Kerry Blane choked, tried to turn his head from the water that trickled
into his face. He opened his eyes, stared blankly, uncomprehendingly
into the bloody features of the man bending over him.
"What happened?" he gasped.
Splinter Wood laughed, almost hysterically, mopped at his forehead with
a wet handkerchief.
"I thought you were dead!" he said simply.
Kerry Blane moved his arm experimentally, felt broken bones grate in
an exquisite wave of pain. He fought back the nausea, gazed about the
cabin, realized the ship lay on its side.
"Maybe I am," he said ruefully. "No man could live through that crash."
Splinter moved away, sat down tiredly on the edge of a bunk. He shook
his head dazedly, inspected the long cut on his leg.
"We seem to have done it," he said dully.
Kerry Blane nodded, clambered to his feet, favoring his broken arm.
He leaned over the control panel, inspecting the dials with a worried
gaze. Slowly, his eyes lightened, and his voice was almost cheerful as
he swung about.
"Everything is more or less okay," he said. "The board will have to
be rewired, but nothing else seems to be damaged so that repairs are
needed."
Splinter looked up from his task of bandaging his leg. "What caused
the crash?" he asked. "One minute, everything was all right; the next,
Blooey!"
Anger suddenly mottled Kerry Blane's face; he swore monotonously and
bitterly for a moment.
"Those gol-damned pills you been taking caused the crash!" he roared.
"One of them broke and shorted out the control board." He scowled at
the incredulous Splinter. "By the three tails of a Martian sand-pup, I
ought to cram the rest of them down your throat, boxes and all!"
Splinter flushed, seemed to be fumbling for words. After a bit, Kerry
Blane grinned.
"Forget it, lad," he said more kindly, "those things happen. Now, if
you'll bind a splint about my arm, we'll see what we can do about
righting the ship."
Splinter nodded, opened the medical locker, worked with tape and
splints for minutes. Great beads of perspiration stood out in high
relief on Kerry Blane's forehead, but he made no sound. At last,
Splinter finished, tucked the supplies away.
"Now what?" he asked subduedly.
"Let's take a look outside, maybe set up the Zelta guns. Can't tell but
what that protoplasmic nightmare might take a notion to pay us a visit
in the near future!"
"Right!" Splinter unscrewed the port cogs, swung the portal back.
He swung lithely from the portal, reached down a hand to help the
older man. After much puffing and grunting, Kerry Blane managed to
clamber through the port. They stood for a moment in silent wonder,
staring at the long lazy rollers of milky fluorescence that rolled
endlessly toward the beach, then turned to gaze at the great fern-like
trees that towered two hundred feet into the air.
"How big do you feel now?" Kerry Blane asked quietly.
Splinter Wood was silent, awed by the beauty and the tremendous size of
the growths on the water world.
Kerry Blane walked the length of the cruiser, examining the slight
damage done by the crash, evaluating the situation with a practiced
gaze. He nodded slowly, retraced his steps, and stood looking at the
furrow plowed in the sand.
"Won't be any trouble at all to lift the ship," he called. "After
rewiring the board, we'll turn the ship with an underjet, swing it
about, and head her toward the sea."
Splinter nodded, dropped into the open port. A moment later, he flipped
a rope ladder outside, where it dangled to the ground, then climbed out
himself, carrying the two Zelta guns.
"We'd better test these," he said. "We don't want any slip-ups when we
do go into action."
He climbed down the ladder, laid the guns aside, then reached up a
hand to aid Kerry Blane's descent. Kerry Blane came down slowly and
awkwardly, jumped the last few feet. He felt surprisingly light and
strong in the lesser gravity.
He stood, leaning against the ship, watching as Splinter picked up
the first gun and leveled it at a gigantic tree. Splinter sighted
carefully, winked at the older man, then pressed the firing stud.
Nothing happened; there was no hissing crackle of released energy.
Kerry Blane strode forward, puzzlement on his lined face, his hand
out-stretched toward the defective weapon. Splinter gaped at the gun in
his hands, held it out wordlessly.
"The crash must have broken something," Kerry Blane said slowly.
Splinter shook his head. "There's only one moving part," he said, "and
that's the force gate on the firing stud."
"Try the other," Kerry Blane said slowly.
"Okay!"
Splinter lifted the second gun, pressed the stud, gazed white-faced at
his companion.
"It won't work, either," he said stupidly. "I don't get it? The source
of power is limitless. Solar rays never--"
Old Kerry Blane dropped the first gun to his side, swore harshly.
"Damn it," he said. "They didn't think of it; you didn't think of it;
and I most certainly forgot! Solar rays can't penetrate the miles of
clouds on Venus. Those guns are utterly useless as weapons!"
