FIVE AGAINST VENUS

Philip Latham

CHAPTER                                                                                           PAGE

1.    The Space Club............................................................       1

2.    Toward the Moon......................................................... ...... 13

3.    The Aurora...................................................................        25

4.    Crash Landing..............................................................        36

5.    Verms........................................................................... ...... 42

6.    The Warning................................................................. ...... 52

7.    A Nightmare Again    .....                   63

8.    The Cave.......................................................................       73

9.    A New Threat................................................................       83

10.     The Fire Eater..............................................................       93

11.     Oswald.........................................................................       103

12.     The Plant Animal......................................................... ..... 117

13.     In the Corral...............................................................       128

14.     The Bat King................................................................       134

15.     The Plant War.............................................................. ..... 143

16.     Oxygen......................................................................... ..... 153

17.     The Hairy One.............................................................. ..... 159

18.     Attack...........................................................................       172

19.     Simmons....................................................................... ..... 135

20.     Home............................................................................ ..... 198

21.     Backstage on Venus...................................................... ..... 206

Chapter 1

The Space Club

BRUCE ROBINSON took his usual seat on the bleachers among the junior members of the Los Angeles I High School space club. Although the club was a .  highly select affair it had no officers, no dues, or any of the other tiresome impedimenta that weigh down most organizations. Indeed, the only requirement for membership was a powerful interest in space travel. Their school fellows might prefer to spend the noon hour around on the front lawn talking to the girls, or in trying to put the twelve pound shot over the thirty-five foot mark. But the members of the space club had no time for such trivialities. They had too many big questions to settle, too many big problems awaiting solution.

Bruce inspected the contents of his lunch box with misgiving. Peanut butter sandwiches again! It seemed to him he had been eating peanut butter sandwiches all his life. He was sure if all those he had ever eaten were stacked on top of one another they would reach to the moon by this time. Not that he had anything in particular against peanut butter sandwiches; in fact, he

rather liked them in moderation. But he did get tired of eating them year after year. Although perhaps he was lucky to have them in his lunch box at all, he reflected. If his father didn't find a job pretty soon . . .

Herb Jenkins, unofficial president of the club, was putting one of the junior members right on the future of space travel. As the only member whose father had actually made a trip to the moon, Herb was in a position to speak with authority. For although space travel had become a reality twenty years ago it was still an exceedingly expensive operation, confined exclusively to agents on official government business. So far as most people were concerned, space travel was only something that you read and dreamed about, even as their grandparents had dreamed about it a long time ago in the 50's.

"Listen," Herb said, "you talk like one of those old comic books. You know, the kind with a cover showing a beautiful blonde in the clutches of a bug-eyed monster with a guy in a spacesuit coming to the rescue with a neutron gun. Well, you can forget all that stuff right now. There was no life on the moon until we got there. And my dad says they won't find any life on Mars either. You wait and see."

Having effectively disposed of that question, he bit into his hotdog sandwich, which emitted a juicy satisfying plop. The rest of the space club munched in silence.

Both by age and size Bruce should have sat on the top row among the senior members, but for some reason he still found himself relegated to the lower levels among the juniors. Every now and then he made an effort to assert himself, but somehow he was never very successful.

"There's still Venus," Bruce said. "We still don't know much more about Venus than before space travel came in."

Herb waved the remains of his sandwich in Brace's direction.

"Listen, Robinson, I thought you were a fairly bright sort of guy. [They had agreed that calling each other by their last names sounded much more dignified.] Has anybody ever found any oxygen in the atmosphere of Venus? No. Has anybody ever found any water? No. So there you are. You can't have life without oxygen or water. Take it from me, Venus is going to turn out just as dead as Mars and the moon."

"But we don't absolutely know there isn't any oxygen or water on Venus," Bruce persisted. "Maybe it's all way down beneath the cloud layer. Those cloud layers have got to be made out of something. And if they aren't water, then what are they made of?"

Herb sighed. "I don't know what those clouds are

made of. But I know what's the matter with you. You're

always trying to make things out the way you want

»    »>

em.

He gazed down on Bruce with tolerant good humor. "No, Robinson, my boy, you might as well face the facts. I consider it highly improbable that we shall find any high form of animal life on the planet Venus."

Bruce started to make some reply, then stopped. He supposed he did always try to make things out the way he wanted them. His mother often mentioned that he was like his father. Bruce had to admit that he had lots of big ideas and spent a great deal of time dreaming and talking about them. But he seldom got down to working them out seriously.

"Some day I suppose we'll go to Venus and Mars and find out what's there," another member remarked. "I'd sure like to be on the first spaceship that makes a landing. Have you ever been on a spaceship, Jenkins?"

"Sure, plenty of times," Jenkins said, with elaborate nonchalance. "I go practically every time my dad makes a trip. Why I guess I've been on spaceships twenty times or more."

The junior members regarded him with open awe. "Any chance of us getting to go along sometime?"

Jenkins laughed. "Say, listen, they're mighty particular about who they let on board spaceships. Believe me, you've got to have plenty pull even to get inside the field."

"Wonder when they're going to make a trip to Venus?" Bruce said. "You'd think they'd try it sometime."

Jenkins finished his hotdog and reached for a banana. "How do you know they haven't?" he asked with an air of mystery.

The whole club came to attention immediately. Every eye was fixed on Jenkins.

"I don't know whether I ought to tell this or not," he continued, after an impressive pause. "It's kind of top secret, I guess. But the other day I overheard my dad talking about it to another man. As a matter of fact, somebody already has made a trip to Venus. Five years ago a fellow got together a spaceship of his own, and , went to Venus all by himself."

He allowed time for this news to sink in while disposing of the banana.

"Well, what happened to him?" Bruce asked.

"Nobody knows," Jenkins replied, shaking his head slowly. "He never came back."

"How do you know he ever got to Venus?" Bruce objected. "Maybe he had an accident along the way."

"He got to Venus all right," Jenkins assured him. "He sent a flash that he'd landed and was actually on the surface. Then, all of a sudden, his transmitter went dead, and nobody's ever heard from him since."

"Seems funny, doesn't it?" said Bruce. "You'd think he'd have managed to stay in contact, wouldn't you?"

Jenkins shrugged. "It just looks to me as if conditions on Venus weren't very favorable for animal life."

"Aw, maybe it never happened at all," a brash junior put in. "Maybe the whole thing's a rumor. You hear all kinds of rumors these days. My dad says you don't know what to believe any more."

"Yeah, why didn't we read about it in the papers?" another demanded.

"I told you it was secret, didn't I?" Jenkins retorted. "There's lots of stuff most people never hear about. You've got to be on the inside like my dad."

The warning bell put an end to the discussion. The members of the space club got to their feet and dispersed to their various classes. After exploring the depths of space, it was a decided letdown to have to return to such prosaic subjects as English and life during the less exciting periods of the Roman emperors.

Bruce shuffled across the school grounds toward his class in music appreciation, a subject he had taken when reliably informed that no one in the entire history of the school had ever been known to flunk it. But his mind was still on Jenkins' story. Maybe someone had reached Venus after all. The thought of a single individual starting out alone on such a daring mission stirred him immensely. Why couldn't his father get into space travel like Herb's dad instead of promoting vague enterprises connected with frog farming or raising hamsters?

His progress across the campus was interrupted by a husky masculine voice. "Haven't seen you out for practice lately, Robinson. What's the matter?"

Bruce grinned sheepishly. He had been trying to avoid the coach lately.

"I've been pretty busy studying and working after school and—everything," he explained.

The coach eyed him sharply. "That so? I didn't know you were working after hours."

"Yeah, odd jobs mostly. Helping around the house."

"I see." The coach did not sound particularly impressed. "Well, I think you might make a good miler if you'd get out and work some of that fat off your middle. We could use a good miler against Hollywood next month."

"I'll try and get out," Bruce promised.

Bruce continued on to his class in music appreciation. He rather enjoyed listening to records, especially ones having a little melody. These modern things, like the Atomic Jive Symphony were hard on the ears. But even so—the lilting strains of Prokofieff's "Classical" could not inspire him today. His life seemed unutterably dull and commonplace lately. He yearned to do something big and exciting that would make people look up to him with envy, like the spacemen he saw in the papers.

After school Bruce dropped into Melchor's drugstore for a choc-malt with a double scoop of ice cream and a cherry on top. None of the newfangled drinks could take the place of this old favorite. He had intended saving his money for a hotdog to vary the routine of peanut butter, but the thought of the long cool drink was too overpowering to resist. While it was being prepared, he strolled over to the newsstand for a copy of Incredible Stories which contained a serial he had been trying to finish for the last week. It was very pleasant to be sitting in the cool recesses of the drugstore, sipping his malted milk and reading about the struggles of a young couple on a planet revolving around the green companion of Antares. By skilful maneuvering he managed to make his drink last until he had finished the serial and had a good start on the feature novelette. After carefully replacing the magazine in an obscure corner of the newsstand where it was unlikely to be disturbed, he paid for the drink and headed homeward.

After the cool dark interior of the drugstore, the white sunlight was blinding hot. The Robinsons lived in a slightly seedy district, carefully avoided by street cars and bus fines, and he was thus forced to walk half a mile to school every day. Part of his path was uphill and gradually his footsteps dragged. He began dreaming of the world of the future in which nobody would be compelled to travel by foot, but instead, would be whisked to their destination in individual egg-shaped cars traveling in underground tubes at 200 miles an hour.

