The orders were explicit: "Destroy the
'THING' of Venus." But Patrolmen Kerry
Blane and Splinter Wood, their space-ship
wrecked, could not follow orders--their
weapons were useless on the Water-world.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Winter 1942.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Old Kerry Blane exploded.
"Damn it!" he roared. "I don't like you; and I don't like this ship;
and I don't like the assignment; and I don't like those infernal pills
you keep eating; and I--"
"Splinter" Wood grinned.
"Seems to me, Kerry," he remarked humorously, "that you don't like much
of anything!"
Kerry Blane growled unintelligibly, batted the injector lever with a
calloused hand. His grizzled hair was a stiff wiry mop on his small
head, and his oversize jaw was thrust belligerently forward. But deep
within his eyes, where he hoped it was hidden, was a friendly twinkle
that gave the lie to his speech.
"You're a squirt!" he snapped disagreeably. "You're not dry behind
the ears, yet. You're like the rest of these kids who call themselves
pilots--only more so! And why the hell the chief had to sic you on me,
on an exploration trip this important--well, I'll never understand."
Splinter rolled his six foot three of lanky body into a more
comfortable position on the air-bunk. He yawned tremendously, fumbled a
small box from his shirt pocket, and removed a marble-like capsule.
"Better take one of these," he warned. "You're liable to get the space
bends at any moment."
Old Kerry Blane snorted, batted the box aside impatiently, scowled
moodily at the capsules that bounced for a moment against the pilot
room's walls before hanging motionless in the air.
"Mister Wood," he said icily, "I was flying a space ship while they
were changing your pants twenty times a day. When I want advice on how
to fly a ship, how to cure space bends, how to handle a Zelta ray, or
how to spit--I'll ask you! Until then, you and your bloody marbles can
go plumb straight to the devil!"
"Tsk! Tsk! Tsk!" Splinter reached out lazily, plucked the capsules from
the air, one by one.
Kerry Blane lit one of the five allotted cigarettes of the day.
"Don't 'tsk' me, you young squirt," he grunted around a mouthful of
fragrant smoke. "I know all the arguments you can put up; ain't that
all I been hearing for a week? You take your vitamins A, B, C, D, all
you want, but you leave me alone--or I'll stuff your head down your
throat, P.D.Q.!"
"All right, all right!" Splinter tucked the capsule box back into his
pocket, grinned mockingly. "But don't say I didn't warn you. With this
shielded ship, and with no sunlight reaching Venus' surface, you're
gonna be begging for some of my vitamin, super-concentrated pills
before we get back to Earth."
Kerry Blane made a rich, ripe noise with his mouth.
"Pfuii!" he said very distinctly.
"Gracious!" Splinter said in mock horror.
* * * * *
They made a strange contrast as they lay in their air bunks. Splinter
was fully a head taller than the dour Irishman, and his lanky build
gave a false impression of awkwardness. While the vitriolic Kerry Blane
was short and compact, strength and quickness evident in every movement.
Kerry Blane had flown every type of ship that rode in space. In the
passing years, he had flight-tested almost every new experimental ship,
had flown them with increasing skill, had earned a reputation as a
trouble shooter on any kind of craft.
But even Kerry Blane had to retire eventually.
A great retirement banquet had been given in his honor by the
Interplanetary Squadron. There had been the usual speeches and
presentations; and Kerry Blane had heard them all, had thanked the
donors of the gifts. But it was not until the next morning, when he was
dressed in civilian clothes for the first time in forty years, that he
realized the enormity of the thing that had happened to his life.
Something died within Kerry Blane's heart that morning, shriveled and
passed away, leaving him suddenly shrunken and old. He had become like
a rusty old freighter couched between the gleaming bodies of great
space warriors.
Finally, as a last resort so that he would not be thrown entirely
aside, he had taken a desk job in the squadron offices. For six years
he had dry-rotted there, waiting hopefully for the moment when his
active services would be needed again.
It was there that he had met and liked the ungainly Splinter Wood.
There was something in the boy that had found a kindred spirit in Kerry
Blane's heart, and he had taken the youngster in hand to give him the
benefits of experience that had become legendary.