* * * * *
Neither of them moved for a long moment, then their eyes swung
automatically toward the restless ocean. Kerry Blane jerked his head
toward the ship.
"Get in there," he ordered, "and start that rewiring job. I'll stand
guard out here, and, if anything shows up, use the hand guns we've got."
"But--" Splinter began.
"Damn it!" Command was in the old man's tone. "If we're attacked, we
won't stand a chance without the big guns. There are animals on this
world that have digestive juices more corrosive than hydrofluoric
acid--they could wreck the cruiser in ten minutes."
Splinter darted to the rope ladder, swarmed upward. He paused at the
port, his youthful face concerned.
"I'm sorry about causing the short," he said. "I didn't--"
"Get that job done," Kerry Blane snapped. "You're not to blame for
anything that has happened."
He watched the younger man disappear within the port, then shook his
head slowly, peered about the long stretch of silver beach. He swore
bitterly for a moment, realizing the full import of the stupid line of
reasoning that had equipped them with the wrong style of weapons on
their expedition. Should they be attacked by the monster of insatiable
protoplasm, their chances of survival were almost none.
He swung in a slow circle, studying the forest edge, seeking any sign
that would indicate the presence of an alien danger. Tree fronds
moved gently in the soft breeze, giving an uncanny life to the vines
and creepers whose tips lay on the silvery sand. He had the weird
prescience that he was being watched, but could not detect the watcher.
He turned to face the ocean, sat on the dry sand, a dis-gun clutched
within the curl of the fingers of his good hand. His broken arm
throbbed unmercifully, a slow streak of pain traveling into his
shoulder. He sighed unconsciously, lit a cigarette, then gripped his
weapon again, the slim cigarette canted upward in his firm mouth.
Sand rustled a bit a dozen feet away. The old space-pilot watched the
sand bulging slightly, then sliding softly to one side as a blunt,
scaly head poked through into the atmosphere. He lifted the gun a bit,
felt the skin crawl on his back, as a scaly lid peeled back from a
single eye which stared at him with unwinking malevolence.
The head emerged from the sand, was followed by the sinuous length of
a snakelike body. Eight tiny legs made little scraping sounds in the
sand. Feelers, like thick antennae, unfolded from cavities in the head,
flicked slowly back and forth. The creature hissed suddenly, moved
slowly toward the seated pilot.
Kerry Blane blasted it into nothingness with full power of the dis-gun.
A few flakes of smoking ashes drifted lazily in the breeze for a
moment, and the odor of charred flesh was a dank miasma.
"Holy Hell!" Kerry Blane ejaculated, wiped quick perspiration from his
face.
He felt the slight tap on his shoulder then, turned with a quick shake
of his head. "Listen, Splinter--" he began, felt a terrifying horror
draining all strength from his compact body.
He tried to swing the dis-gun up, felt the double band of rubbery-like
creeper flip about his shoulders, pinning his arms to his chest. Terror
constricted his throat, as his gaze followed the line of creeper to its
parent plant that waited with blossom agape like some bloody, sucking
mouth.
He whirled to one side in a diving plunge, surged with a desperate
strength against the coil of creeping vine that was coiled so tightly
about his body, was brought to a bone-shaking halt with a suddenness
that jarred his injured arm with a force that cramped him with nausea.
His gun went flying to the sand, lay there, out of reach of his
straining fingertips.
And now the creeper contracted with a deadly purpose and inevitability.
Kerry Blane fought with braced feet to pull away, felt himself dragged
toward the avid blossom.
He screamed then, called with every bit of power in his body, hoped
that Splinter would hear him within the dungeon of the ship. He
strained, tried to whirl, fought again and again against the uncanny
strength of the creeper.
A dis-gun sang briefly; the creeper tightened as though in pain,
then dropped to the sand where it writhed like the severed body of a
boa-constrictor. Splinter, white faced, leaned out of the cruiser's
port, blasted the parent flower out of existence with a hissing
discharge of dis-rays.
"What the devil happened?" he asked. "What was that thing?"
Kerry Blane came shakily to his feet, retrieved his gun, kicked moodily
at the now-silent length of creeper.
"Some aggravated form of the Earth's Venus-fly-trap plant," he
explained. "I was plenty lucky it didn't get me by the throat, for then
I couldn't have made a sound."
"Yeah, sure!" Splinter's freckles were dark against the sickly white of
his skin.
Kerry Blane grinned reassuringly. "Better get back on the job," he
said. "I'll make damned certain that nothing sneaks up on me this time!"