The Robinson family occupied a two-story frame house painted a depressing dark brown, with a drooping palm in the front yard and some dying geraniums along the driveway. Relatives who visited the Robinsons said that you didn't begin to appreciate the place until you had been there for a couple of days. By that time, you discovered that the windows could only be opened by application of a crowbar; and once opened, stubbornly resisted all efforts to close them again. The doorbell had ceased to function long ago. The old heater never furnished quite enough water for a really hot bath, and was apt to emit ominous rumbling sounds if forced beyond its natural capacity. Similarly, the furnace functioned in a spasmodic and irrational manner, the faucets dripped, and the roof leaked. When the Robinsons had moved into the house fifteen years before, they had waged valiant warfare against the forces of nature. But something always arose to thwart their efforts. The monkey wrench was too small or the screwdriver was too big, and there was never enough money to call a plumber. And so by degrees they had grown used to living in a house where nothing worked properly. It was so much easier to let things slide than to be trying to fix them continually.

"I gotcha covered," a small voice growled, as Bruce came in the drive. "Take another step and I'll let you have it."

Bruce smiled at the crude outfit in which his six-year-old brother Frank was clad, intended to represent the costume of Captain Fury, the hero of his favorite television serial.

"Well, well, where are you today?" he queried. "On Mars or is it Jupiter this time?"

"I'm on Titan, the capital city of Saturn. Why?"

"I just wondered," Bruce replied airily, "because there's a couple of holes in your oxygen tank."

"You're going to catch it," Frank warned, suddenly stepping out of character. "You were supposed to work on the garden today."

Bruce sauntered into the house, disdaining to reply to such a remark emanating from so low a source. His mother was bent over the kitchen sink peeling potatoes. She was a small woman with anxious dark eyes who was still rather pretty in a faded way.

"I thought you were going to get here in time to spade up the garden," she said, by way of greeting. "Seems to me you get home from school later every day."

Bruce tossed his books on the sideboard. "What makes Dad keep trying to grow a garden anyhow? We've never raised more than a dime's worth of radishes and turnips yet."

"Well, we'd better raise something this year if we're going to keep on eating. Unless your father makes some money pretty soon."

"I'll work on it in a minute," he said. "Soon as I change my pants." He started climbing wearily upstairs to his room.

There Bruce sat down on the bed and stared listlessly at the opposite wall. Never had his life seemed so dreary and hopeless as now. There was no future to it. No possibility of lifting himself out of the miserable condition into which he had sunk.

Presently he recovered sufficiently to walk across the room to a bookshelf upon which reposed his most cherished possession, a set of twenty-four volumes in red and gold comprising the Encyclopedia of Universal Knowledge. He had won it in a prize contest six months before, having been required only to finish the sentence, "I like Nellie Cress's Peanut Butter because . . ." in twenty-five words or less. Prizes had ranged from ten thousand dollars down to a set of the Encyclopedia of Universal Knowledge. Bruce had sent in his sentence without the slightest hope of winning anything, since such prizes always seemed to go to housewives in obscure places such as Wenatchee, Washington, or Logansport, Indiana. Thus, when a telegram came one morning informing him that he was one of the lucky winners, it had'been the biggest moment of his life. It was proof that wonderful things did happen to ordinary people like himself.

Bruce took down Volume XV (Lie to Mer) and began turning the pages at random. It was surprising how many interesting subjects you could find in the encyclopedia, fascinating discussions on posthypnotic suggestion, devil worship, and diseases of the trachea. He was absorbed in an account of lycanthropy in the mountainous regions of Hungary, when a clatter in the driveway startled him. His father must be home early that evening. It wasn't five o'clock yet. He hastily replaced the book on the shelf and began changing into his old clothes. By the time he got downstairs his father was coming in the back door.

"I was kind of late getting started on the garden," Bruce told him. "I was just on my way out—"

Mr. Robinson silenced him with a wave of his hand. He was a tall man with dark hair, and now he had a gleam in his eye that had not been there for months.

"Helen, where are you?" he called to his wife. "Come into the living room. There's something I want to tell you."

Mrs. Robinson came in from the kitchen, nervously wiping her hands on her apron. "Now, Paul, if you've got another scheme for growing mushrooms in the cellar or making synthetic diamonds—"

"Nothing like that, my dear," he said, kissing his wife on the cheek. "This is a good solid proposition. Why, it's even got a salary attached to it."

He drew a long official looking envelope from his inside coat pocket and slapped it against the palm of his hand. "It's happened!" he cried. "The very thing I've been waiting and hoping for all these days. Remember that government application I filled out a year ago?"

His wife paled. "Oh, Paul, you don't mean—" "Ah, but that's exactly what I do mean. Everything's settled. It's all signed and sealed."

He waved his arm in a sweeping gesture that included the entire room. "It means an end to all this. All this shabbiness and hardship. These petty economies. This continual struggle for the bare necessities of existence."

Bruce was listening with growing excitement. "Well, that sure sounds good, Dad, but what is it anyhow?" "I've got a real job, my boy. Or rather a position I should say. Yes, definitely a position. You now see before you the new public relations man of Tycho City. The papers informing me that my application has been approved and accepted just came through today. The government will bear the entire expense of caring for our belongings and transporting us to our new home site."

Mrs. Robinson looked slightly dazed. "Tycho City? Where on Earth is that?"

Her husband laughed. "It's not on Earth at all. It's on the moon. We re to leave immediately. As soon as we can get our things packed."

Chapter 2 Toward the Moon

I

HE waiting room at the spaceport reminded Bruce of an oversize operating room. It wasn't in the least like the waiting room at a railway station or airport. There were no people standing around, no counters laden with magazines and candy bars, no soft drink stands or gum machines. Only a plain white room illuminated by indirect lighting with a corridor at one end leading to unknown realms beyond. Through a tall plate glass window he could see the high-thrust ferry rocket gleaming under banks of floodlights. At a distance of two miles it looked more like a miniature, a model of a rocket, than the real thing. For the first time he began to feel a little afraid. The furious activity of the last few days had left him no time in which to think. Now he began to realize that this journey into space was actually happening to him—Bruce Robinson, a sixteen-year-old boy in an 11A classroom at L. A. High.

Mrs. Robinson tried to restrain Frank from climbing over the back of his chair. "Well, here we are right on time. What happens to us now?"

Mr. Robinson looked around him uncertainly. "I think we're supposed to see the space surgeon. You wait here while I go find him." He started down the corridor inspecting the signs on the doors.

Bruce strolled over to the window where he could get a better view of the tiny figures moving around the base of the rocket. As he watched, a door opened in the side of the ship disclosing a figure silhouetted against the light beyond. That must be where the living quarters are located, Bruce thought. The place where people stayed while the ship was climbing to the thousand mile level to meet the deep-space machine.

He returned to the long bench where his mother and Frank were sitting. "Just think, it won't be long till we're in that rocket out there ourselves. I wonder how it'll feel to be leaving the Earth behind?"

"I still can't believe it," his mother said. "We've lived in that old house on Pico Street so long I supposed we'd be there for the rest of our lives. And now, here we are going to the moon—of all places! I do hope nobody breaks in and damages anything while we're gone."

"There's nothing much for anyone to damage," Bruce quickly reminded her. "The place is pretty well run down already."

"Still it was home just the same," she reflected. "I never realized I'd gotten so fond of it."

Bruce was silent, watching the men hoist several crates into the rocket. They seemed to be handling them with great care.

"I sure hated to leave my encyclopedia behind," he said. "I was reading a swell article on nyctitropism."

"What in heaven's name is that?"

"Study of the way plants move at night. Their sleep movements."

"Well, I'm sure I can't see what good knowing about that will ever do you," his mother told him. "I wish you'd show as much interest in your schoolwork as you do in that encyclopedia."

She turned to look down the corridor. "Where's your father? Whatever can be keeping the man now?"

"Here he comes," Bruce said. "There's another man with him. Looks like some kind of doctor."

"Oh, dear," his mother sighed, "I've been thumped and pounded enough in the last few days to last me the rest of my life."

Mr. Robinson came up, briskly followed by a gray-haired man dressed in a heavily starched and immaculate white jacket.

"This is Dr. Nolan, the space physician," Mr. Robinson said. "He'd like to see us for a few minutes before leaving."

Dr. Nolan smiled reassuringly. "People sometimes get a little nervous before boarding a rocket, especially if it's their first trip," he explained. "I often feel that way myself and I've nearly five hundred hours in space now." He studied Mrs. Robinson with a professional air. "How are you feeling?"

"Kind of weak," she admitted.

"And you?" he said, turning to Bruce.

"I guess I feel kind of weak, too," he confessed.

"In that case, I think it would be advisable if you stepped into my office for a few minutes. We'll see if we can't do something for that weak feeling."

They followed the doctor down the corridor to his office. A crisp young woman in a nurse's uniform was sitting at a desk by the door. Bruce thought she couldn't be much older than himself.

"This is the Robinson family," the doctor told her. "They're leaving for the moon on the next rocket. May I have their cards please? I want to give them a little sedation."

