Earth was a world of murdering savages; bleak
and desolate; contaminated by deadly radioactivity.
Only Craig Verrill's atavistic stubbornness--and
a rash promise, made in fury--could have brought
him back to that perilous birthplace of Man....
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories May 1951.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The solicitude of Linda's voice, the seductiveness of her perfume,
her very presence as they sat in the artificial twilight of the Domes
of Venus, tempted him to abandon his plan to sail at once for Terra,
venture among the savage Terrestrians, and get possession of that
enormous ruby they called the Fire of Skanderbek.
Linda was long legged and supple waisted, with dark eyes and
gold-bronze hair, and very white skin. Her cheek bones were just
sufficiently prominent to keep her face from being too regular; and
there was a perceptible dusting of tiny freckles which accented the
irregularity, adding a piquant touch. These were natural, and a
rarity that had existed only in fable for the past six-hundred years,
for the glow-lamps and the occlusive Venusian atmosphere seemed to
combine to make the freckle almost impossible. However, though the
cosmeticians had driven the Board of Science frantic until they had
devised a process for artificially imitating Linda's unique flaw, this
distinction had not spoiled her.
"Never mind what I said, last night," Linda pleaded. "We were all
angry, you and Gil and I. No sense at all!"
"But I promised," Verrill said stubbornly. Which helped--a little--to
sustain himself against backing down from the rash venture for which he
had not a bit of taste.
He had an angular face, narrowish, with the bony structure well
accented. His nose was prominent; his hazel eyes were intent and
impatient. He was lean, muscular, and all in all, just the sort of
Venusian to go on such a crazy venture--yet he didn't like the idea at
all, now that he had had time to consider.
"Let's forget it all, Craig! Rubies aren't important enough. The one
Gil brought me from that trading-post of Terra isn't--wasn't--"
Verrill said sourly: "That's what makes me feel so foolish about it. He
brought you a souvenir, and I grabbed it from you, flung it into the
lake, and pasted him. What for?"
"Oh, Craig, who _cares_! Gil was lording it over you. I was too smug
and pleased with the gift to realize how far he was going. Oh, all
right, of _course_ you were wrong! But what of it?"