Splinter shook his head. "We might as well eat something," he said,
some of the color stealing back into his features. "I've got some
wire-plastic cooking; it'll be another ten minutes before it's ready."
"Bring the stuff out here, where we can eat and watch at the same time."
"Right!" Splinter disappeared into the port, reappeared a moment later
with several cans and boxes in the crook of his left arm.
* * * * *
He dropped down the ladder, squatted at Kerry Blane's side, opened the
cans with twists of their keys. More composed now, he handed several
boxes to Kerry Blane, grinned at the old pilot.
"Take several of those capsules, first," he ordered.
Kerry Blane grunted disagreeably, took a gelatin capsule from each of
the boxes, then dropped the containers into his pockets. He popped the
vitamin pills into his mouth, swallowed convulsively.
"Satisfied?" he snapped.
Splinter laughed aloud, followed the other's example. Then he handed a
can of food and another of water to Kerry Blane, found cans for himself.
They ate for minutes, finding themselves strangely hungry, their eyes
drinking in the strange beauty of the phosphorescent ocean, feeling
contentment softening the terror and action of the past hours.
"It's just like a picnic," Kerry Blane commented whimsically, tossed a
can toward the water's edge.
And then they were on their feet, cans spilling from their laps, their
dis-guns alert.
The Venusian creatures were like visions out of a drunkard's dreams.
They scuttled from the water on great, jointed legs, their crab-like
bodies glowing from the millions of phosphorescent sea-organisms
captured in the stiff hair that covered them. They screamed in a pitch
so high the sound was like a knife blade cutting into the terrestrials'
minds.
"This is it!" Kerry Blane yelled, dropped one of the creatures with a
blasting streak of energy to its single, pupilless eye.
Splinter grinned woodenly, handling his twin guns with an inherent
skill, dropping crab after crab, dull horror mounting in his eyes, as
the creatures surged nearer.
The attack seemed endless. The sand was slippery with a greenish
blood; and the crabs fed on smoking carcasses. Kerry's and Splinter's
disruptors roared in increasing fury, blasting ragged holes in the
vanguard of the attackers. A crab leaped through, knocked Splinter to
his knees, was blasted into a quivering heap by Kerry Blane's instant
shot.
"Back to the ship," Kerry Blane grated.
[Illustration: _Kerry and Splinter retreated, their guns hot in their
hands, seeing the crabs erupting from the ocean in a never-ending
stream._]
They retreated, their guns hot in their hands, seeing the crabs
erupting from the ocean in a never-ending stream. Their breath was hot
in their straining chests, and the high-pitched scream of the savage
monsters was like a physical pain when it struck their ears.
Splinter went up the ladder first, climbing with one hand, firing with
the other. Kerry Blane hooked his good arm through the ladder, braced
his feet on a bottom loop, was hauled instantly upward. At the port,
both turned and fired with a desperate, accurate fire.
* * * * *
The entire world seemed to have come alive. Sinuous creepers flashed
from the jungle, growing, uncurling with a fantastic speed, each
capturing a dead crab, then pulling it back to the parent plant in the
jungle. Scaly monsters bored up from within the sand, feasted on the
shattered bodies of the sea beasts, pausing now and then to fight away
the crabs that attacked them. From somewhere came a flying creature
that appeared to be half fish, half animal, which swooped, then mounted
sluggishly into the air, a crab's phosphorescent body dangling from its
claws.
Kerry Blane shifted on his feet slightly, cleared four crabs from
beneath the ladder, turned a sweating face toward his companion.
"How long will it take to fix the control panel?" he gasped.
"Thirty minutes, at least."
"Get in there and fix it."
"And leave you here, alone? To hell with you!"
Kerry Blane drew the ray of his single gun like a hose across a horde
of attackers, grinned mirthlessly as they fell in convulsive heaps.
"I'm your superior," he grated. "Get in there!"
"This is no time for technicalities!"
A tiny smile etched itself around Kerry Blane's mouth, was instantly
erased. He heard Splinter's gasp, felt terror driving him back a full
step.
It came out of the water with a deceptive speed, great loops of itself
flicking toward the crabs that scuttled wildly to escape. It had no
definite shape, no arms, no features, yet it was alive! It surged up
on the beach like a congealed mass of glowing syrup that rose a full
hundred feet into the air. It had no eyes, yet seemed to see the entire
scene with an uncanny intelligence.
"My God!" Splinter said wonderingly. "Is that the thing we were
supposed to destroy?"
"That's it," Kerry Blane said tonelessly.
"And us with only four hand-guns!"
And even as he spoke, his gun went dead in his hand.