The crisp young woman extracted four cards from a drawer by her side.

"Here we are," she said brightly. "Mr. and Mrs. Paul Robinson, their son Bruce, age sixteen, and Frank, age six. Will you sign here, please? Mr, Robinson can sign for the little boy."

They signed their names on the line indicated. Bruce's hand shook so badly that he left a blob of ink on his card.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I've got the jitters, I guess."

The nurse expertly picked up the ink with the corner of her blotter. "Is this your first trip to the moon?"

"Yes it is. We're going to Tycho City. My dad's got a job there."

"Oh, that's nice. I think you'll like it there. You feel so light and airy on the moon. As if you had wings on your feet."

Bruce couldn't conceal his astonishment. "You mean you've been there!"

She smiled, "Oh, yes, lots of times. In fact, I was born on the moon."

"Oh!" Bruce gasped. He watched her dumbly while she made some notations on his card and signed her initials at the bottom.

"I think Dr. Nolan is ready for you now," she told him. "Here's your card—and good luck."

The doctor waited until the Robinsons were all seated. Then he closed the door and confronted them from behind his desk.

"I'm going to be perfectly honest with you. At the start, when the rocket is climbing, you will find the going pretty rough. If you should feel yourself blacking out don't be alarmed. Try to remember that everything is under control and that the condition is only temporary. It will begin to ease when the ship reaches the five hundred mile mark and levels off into a circular orbit to intercept the deep-space interplanetary machine."

He picked up a small brown bottle from his desk, removed the stopper, and shook some red capsules into the palm of his hand.

"As soon as the ship is traveling in a free satellite orbit you will experience an entirely different sensation. The sensation of complete weightlessness or the zero-g state, as we call it. You will probably find this rather unpleasant at first. You may feel as if you are falling, or become nauseated, and undergo considerable physiological and psychological tension. But again I say—do not be alarmed. Try to remember that you are really quite safe, much safer than when you are trying to cross a busy street."

He indicated the capsules in his hand. "This medicine will steady you down and ease the take-off for you. It's perfectly harmless. A simple precaution that helps smooth out the journey for you."

"How soon do we leave?" Mr. Robinson asked, after the family had disposed of their capsules.

"I expect you'd better be moving toward the runway now," Dr. Nolan told him. "The car to the rocket is probably already waiting."

The doctor accompanied them as far as the door leading into the corridor. "I see you're transferring to the Sirius at the thousand-mile level," he remarked, glancing at their cards. "That's one of the best ships on the line. Fine captain. Splendid equipment. You couldn't be in better hands."

"Why, I supposed they were all good," Mr. Robinson said. "Don't they have to pass government inspection regularly?"

"Oh, yes, yes," Dr. Nolan assured him. "They're all good. Hard to choose one against the other, in fact. I just happen to favor the Sirius. It's been awarded top rating for three years running now."

They told the doctor good-by and hurried on out to the waiting room. A slim young man in blue uniform accosted them.

"Is this the Robinson family?"

"That's us," Mr. Robinson told him.

"May I see your cards, please?"

He examined the cards quickly, then passed them back. "Well, since everything seems to be in order we might as well get out to the ship at once. Word just came that your deep-space ship is over Australia now."

Bruce began to have the feeling of being swept along in a relentless current against which he was powerless to struggle. But a curious feeling of indifference was also stealing over him. A happy conviction that everything was going to turn out all right. Why, people left for the moon every week and nothing happened to them. The moon! That big yellow disk up in the sky. To think that in only a few more hours he would actually be walking over its dusty surface. Collecting lunar minerals. Exploring the ground around some ancient crater.

For the first time he noticed a self-conscious little group assembled by the door leading to the runway. They came forward awkwardly as the Robinsons hove in sight. Bruce stopped in his tracks.

"The space club!" he cried.

Herb Jenkins advanced at the head of the procession. "We thought you'd like to have us come down and see you off," he said. There was a tone in his voice that Bruce had never heard before.

Herb fumbled in his pocket while the others looked on expectantly.

"The club wanted to give you a little something to remember us by," he said, handing Bruce a small package wrapped in heavy brown paper. "It's a modern astrolabe my dad got as a souvenir. It isn't much, but we thought you could measure the height of some of the craters with it—and maybe it would remind you of the rest of us down here on the Earth eating lunch over in our old corner on the bleachers."

Bruce turned over the package in his hands. "Well, thanks, fellows. It was sure nice of you. You didn't need to ... I mean I never expected you guys to do anything at all."

The young man in uniform touched his arm. "I'm sorry but we've got to be on our way."

Bruce waved his hand in a gesture which he tried to make very casual. "Good-by, everybody. And thanks a lot for the present." He hurried on out to the car without daring to look back.

From the waiting-room window the rocket had seemed like a perfectly formed toy. You had to get close to it before you could appreciate what a monstrous structure it was. It was like a ten-story building pointed at the stars.

"This way, please," a voice said. "The elevator is waiting."

They stepped into a steel cage barely large enough to hold them all. Bruce felt the elevator rising. The door slid back revealing a narrow bridge leading to a door in the side of the rocket.

"Straight ahead and watch your step," the voice commanded.

Bruce obeyed mechanically. He seemed to have lost the power to think or act for himself. The medicine probably. He wondered if the others felt as he did.

"All right, folks," another voice told them, "lie down there in those hammocks. Fasten yourselves in with those straps. Here—like this." Bruce felt strong hands tightening straps over his feet and chest.

"Feel all right?"

Bruce was aware of a keen pair of eyes gazing into his.

"Yeah, fine," he murmured absently.

"Good. We leave in five minutes. Relax."

Bruce could hear people moving about and conversing in low tones. He wondered what they were talking about but the words were too faint for him to catch. After what seemed a long time he noticed that the interior of the rocket had become very still. There was not a sound. A light blinked twice, then went out, leaving them in total darkness. Perhaps there was something wrong, he thought. He tried to sit up but the strap across his chest held him fast.

The whole ship trembled as if it were in the grasp of a monster hand. There was a roaring noise as if all the winds of the Earth had broken loose. Bruce felt a force pressing him down and down harder and harder. The last thing he remembered was clawing at the strap over his chest, trying vainly to free himself.

When he regained consciousness the interior of the ship was brightly lighted. The walls still vibrated slightly and there was a low steady hum coming from beneath his feet. But the awful force that had been pressing against him was gone. Also, someone had released the straps over his chest and legs. He sat up and looked around. His head felt heavy and his knees were wobbly, but otherwise he seemed to be in pretty fair shape.

His mother and father were bending over Frank.

"How's everything?" Bruce asked.

"Frank cut his lip and your mother bruised her shoulder a little; otherwise we came through without mishap," his father said.

Bruce lay back on the foam rubber matting and closed his eyes. It was hard to get his mind working. He shook his head several times. There. That was better. He was beginning to think again.

Suddenly it hit him. By this time they must be out in space. Real space. He got up on his hands and knees and crawled over to the nearest window. There it was all spread out before him exactly as he had imagined it so many times before, the Earth, a gigantic bluish crescent below. The black sky set with hard unwinking stars. And nearly overhead the gibbous moon serenely shining down. He sat for a long time taking in every detail of the scene. How sharp and clear everything looked! No wonder astronomers on Earth had such a time trying to see anything with their telescopes. Out in space you could see as much with your eye as you could make out down on the surface with a pair of binoculars.

Bruce turned from the window and started eagerly across the room.

"Hey, come here and take a look outside," he said.

Now what was the matter? He couldn't seem to make his legs behave. And his feet! Instead of resting firmly on the floor they were suspended several inches above it. He wiggled his toes in an effort to touch the floor but only succeeded in floating gently toward the ceiling. Suddenly he had the most terrifying sensation that he was falling. He tread the air with his legs and waved his arms frantically. Nothing happened except that he began to tilt over backwards.

"Take hold of this," one of the members of the crew told him, gliding over to the boy and guiding his hands to a grabrope on the wall. "We're leveling out into a circular orbit now. In another minute we'll be under zero-g. Makes you feel kind of funny till you get used to it."

Bruce clung tightly to the side of the wall for several minutes until the sensation of falling eased off. Gradually he relaxed his hold on the grabrope. He remained suspended against the side of the wall like a fly. Presently he summoned up enough courage to give himself a push. The impulse sent him across the cabin at an astonishing speed so that he brought up against the opposite wall with a hard jar.

"Easy there," the crewman growled. "You'll wreck yourself and the ship, too."

The room seemed suddenly filled with people. Frank was paddling around the ceiling with his mother in vain pursuit, while his father lay floating near the floor watching the spectacle.

Bruce propelled himself toward the window again, this time paying due regard for the safety of himself as well as the furnishings. He found floating to be a frightening yet exhilarating experience, one that would probably be kind of fun once you got the hang of it.

While watching the panorama of the sky Bruce discerned an object in the distance shining like a star, except that it underwent changes in brightness unlike any of the stars around it. For a while he thought it might be a reflection in the thick glass of the window, but the object was always there, no matter how he looked at it. The object grew rapidly in size. Now it was quite evidently not a star at all, but a gleaming metallic disk.

Bruce called excitedly to his father.

"I think our deep-space ship is just ahead. We're gaining on her fast."

His father floated over to the window beside him.