Splinter Wood was a probationary pilot, had been admitted to the
Interplanetary Squadron because of his inherent skill, even though his
formal education had been fairly well neglected.
* * * * *
Now, the two of them rode the pounding jets of a DX cruiser, bound
for Venus to make a personal survey of its floating islands for the
Interplanetary Squadron's Medical Division.
"Ten to one we don't get back!" Splinter said pessimistically.
Kerry Blane scrubbed out his cigarette, scowled bleakly at the
instrument panel. He sensed the faint thread of fear in the youngster's
tone, and a nostalgic twinge touched his heart, for he was remembering
the days of his youth when he had a full life to look forward to.
"If you're afraid, you can get out and walk back," he snapped
disagreeably.
A grin lifted the corners of Splinter's long mouth, spread into his
eyes. His hand unconsciously came up, touched the tiny squadron pin on
his lapel.
"Sorry to disappoint you, glory grabber," he said mockingly, "but I've
got definite orders to take care of you."
"_Me!_ You've got orders to take care of _me_?" Kerry Blane choked
incoherently for a moment, red tiding cholerically upward from his
loosened collar.
"Of course!" Splinter grinned.
Kerry Blane exploded, words spewing volcanically forth. Splinter
relaxed, his booted foot beating out a dull rhythm to the colorful
language learned through almost fifty years of spacing. And at last,
when Kerry Blane had quieted until he but smoldered, he leaned over and
touched the old spacer on the sleeve.
"Seventy-eight!" he remarked pleasantly.
"Seventy-eight what?" Kerry Blane asked sullenly, the old twinkle
beginning to light again deep in his eyes.
"Seventy-eight new words--and you swore them beautifully!" Splinter
beamed. "Some day you can teach them to me."
They laughed then, Old Kerry Blane and young Splinter Wood, and
the warmth of their friendship was a tangible thing in the small
control-room of the cruiser.
And in the midst of their laughter, Old Kerry Blane choked in agony,
surged desperately against his bunk straps.
He screamed unknowingly, feeling only the horrible excruciating agony
of his body, tasting the blood that gushed from his mouth and nostrils.
His muscles were knotted cords that he could not loosen, and his blood
was a surging stream that pounded at his throbbing temples. The air he
breathed seemed to be molten flame.
His body arced again and again against the restraining straps, and his
mouth was open in a soundless scream. He sensed dimly that his partner
had wrenched open a wall door, removed metal medicine kits, and was
fumbling through their contents. He felt the bite of the hypodermic,
felt a deadly numbness replace the raging torment that had been his
for seconds. He swallowed three capsules automatically, passed into a
coma-like sleep, woke hours later to stare clear-eyed into Splinter's
concerned face.
"Close, wasn't it?" he said weakly, conversationally.
"Close enough!" Splinter agreed relievedly. "If you had followed my
advice and taken those vitamin capsules, you'd never have had the
bends."
Kerry Blane grinned, winced when he felt the dull ache in his body.
"I've had the bends before, and lived through them!" he said, still
weakly defiant.
"That's the past," Splinter said quietly. "This is the present, and you
take your pills every day, just as I do--from now on."
"All right--and thanks!"
"Forget it!" Splinter flushed in quick embarrassment.
A buzzer sounded from the instrument panel, and a tiny light glowed
redly.
"Six hours more," Splinter said, turned to the instrument panel.
His long hands played over the instrument panel, checking, controlling
the rocket fire, adjusting delicate instruments to hairline marks.
Kerry Blane nodded in silent approval.
They could feel the first tug of gravity on their bodies, and through
the vision port could see the greenish ball that was cloud-covered
Venus. Excitement lifted their spirits, brought light to their eyes as
they peered eagerly ahead.
"What's it really like?" Splinter asked impatiently.
Kerry Blane yawned, settled back luxuriously. "I'll tell you later," he
said, "I'm going to take a nap and try to ease this bellyache of mine.
Wake me up so that I can take over, when we land; Venus is a tricky
place to set a ship on."
He yawned again, drifted instantly into sleep, relaxing with the
ability of a spaceman who sleeps when and if he can. Splinter smiled
down at his sleeping partner, then turned back to the quartzite port.
He shook his head a bit, remembering the stories he had heard about the
water planet, wondering--wondering--