Earthlubber he might be, but he knew enough about the construction
of space craft to realize that there were no auxiliary safety-sleds
anchored to this section of the _Orestes_.
Venus was no longer a beaming platter of silver in the distance.
They had burst through its eternal blanket of cloud, now; The world
below was no longer a sphere, it was a huge saucer of green, swelling
ominously with each flashing second. Tempests screamed about them, and
the screaming was the triumphant cry of hungry death.
No ships. No time to seek escape. Life, which had but recently become a
precious thing to Tim Mallory, was but a matter of minutes.
He saw the agony of indecision on Captain Jonathan Lane's face, heard,
as in a dream, the skipper delivering the only possible order.
"Very well, Carter! 'Bandon ship!"