"I believe you're right," he said, shielding his eyes against the light. "I hardly thought we'd contact her so soon."

"It looks like a big shiny pie plate, doesn't it?" his mother said. "Why, it doesn't look like a rocket at all."

Bruce laughed. "Out in space in a vacuum there's no air resistance. A feather will move as fast as a bullet. So it doesn't make any difference whether the ship is streamlined or not."

Within a few minutes they were able to obtain a side view of the craft. There were some letters along the edge but it was hard to make them out,

"What did the doctor say was the name of the ship to which we're transferring?" Mr, Robinson asked.

"The Sirius" Bruce replied promptly. "Don't you remember? He said we were lucky because it was the best ship on the line."

"That's strange," his father said. "There's something about this I don't understand."

"What's the matter?"

"Wait till the sun hits the side of the ship just right. Then tell me what its name is."

Bruce studied intently. "It's hard to make out. There —I just got it. Why, the name isn't the Sirius at all. It's got Aurora painted on the side."

The members of the family looked at one another blankly.

"What do you suppose that means?" Bruce asked.

Mr. Robinson shook his head. "Nothing probably. Just a change in orders, no doubt." But his face was grave as he gathered together their belongings preparatory to transfer to the deep-space machine.

Chapter 3 The Aurora

I

HE instrument panel fascinated Bruce. He thought he would never grow tired of watching its rows of illuminated dials, its bewildering array of buttons and indicators, and the charts over which tiny points of light responded to every move of the ship. Imagine being able to operate that panel, he thought. Of actually knowing what everything on it meant!

"I'll bet it would take me forever to learn how to run a spaceship," he said, watching the quivering needle on one of the dials.

Jim Gregor laughed. He was a stout, middle-aged man with thin red hair and the only member of the Auroras crew who even tried to be friendly.

"Learning how to pilot a spaceship isn't nearly the job today that it was when I started in fifteen years ago," he said. "Believe me, it was really rugged then. Back in those days you really had to think once in a while. Now there's nothing to it. All your thinking's done for you."

"That's good," said Bruce. "Maybe there'll be some chance for me."

"Now you see this button here," Gregor went on, tapping a heavy black-topped disk by his side. "This is what we call the memory button. You'll notice it's already set. I plugged it in a little before you folks came aboard. At the proper time that button will start the reactors going at just the right rate to take us out of this circular orbit and send us off to the moon."

Bruce regarded the memory button with deep respect.

"But how does it know when to do that?" he asked.

Gregor indicated three charts on the panel over which pin points of light were moving.

"The memory button gets that information from these charts. Those points of light show the distance of the Earth, moon, and ship from the sun. When I lock them together like this," he pointed to another button "a machine goes to work and automatically solves the problem of how to get us to the moon. All I've got to do is take the figures that come up on this dial, feed 'em into the memory machine, and we're as good as on the moon."

Bruce shook his head. "It still looks pretty complicated to me. I'm afraid I never could pass the examination for a pilot's license."

Gregor gave him a puzzled look. "What's the matter with you anyhow? What makes you keep running yourself down all the time?"

"I don't know. I just never seemed to get along as fast as I should. The only thing I ever did was win an encyclopedia once."

"Win an encyclopedia?"

Bruce gave the pilot an enthusiastic account of his activities in the Nellie Cress Peanut Butter Contest.

"Well, you see, that just proves that you never know what you can do till you try/* Gregor commented. "Some day you'll get in a tight fix and then you'll surprise yourself. You'll find you can do a lot of things that would have scared you to death before."

Bruce gazed thoughtfully out of the window at the disk of the Earth. The ship was over the sunlit side now so that the continents and oceans were easily discernible. There was Canada and the United States and South America as plain as could be, with Greenland kind of dim over on the edge. The sight reminded him of the Earth globe in Room 212 at L. A. High where he had taken geography. Only the poles on the real Earth were different. Instead of being marked with brass knobs as they were on the school globe, the Earth poles were white regions extending over an enormous area.

Bruce returned to the instrument panel. "How fast are we doing now?"

"A little over four miles a second," Gregor said. "We ought to be at our transfer point to the moon soon now."

"And you don't have to guide her or anything?"

"Nope. Whole job's done by the memory button. Great invention, the memory button."

"Doesn't it forget sometimes, the same as people do?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say it never forgets. The memory button's a machine and there's no machine that's perfect. But if anything should go wrong we've got other ways of checking. We used to have to check on the ship every half-hour. Those were regulations. Now we hardly ever have to bother."

"What are the other ways to check?"

Gregor sighed. "Where'd you get all that curiosity? From reading the encyclopedia?"

The pilot pointed to a pen tracing a line on a moving strip of paper. Two red lines were printed on the paper with a black line in the center. The point of the pen was near the black line.

"That line the pen is tracing there now tells how fast the ship is moving with respect to the sun. As long as it keeps near that central black line, we're all right. But if it should climb up above the top red line, it would mean that we were above escape velocity, and were going away from the sun so fast the ship would never come back unless we turned on the jets."

"How about the bottom line?"

"That's almost as bad. If the pen should get below the bottom red line, it would mean that we were falling toward the sun and that we'd better get going in the other direction fast. In either case this red light over the panel would come on to warn us of danger. If you ever see that red light burning you'll know that something has gone wrong."

Bruce was about to ask another question when he was interrupted by footsteps coming down the passageway. Gregor hastily motioned him away from the instrument panel. A moment later the engineer entered. He regarded Bruce suspiciously.

"Who told you to come in here?" he demanded.

"Nobody," Bruce replied. "You see, it's the first time

I've ever been on a spaceship. I've always been crazy about the idea of space travel and—"

"Like all the other kids," the engineer told him. "You mean you're crazy about the glamour of it. Well, you can forget all that stuff, right now."

He turned to Gregor. "Better not let the captain find the boy in here. You know how he is about regulations."

"He seemed so interested," Gregor said, "I didn't think it would hurt."

"Probably wouldn't, but it could get us all in bad just the same. Besides—we can't take any chances on this trip."

They exchanged glances. Bruce started edging out of the room but the engineer stopped him.

"Say, you aren't quite so big as the rest of us. Maybe you could be of some help to us. Some boxes have gotten stuck down in the storage room. Like to give us a hand with them?"

Bruce jumped at the chance. "I sure would!" The thought of being of some use on a spaceship, instead of so much dead weight, had never occurred to him.

"Well, come along then. And how about you, Gregor? Can you leave the panel for a while?"

"I think so. She's on memory now."

"Good. We'll need all the help we can get."

Bruce followed the two men down the winding passage that led to the storage room. He admired the ease with which they were able to negotiate the twists and turns of the ship. The disk was made to rotate slowly, producing a sort of artificial gravity so that everything within the ship tended to move toward the outer walls. Thus, to the passengers the direction of the outer rim was "down." The artificial gravity worked all right as long as you were perfectly still but whenever you moved you felt a force acting to pull you sideways. It was like trying to walk on a moving merry-go-round.

The engineer opened a door leading to a small room filled with boxes. Some of the boxes had apparently gotten badly crushed against the side of the wall, so that knobs and wheels could be seen shining through the broken boards. Bruce couldn't help wondering what they were. He decided that perhaps they might be sewing machines. People were said to use sewing machines everywhere, so why not on the moon?

The captain was tugging at one of the boxes and muttering something under his breath. He glanced up quickly as the door opened. Bruce felt cold gray eyes boring into his.

"What's the kid doing here?" he said.

"I thought maybe he could get in behind those boxes better than we can," the engineer told him.

The captain frowned. He was a sturdy, powerfully built man with massive shoulders and huge hands. A man who would be dangerous if you happened to get in his way. He nodded to Bruce.

"All right, son. See if you can get in behind there and work that box loose. It's in a place where none of us can get at it."

Bruce promptly went to work with more energy than skill. By pressing his body flat against the wall he was able to work his way in behind the box, although he was in decidedly close quarters.

"Make it?" the captain grunted.

"Just barely," said Bruce. "What do I do now?"

"See if you can push against that box while we pull from this side. Be careful now. We don't want any more accidents."

Bruce pushed against the box but without effect. He pushed harder but still the box refused to budge.

"She's stuck tight," the engineer muttered. "It doesn't give a bit."

"Shove harder back there, can't you?" the captain growled.

"I'll do my best," Bruce promised. "All right," the captain ordered, "everybody hit it when I say 'Now/ "

Bruce took a deep breath and braced himself.

"Now!"

Bruce threw himself at the box. There was a splintering crash as the box skidded across the room with Bruce behind it. They brought up together against the hard metal surface of the opposite wall. The box was split wide open.

"Now we've gone and done it," the captain said. "If anything on that instrument is broken . . ."

They examined the machine, paying no attention whatever to Bruce.

"It's all right, I guess," the engineer said, after a brief inspection. "Nothing that can't be fixed anyhow."

"Hurt yourself?" Gregor inquired, helping Bruce to his feet.

"No, I don't think so," Bruce said, rubbing his jaw where it had struck the corner of the box.

The captain shot a glance at Bruce, then grabbed a sheet of wrapping paper and threw it over the instrument. Not until it was completely covered did he turn to the boy.

"We'll take it from here," he told him shortly, "Thanks for the help."

"I'll be glad to stay if I can—"

"I said we'd take it from here."

Bruce turned slowly and started down the passageway when the captain seized him by the shoulder. His fingers bit into his arm as if they were made of steel.

"And remember," the captain said, looking him steadily in the eye, "you don't know anything about these boxes. You never saw these boxes. You never saw anything in them. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," Bruce stammered.

The captain's fingers relaxed. "Now run along. If we need you again we'll let you know."

Bruce made his way back to the room assigned to the Robinsons. His father was sleeping. His mother was holding Frank in her lap reading Peter Rabbit. Bruce lay down by one of the windows and gazed moodily out at the stars. His mother glanced up from her book.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

"Nothing," Bruce replied.

"You look worried."

"I'm all right. I'm fine."

Mrs. Robinson shook her head. There were times when she found it impossible to understand her son. She sighed and returned to Peter Rabbit.

Bruce tried to amuse himself by tracing some of the constellations he had learned. He located Orion and Taurus all right but where was Cetus? And what had happened to the Pleiades? There were so many more stars visible in space than on the Earth that it was hard to recognize the figures. After a while he gave it up and rolled over on his back. A few days ago, if people had told him that he would ever grow tired of looking out of the window of a spaceship, he would have said they were crazy. Now he was beginning to realize what others had learned before him—that there is no travel quite so boring as space travel.

Lying there lazily looking up at the ceiling, by degrees a feeling stole over him that something about the ship had changed since the incident in the storage room. Was it his imagination, or was the ship vibrating with a barely perceptible hum, as if the jets were working again? He wondered if anything could have gone wrong? But according to Gregor there was nothing that could have gone wrong. The modern spaceship was virtually foolproof.

Nevertheless he sat up and glanced through the open door leading into the passageway. Something was wrong! An unmistakable red glow was emanating from the direction of the control room. Bruce got up and made his way unsteadily down the corridor. He was right! The red danger signal over the instrument panel was burning bright.

He whirled and started back to the storage room as fast as his legs could carry him. The captain had told him to stay away, but this was different. Something must have gone suddenly terribly wrong if that red light was burning.

Bruce hesitated at the door of the storage room.

The three men were so intent upon the machine, that for a moment, they failed to notice him. "Mr. Gregor."

The words had the effect of a pistol shot. Instantly the men swung around.

The captain came toward him menacingly. "I thought I told you to keep out of here!"

"I didn't mean to bother you again but I thought you ought to know. The red light's burning over the instrument panel. I just found out."

"The kid must be crazy," the engineer muttered. "How could anything possibly . . ."

He stopped as if listening to something. The ship was unquestionably vibrating slightly.

"Well, it won't take long to find out," Gregor said. He dashed out of the control room with the engineer close behind him.

The captain started to follow, then turned to stuff some paper around the packing box. When the instrument was covered, he motioned to Bruce.

"All right. Go on and get out of here."

By the time they reached the control room, Gregor was at the instrument panel, the engineer beside him. The red light was still burning. Gregor was punching buttons at a great rate.

"We're out of contact with everything," he said, "besides being way off our course'"

"This is the first time anything like this ever happened to a ship of mine," the captain told him. "What's the matter, Mr. Gregor?"

"That's hard to say, sir, until I've had a chance to examine more thoroughly."

"Can you give us our approximate velocity and position in space?"

"I'll do the best I can."

Gregor set an instrument into operation which Bruce was unable to see clearly from his post by the control room door. The captain and engineer watched tensely as the pilot's fingers manipulated the buttons. Presently he wrote some figures on a pad, and sat studying them as if he were unable to believe his eyes.

"Well, what's the answer?" said the captain.

"We're falling fast," said Gregor. "The jets must have been wide open to send us in toward the sun at such a rate."

"Well, let's turn around and get headed out again. That's easy."

"I'm afraid it's not quite that simple, sir. You see, we're nearly out of working fluid."

The captain muttered, "But there must be something we can do. Some way out."

"I see only one way out and that isn't a very bright one." Gregor indicated a point on one of the charts. "We're moving in a fast hyperbolic orbit that will take us through this position—here—in another five days. It so happens that a planet will be close by at the time we reach there."

The captain leaned nearer the chart. "But that point is less than seventy million miles from the sun. There's only one planet at that distance. You don't mean—?"

"That's precisely what I do mean," Gregor replied calmly. "I mean the planet Venus. You can see it there out of the window now."

They turned to look at the pale disk gleaming ahead.

Chapter 4 Crash landing

o THAT was Venus, Bruce thought. He knew he should feel frightened now that they were getting within landing distance, but so far, he didn't feel scared a bit. How could you feel scared at the sight of a world that looked like the top of one of your mother's lemon cream pies?

Gregor studied the billowy white cloud expanse spread out before them. "A weather man ought to have an easy life on Venus," he chuckled. "Just predict clouds every day and he'd always be right."

"Must be awful dark down on the surface," Bruce remarked.

"That's something nobody really knows," said Gregor. "If the cloud layer is thin enough, a good deal of sunlight might get through. But if the clouds are several miles deep, it would certainly be pretty gloomy."

"Seems funny we still know so little about Venus, doesn't it?"

"Oh, I don't know. Why, there are many places on the Earth we don't know much about yet, like Tibet

and Lower California, for instance. There are some parts of Kansas where there isn't a house in sight."

They were silent for several minutes lost in contemplation of the planet. Presently Bruce moved away from the window.

"Say, Gregor," he began, lowering his voice.

"Yeah?"

"Did—did you ever hear a story about a fellow who went on an expedition to Venus all by himself and was never heard from again?"

The pilot did not reply immediately. Bruce marked how tired and pale he looked. For the last five days he had been under the strain of maneuvering the ship into a path to match the orbit of Venus, a complicated operation that had nearly exhausted their supply of fuel.

"Well, I don't see there's much point in keeping it a secret any longer," he said. "Yes, there's a story that about five years ago a man set out for Venus on his own. A crazy thing to do, of course. It reminds you of that young fellow who set out all alone to scale Mount Everest. Naturally it was doomed to failure from the start, although we know this other fellow must have arrived, because a message came through from Venus immediately after landing. Then his outfit went dead and that's been the last that was ever heard from him."

"Do you suppose he's still there?" Bruce asked. "Maybe we'll find him when we land."

"Maybe. I doubt if I'll ever see him anyhow."

Something in the pilot's voice struck Bruce as strange. "Why not?" he asked.

Gregor grinned. "Oh, I don't know. It's something you can't explain. You get hunches like that after you've been out in space awhile. 'Space crazy,' the doctors call it."

Bruce went over to the window again. The ship was approaching the nightside of the planet. The clouds along the twilight zone seemed more tempestuous than the layer over the rest of the disk. He was about to call the pilot's attention to the fact when the captain and engineer strode in. The captain went straight to Gregor.

"How far we up now?"

"About a thousand miles with a possible error of a hundred miles either way."

"Been able to establish contact yet?"

"Not yet. I had Tycho City once but only for an instant. Our communication system has gone completely haywire."

The captain grunted. "Well, we can't continue circling over Venus forever. There's only enough grub for a few more days. How much fuel have we?"

"We're scraping bottom now."

"But you still have to set the ship down."

"We either have to set her down, or keep circling indefinitely. There's always a chance someone will pick us up."

"Yeah," the captain muttered, "when we're only thirty million miles off the spaceways. Fine chance!"

The captain and engineer withdrew to the opposite window where they conferred for several minutes in low voices. When they returned, the captain's jaw was set in a hard line.

"We're going in," he announced. "You can start at

once."

"Very well," Gregor said, seating himself at the instrument panel, "I'll do the best I can."

Bruce rushed down the passageway to their cabin where the family was assembled before one of the windows looking at Venus.

"I just heard we're going in for a landing," Bruce told them. "The captain seems to think it's our only chance."

"Then there's no possibility of getting help?" his father asked.

"Guess not," said Bruce. "Look. You can see we're closer already."

Seething clouds were spread out like a limitless sheet of fog in all directions. The planet no longer looked like a globe, but now appeared flat, like the surface of the Earth from a high mountain.

"What's that over there?" Mrs. Robinson asked. "That black thing looming up through the clouds."

They pressed their noses against the glass. "Must be a mountain peak," Mr. Robinson remarked. "Yes, that's what it is, all right. The top is clear above the cloud level."

"Sure is a whopper," said Bruce. "Twenty miles high if it's an inch."

The ship was now trembling violently while a deep roaring noise mounted higher every second.

"Boy, listen to Gregor pouring it on," said Bruce, flattening himself against the foam rubber matting.

"Let's pray he can make it," Mr. Robinson cried. "How near are we to the cloud layer?"

"We'll be there in another minute," Bruce shouted. He had to yell with all his might to make himself heard above the motors.

Suddenly the ship gave a violent lurch to one side, producing the sensation of an elevator dropping a couple of feet. Bruce sank inches deep in the foam rubber.

"What was that?" his father gasped, trying to sit up.

Bruce shook his head. It was impossible to make himself heard above the roar of the reactors fighting the gravity of the planet.

At that moment the dim gray light outside the window was illuminated by a brilliant sheet of flame, apparently issuing from the side of the ship itself. Bruce dragged himself over to the glass. Something was coming out of the side of the ship—a long capsule-shaped body, with twin jets of fire streaming from one end. The object surged nearer. Bruce cried out and pointed toward the capsule.

"It's the captain and the engineer! I can see 'em inside that thing."

For a moment the capsule hung beside the Aurora as if reluctant to leave, then, with a burst of flame from the exhausts, dropped rapidly away. A moment later it was lost among the dense clouds.

Bruce crawled across the floor over to the passage leading to the control room. At the door he managed to regain his feet and stumble along the corridor to the instrument panel. Gregor was moving an indicator slowly back and forth across a dial.

As Bruce stepped into the room the sound of the motors sputtered and died. The silence that followed was as startling as the roar that had shaken the ship before.

"Well, that's the end of the fuel," Gregor remarked. "Now we're strictly on our own."

"Did you know that the captain and the engineer just abandoned ship?" Bruce gasped. "They took off only a minute ago."

Gregor nodded darkly, "I know. They wanted me to come along and help pilot the escape rocket. I told them I was staying here on the Aurora where I belonged."

The light outside was growing slightly brighter. Bruce stepped to the window.

"We're through the cloud layer," he said. "I think I can make out the surface."

But Gregor was not paying attention. He was at the instrument panel, working with desperate haste. His eyes were shining. Sweat was rolling off his face.

In the gathering darkness Bruce saw it coming barely in time—the side of a cliff dead ahead! He dived into the foam rubber cushion at the base of the control board and wrapped his arms around his head. The last thing he saw was Gregor, still bent over the board, shouting into the transmitter.

Chapter 5 y*™*

N the course of his sixteen years upon the planet Earth, Bruce had fallen downstairs a couple of times, had been through three southern California earthquakes, and once in a dare-devil mood had gone through the Fun House at Santa Monica beach. All these experiences taken together, however, were as nothing compared with the one he was undergoing now. He wondered how much punishment the ship could take before it cracked into little pieces—or before he went to pieces himself. Just when he decided it could not hold together a moment longer, the ship gave a final heave, teetered back and forth several times, then came to a full stop.

Bruce lay still, too stunned and dazed to move. Presently he sat up and began taking inventory. Outside of some bruises on his back and shoulder and a gash on one knee he seemed to be all right. He tried to stand once but sank back quickly upon the foam rubber. Shock probably, he told himself. The words of his encyclopedia came back to him ... "The patient will look gray, pale, or purplish. His breadiing will

be rapid and shallow; the body cold and clammy. The patient will reply if spoken to but will seldom volunteer information." His own symptoms exactly, he decided, with some satisfaction. If he couldn't pass the examination for a space pilot's license maybe he could be a doctor instead.

He lay there for a long time feeling no desire to move or to explore the situation further. The next thing he knew someone was calling his name. He opened his eyes to find his father supporting himself against the door, as he looked at him.

"Thank heaven you're alive!" his father said. "Hurt much?"

Bruce managed to get to his feet this time and examined himself again. "Not much, I guess. How're Mother and Frank?"

"Mother was shaken up badly but doesn't seem to be hurt as far as we can tell. Frank came through without a scratch."

"He would," said Bruce. "He bounces around like a rubber ball."

He began limping about the narrow confines of the control room, testing out his arms and legs. Then he stopped and drew back, clutching a broken railing for support. The place was a complete wreck. The gleaming dials and moving charts that had constituted the nerve center of the vessel were reduced to a shattered mass of rubbish. And in the center, slumped over the instrument panel with one hand still resting on the transmitter, was Gregor.

Bruce struggled across the room and shook him gently. "Gregor," he said. "Gregor."

The still form did not respond. Mr. Robinson bent over and laid his ear against the pilot's side. Then he straightened up and shook his head. "I'm afraid it's no use. There's nothing we can do for him."

"You mean—he's dead?"

His father nodded. "Poor fellow. He was faithful to the last. You can see he was still working at the transmitter when the end came."

It was the first dead person Bruce had ever seen. The still form frightened and fascinated him. For the first time he realized the gulf that separates the living from the dead. A few minutes ago Gregor was one of them. He was a part of their time and space. Now they were worlds apart.

"There's a deep blow on his temple," Mr. Robinson said. "Death was probably instantaneous."

"He sure was a good guy," Bruce murmured, unable to take his eyes away from the body. "He had a hunch that this was coming—that he'd never live to reach the surface. Isn't there anything we can do?"

"There's only one thing left to do, son. And we'd better do it before your mother and Frank come. I think we had better take him outside and bury him at once. The quicker the better."

Bruce nodded silently. They lifted Gregor's body and carried it outside the ship, taking care to avoid projecting fragments of glass and metal. When they returned half an hour later, Bruce felt as if a great weight were lifted from his shoulders.

"Let's go back and see your mother now," Mr. Robinson said. "She'll be worried if we don't show up pretty soon."

They found Mrs. Robinson sitting in the middle of the cabin holding Frank in her lap. She glanced up anxiously as they came in.

"Well, here he is," Mr. Robinson said, crawling through the wreck of the doorway. "We all seem to have survived. Just how I don't know. How are you feeling, Mother?"

She smiled weakly. "I hardly know yet. I was so shaken up."

"We're sure lucky to have made it in one piece," said Bruce, patting his mother's hand. "A deep-space ship like this was never built to stand such a strain. Gregor must have done a better job of landing than he thought he could."

"That was the most cowardly thing—the captain and engineer deserting the ship," said Mrs. Robinson. "Did you see them take off in that little rocket ship?"

Bruce nodded. "Doubt if it did 'em much good though. Gregor told me that neither one of them knew anything about running it."

"Where is Gregor?" Mrs. Robinson inquired. "Didn't he come back with you?"

Bruce exchanged glances with his father. Both hesitated to speak. Then Mr. Robinson said, "Gregor didn't make it. He was killed when the ship crashed. He was still at the transmitter when we found him."

Mrs. Robinson looked ready to cry. "He was so helpful. I always felt so safe and secure when he was around."

"Now, Mother, we'll manage somehow," Mr. Robinson told her. "We always have before, and we'll do it again. Here we are with a whole new world waiting to be explored. Who knows? It may not be so bad as we suppose."

They looked at one another doubtfully. Frank began to whimper. "I'm hungry. I want my dinner."

The words had a depressing effect. They were an urgent reminder that something had to be done, not at some indefinite time in the future, but right now.

"Has anyone taken a look outside?" said Mrs. Robinson. "What kind of place is Venus anyhow?" She spoke as if she were referring to the next stop on an automobile tour.

Bruce peered through the cracked glass of the porthole. "Looks as if we're up against the side of a hill with some ferns and vines growing over it. Sky's so dark you can't tell much about it."

"See there," said Mr. Robinson. "What did I tell you? Vegetation. That means we're sure to find something edible growing around. It's just a matter of running it down."

"If we don't poison ourselves first," his wife added.

"Nonsense. We'll watch the animals. See what they eat."

"Oh, Paul, you don't know a thing about pioneer life. Why didn't you go in for something useful like plumbing or bricklaying?"

"Well, this is a bit late in the day to be thinking about it now," Mr. Robinson replied, reproachfully. "I'll admit that a general cultural course such as I took at U.C.L.A. isn't of much help when it comes to fixing the kitchen sink or carving out life on a strange planet, but that was a contingency I could scarcely have foreseen when I entered college."

Nobody had any comments to make except Frank who announced that he was still hungry.

"In stories you read, the characters are always such capable guys," Bruce remarked gloomily. "There'll be one fellow who's a mechanic, another's a geologist, and somebody else is a demon when it comes to making clothes out of bark or vine leaves. They never seem to be just ordinary people like us. Why, we even had a hard time getting along when we were back home on the Earth."

"Well, we aren't at home now," his father reminded them. "We are on another world struggling for our lives. We must do the best we can with the little skill at our disposal. I think it would be advisable to start exploring the planet at once."

"We don't even know what kind of atmosphere it has yet," Mrs. Robinson objected. "We may be smothered the instant we step outside the ship."

"Well, we've been breathing the atmosphere of this planet ever since we landed," Bruce told her. "Look at that hole over there in the wall. The air feels first-rate to me."

"Come on, folks, let's go outside and take a look around," said Mr. Robinson.

They filed out through the gaping hole in the side of the hull. It was somewhat lighter outdoors, but still too dark to see more than a few yards in any direction.

"Now this doesn't look so bad," Mr. Robinson remarked, sniffing the air. "There seems to be plenty of oxygen, I should say. And if that isn't water running down the side of the hill over there, then what is it?"

Bruce walked over to the stream and inspected it closely. He caught some of the liquid in the palm of his hand and raised it to his lips.

"Well, it looks like water," he told them. "It feels like water. It tastes like water—so maybe it ¿9 water."

"What did I tell you!" Mr. Robinson cried triumphantly. "Why, we might be in some leafy bower in Arcady. Plenty of water and oxygen. Plants growing everywhere. Probably plenty of good hunting, too."

Bruce walked a few steps beyond the stream trying to pierce the darkness that surrounded them but gave it up as hopeless. Once he heard a rustling sound from somewhere overhead that startled him for a moment, but not seeing anything move, he decided it must be the wind which was rising rapidly with increasing daylight.

Mrs. Robinson hugged Frank close to her. "Bruce, you come right back here this very minute. You don't know what awful creatures may be hiding out there. Waiting to pounce the minute your back is turned."

"Now, Mother, how many times have you seen a savage animal on Earth—outside of a zoo?" Mr. Robinson asked. "We shall certainly take every precaution but there's no sense scaring ourselves unnecessarily."

Bruce picked up a large rock, tested its weight in his hand, then sent it winging into the darkness.

"Gravity must be quite a bit less on Venus," he said. "I'll bet a rock that size would have felt lots heavier on Earth." 9

•From certain observations which the Robinsons made during their sojourn on Venus, astronomers believe that surface gravity there is considerably less than the value of 0.84 usually quoted.

For a long while they listened to the rock crashing and bounding in the distance.

"That rock sounded as if it went an awful long way," Bruce said. "Didn't know I could throw so far."

He picked up another rock, sending it after the first. There was silence for several seconds, then a plop floated faintly back.

"Sounded as if it landed way below," he remarked.

"I'm in favor of doing a little reconnoitering," Mr. Robinson said. "Mother, suppose you stay here with Frank while Bruce and I look around a bit. Bruce, you take it in that direction while I go around to my right. We'll keep close to the ship so as not to get lost in the dark."

Bruce proceeded cautiously over the damp ground, keeping always within arm's reach of the ship, stumbling occasionally over rocks and trunks of trees that the Aurora had torn up in landing. He found that only this slight exertion made his lungs heave and his heart pound furiously. Evidently the amount of oxygen in the air was less than that to which they were accustomed on the Earth. It was like being suddenly transported to a high mountain peak. One felt comfortable while sitting quietly but gasped for breath at the slightest effort.

The wind blew so hard that several times Bruce was forced to take refuge against the side of the ship for protection. It would blow fiercely for a few minutes, then abruptly die away to a whisper. During moments of quiet he thought he could catch the rustling sound again but it came and went so swiftly that he could never be sure. Besides it was not like a sound exactly but more like the sensation of a sound. He seemed to feel it more than hear it. Suddenly a wave of loneliness and depression swept over him. An intense longing for the Earth and home. He realized that he wasn't behaving in the least like the favorite heroes of his books and television serials but decided that he didn't want to be a superman or even a plain hero of ordinary human dimensions.

Bruce had gotten about a quarter of the way around the ship when a blast of wind struck him with such violence that he was knocked to the ground, where he lay breathing heavily, waiting for the storm to ease off. There was sufficient light now to illuminate the landscape dimly for several miles around. He crawled to a ledge of rock a few feet away and peered over the edge. The sight made him gasp. The ship was resting on a narrow shelf of cliff about a thousand feet above a plain below. The cliff fell away gradually so that a man could probably scramble down the side by taking advantage of projecting rocks and plants. But if the Aurora had landed a few feet farther to one side, it would certainly have gone plunging over the edge.

Bruce retraced his steps around the ship, bending nearly double to brace himself against the wind. He found his father already waiting for him beside the gash in the hull.

"We're right on the edge of a cliff," Bruce shouted. "It must be a thousand feet down."

His father nodded. "I know. I saw it, too. We're lucky to be here at all."

"Where are Mother and Frank?"

"They went inside to get out of this wind. I think we'd better join them until we can take stock of the situation and decide what to do."

"D'you think it's safe to stay in there? The ship's pretty close to the edge. It wouldn't take much to send it over the side."

"Oh, I think so. Besides, we can't face this wind. What else can we do?"

They crawled through the hole to rejoin the rest of the family in the cabin. Mrs. Robinson had found some provisions in the supply room which she had spread on the floor like a picnic lunch. After the wind and dust outside the little room seemed almost cheerful.

"Well, this looks good," Mr. Robinson said, sitting down and rubbing his hands in anticipation. "In future years there will be a little bronze tablet erected on this spot commemorating our first meal on Venus. Will you pass me those peanut-butter sandwiches, please? I confess to having an excellent appetite."

The wind made queer wailing noises around the ship. It howled and roared at the gash in the hull like an angry beast trying to enter. Frank cuddled closer to his mother.

"We should be thankful we're out of that wind," Mr. Robinson said. "See how cosy it is in here. We're as snug as a 'bug in a rug.'"

Bruce looked uneasily over his shoulder. Above the wind, he had caught the rustling sound again.

Chapter 6 The Warning

RUCE classified his nightmares into two broad groups called A and B. The grade B nightmares, as the name implied, were only moderately scary affairs, involving such minor perils as being chased by a Hon, run over by a steam roller, or falling down an elevator shaft. (The falling dreams didn't bother him so much, ever since he had hit bottom in one. Instead of landing with a crash as he had expected he had bounced up like a rubber ball. It hadn't hurt a bit,) You didn't yell or moan in a grade B nightmare. You simply rolled over and went back to sleep.

The grade A nightmares were something else again. On numerous occasions his grade A nightmares had aroused the entire Robinson family, sending his mother and father scurrying into his room expecting to find him strangling to death. It wasn't so much what happened in these dreams as the way they affected him. He had the feeling that something so horrible was going to develop that he simply couldn't stand it.

His present dream had started as an ordinary grade B, gradually evolved into a grade A, and now showed

signs of setting a new record as grade AA1. In this dream Bruce was trapped in a deep underground pit from which he was desperately seeking some means of escape. The sides of the pit were slowly contracting, threatening to crush him under tons and tons of stone unless immediate steps were taken to relieve the situation.

When Bruce finally awoke he was gasping for breath and drenched with sweat. Never had he dreamed anything quite so realistic as that before. He could still feel that weight pressing upon his chest. It persisted in a way no nightmare had ever done before. That was the worst of it. When you were asleep you could escape from whatever was threatening you by waking up. But how could you escape when you were already awake?

His mother and father were sleeping on the other side of the cabin with Frank between them. Evidently he had not cried out or he would almost certainly have awakened them. So far as he could see nothing had been disturbed. It was then that he noticed that the ship was swaying back and forth so gently-as to be scarcely perceptible at first.

His first thought was that the wind was producing the motion but he realized at once that this was impossible. The wind had died away except for an occasional gust; besides, the motion didn't feel as if it were produced by the wind. It was a different type of motion that came at regular intervals as if some force was producing it deliberately. Suddenly the ship gave a lurch that nearly threw him on his face. There was no doubt about it now! They must get out!

He ran over to his mother and father, shaking them roughly.

"Wake up," he yelled. "Let's get out of here."

Even in his fright he noticed that his parents were moving restlessly and moaning as if in pain.

Mr. Robinson opened his eyes and stared wildly about him. "Got to get out," he muttered. "Got to get out."

Bruce shook him harder. "Dad, wake up. Snap out of it. Quick!"

His father regarded him blankly. Suddenly a gleam of recognition came into his eye. "Bruce, is that you? For a moment I thought—" He broke off and passed his hand over his face. "I don't know what I thought. Something horrible. I can still feel it."

"Don't you see?" Bruce cried. "The ship—it's going over the side. We've got to get out."

Mr. Robinson now thoroughly aroused seized his wife and Frank and started dragging them toward the gash in the hull.

"You look after Mother," Bruce told him. "I'll get Frank."

While Mr. Robinson was half dragging, half carrying his wife through the hole, Bruce grasped his brother in both arms and hurried after them. The child was still sleeping when he laid him on the ground, but his face was flushed and his breath came in long wheezing sighs.

The family huddled against the side of the cliff watching the ship rocking back and forth. The great disk hung suspended over the side for a moment, then with a great banging and crackling of branches, toppled over the edge. They could hear it bounding through the underbrush, echoing and reechoing for miles around. When the noise and dust had finally subsided, Bruce walked over to where the ship had reposed a few minutes before. Gazing over the bank he saw the crumpled form of the Aurora nestling among the dark red vegetation of the valley floor a couple of miles below, looking like a pie pan that had been tossed aside by some careless camper.

"Well, it looks as if it landed in a fairly accessible place," said Mr. Robinson, looking mournfully after their former place of refuge. "That's something to be thankful for anyhow."

"I'm glad it's gone," his wife declared. "Nothing could ever get me inside that thing again. I know I'd have another nightmare if I did."

"Did you have a nightmare, too?" Bruce exclaimed.

"Did I?" his mother said. "It was the most terrifying sensation I've ever known. I thought I was being crushed."

"Why, that's just the way I felt," said Bruce. "How about you, Dad?"

"I seldom dream any more," Mr. Robinson replied, "but when you woke me I was in the grip of one of the most realistic nightmares I have ever experienced. In fact, it's still hard to believe it was nothing but a dream. What a strange coincidence that we should all have dreamed the same thing at the same time."

"I wonder if it was a coincidence," said Bruce.

"Well, what else could it have been?"

"Oh, I don't know. Except that something might have happened that made us all dream the same thing.

For example, if it had thundered we might all have dreamed about an explosion."

"Possibly," his father replied, "but I think it more likely that the dreams were due simply to an overwrought condition arising from the crash of the ship and the other things we've been through lately."

"It was all due to that ship," said Mrs. Robinson. "If you ask me I think it was haunted."

Curiously enough, with the disappearance of the Aurora the air seemed to have cleared. Despite the fact that their temporary home with all their provisions and other supplies was reposing at the foot of the cliff they felt unaccountably happier, as if a load had been lifted from their spirits. It was Frank who broke the spell again.

"I'm hungry," he said. "I want my breakfast."

"There it is," Bruce told him, pointing to the Aurora. "Probably pretty well scrambled by this time, too."

"If we want anything to eat I'm afraid we'll have to go down there to get it," Mr. Robinson sighed. "It's our only source of food until we can find some here on Venus."

They gathered along the side of the bank to decide upon the best method of making the trek down to the spaceship.

"I think it shouldn't be too steep for us if we take off toward that ridge there," said Mr. Robinson, after a brief survey. "We'll take it slow and easy and be thankful we're going downhill instead of up."

They set out with great caution, clinging to the vines and shrubs that studded the slope, and going considerably out of their way rather than risk a shorter but steeper path. The fact that the surface gravity was less than upon the Earth also helped make the journey less perilous. For the first time they had an opportunity to observe the world upon which they had landed so forcibly and to discuss it among themselves.

"Bruce, does it strike you that there's something missing from the picture?" Mr. Robinson asked, as they paused for a brief rest.

"How's that?"

"As I recall, in most stories about trips to other lands and planets, strangers like ourselves are immediately captured by the inhabitants and haled before the king and queen for inspection. It seems to me that the welcoming committee on Venus is falling down on its job. So far, I haven't seen a single sign of animal life except for a few insects that don't look so different from those in our back yard on Pico Street."

"There are lots of places on Earth where you could land and walk for miles without seeing a human being," said Bruce. "Gregor and I were talking about it before we landed. Places like Tibet and Lower California or even Kansas, for instance."

"Well, I don't care what the Venusians look like just so they're halfway friendly creatures," Mrs. Robinson said, looking distrustfully at the dark hollows along the hillside.

Mr. Robinson put his arm around her while they surveyed the scene unfolding before them below. The sky was covered with a low bank of cloud through which the sunlight filtered with a pale and ghostly radiance. Below the cloud layer hung masses of yellow dust stirred by the wind that blew so fiercely along the twilight zone. At times the dust would grow so thick that die fight of day would be almost blotted out, as if a vast curtain had been drawn over the sky. Then it would lift and the dim twilight would prevail again. It was a strange and eerie world that confronted the Robinsons, a world that seemed forever waiting for a dawn that never came.

One fact they noted with rising apprehension. The air was growing much hotter, producing a humid suffocating heat that made them gasp for breath and sent the sweat streaming from their bodies. On Earth one could look forward to relief from the heat at night but on Venus there seemed to be no night. Only the twilight that was almost worse than no light at all.

"It certainly is dark down there," Mrs. Robinson said, gazing in the direction of the spaceship.

Mr. Robinson patted her shoulder reassuringly. "Now, Helen, you mustn't go imagining things. We must be careful not to frighten ourselves by conjuring up things that don't exist; by a dagger of the mind, in the words of the immortal bard."

"I can't help it. I don't believe I'm going to like this world."

"Well, I don't know that I would choose it as a homesite myself. But here we are and until someone rescues us we have no other choice than to make the best of it."

They started down the hill again, each preoccupied with his own thoughts.

"It's very unlikely that any creatures that have developed on other worlds are anything like human beings," Bruce said, with all the gravity of a Justice of the Supreme Court handing down a decision from the bench. "We used to have long arguments about it in the space club. Even if the creatures of another world are of high intelligence, that doesn't mean that we could talk to 'em. Ants are probably the most intelligent animals on the Earth but you can't talk to an ant or get any ideas out of 'em."

The rest of the family pondered this as they made their way down the slope.

"It gives you a queer feeling to think there's nobody in this whole world but ourselves," Mrs. Robinson said. "Why, a person would go crazy after a while without any neighbors around. Isn't there supposed to be anybody on Venus besides us?"

"There's not supposed to be," said Bruce, slowly.

One of the many things that Bruce was unable to understand about his elders was their amazing ignorance on subjects such as this. It was his experience that as soon as a man grew up his interests became confined exclusively to his business, his digestion, and the number of miles to the gallon he got out of his automobile; while women were completely absorbed in their homes, clothes, and hair-dos. But really fascinating subjects such as space travel and fife on other planets were of interest only to children and a few esoteric types of scientists.

Whereas tne hillside had been covered by a thorny bush mingled with a few bright flowers, on a lower level the predominant growth consisted of a huge, dark red plant of fleshy texture, resembling the Joshua tree of southern California. These plants ranged from dwarf specimens, smaller than a man, up to giants sixty and seventy feet high. The travelers were unable to repress a feeling of awe in the presence of these vegetable monsters. They walked among them speaking in hushed voices and shooting swift glances into the dense wilderness of growth. It was hard to believe that those gaunt bodies with stalks protruding from them like misshapen legs and arms were merely inanimate forms—that they did not possess a certain degree of sentience.

The air beneath the plants was stifling. Mingled with the heat was a faint putrid odor like that of rotting meat, apparently an exhalation from the plants which served to attract the swarming insects.

Viewed from the cliff the spaceship had stood out as a landmark impossible to miss, but finding it on the floor of the valley proved to be another matter. They wandered among the plants for fully an hour without finding so much as a trace of the wreckage. Finally Mr. Robinson climbed a low ridge from where he could see over the tops of the plants.

"Ah, there's the Aurora over on our right," he called down to them. "Looks as if it did considerable damage to these giant cacti."

"Good," said Bruce. "They look as if they needed stirring up."

Travel through the jungle was slow and tortuous. Mrs. Robinson and Frank could not keep up, and the other two dared not go far ahead, as the vegetation constituted a maze without landmarks of any kind for a guide. Once separated they might easily become lost even though only a few hundred yards apart.

"We surely can't be far from the Aurora now," Mr. Robinson murmured, "unless we've been walking in circles."

At that moment there came a shout from Bruce, "There she is now," he cried. "I can see one side sticking out from behind those trees."

They pressed forward. As Mr. Robinson had said, the ship had wrought havoc among the plants. The great fleshy weeds had been sliced open in places, as if a giant had attacked them with a scythe, leaving the glistening interior exposed like chunks of red beef.

The wreckage was strewn far and wide over the ground, so that by the time they reached the ship, their arms were already loaded with canned goods and bottles that had somehow escaped destruction. They deposited their goods outside the door leading to the habitable portion of the Aurora.

"Poor old boat," said Bruce. "She certainly took a beating."

They walked around for a while examining damage that had been inflicted by the fall. Now that they had finally reached the ship, they felt a curious aversion to entering it. Mrs. Robinson flatly refused to set foot inside the door. Mr. Robinson, after some hesitation, strolled up to the door and stuck his head inside.

"Well, I guess we might as well go on in and see what we can find," he said.

"Yeah, I guess we might as well," Bruce agreed.

Neither moved. Mr. Robinson looked back at the giant plants clustered around them like people waiting expectantly.

"Maybe it would be easier if we took it from the other side," he suggested. "There's barely room enough to squeeze through here." "Let's try," said Bruce.

They started around the ship, with Mrs. Robinson and Frank trailing behind. A thick curtain of dust was sweeping over the sky shrouding it in deep night. Bruce groped his way along the side of the ship until he came to the gash in the hull. He was about to crawl inside when he was startled by the sight of his father's face peering at him from out of the gloom.

"What's the matter, Dad? You look like you'd seen a ghost."

"Did you say that we're the only human beings on this planet?" his father asked.

"Well, I don't know that I exactly said so. I just said there wasn't supposed to be anybody else around."

His father pointed to the side of the ship. "Then how did that get there?"

Bruce was able to discern something black scrawled upon the hull, but at first the light was too weak for him to make it out.

"Warning—don't—go," he read slowly. The words broke off as if the writer had been suddenly interrupted.

"Say, we aren't alone on Venus after all!" Bruce cried.

"I wonder who . . ." his father said, staring at the words.

Nightmare Again

I

HE warning was almost as upsetting as if the family had been confronted by some visible threat to their safety. So far they had seen no signs of animal life except the insects swarming around the plants and some small mammals resembling rodents common to the desert regions of the United States. But that was no assurance that a more dangerous type of animal life did not exist. Few people have ever seen an octopus because they have never been where such creatures live.

"Look what we found written on the side of the ship," said Bruce, as his mother and Frank came up.

The cloud had lifted, enabling them to study the words to better advantage. Bruce rubbed a bit of the black substance with which the words had been written between his fingers. "Feels like oil," he said. "Probably the only stuff he could find to write with in a hurry."

Mr. Robinson had been scrutinizing the words thoughtfully.

"I think we can draw some conclusions concerning

the character of this writer, even from the few words he has left us. Although they appear to have been written in haste, notice that he did not forget to put the apostrophe in the word dont. Notice also that he did not omit to cross his t and dot his i. An educated man beyond a doubt. His attitude toward us must be friendly, otherwise he would hardly have gone to the trouble of warning us at all. But the fact that he was unable to finish the sentence suggests that he is surrounded by creatures hostile to our welfare. I'm afraid that's about all the information we can extract from these words. I doubt if Sherlock Holmes could go any further."

"But who on Earth could have written such a message?" Mrs. Robinson exclaimed.

"Ah, but we're not on Earth, my dear," her husband reminded her.

"Well, who on Venus could have written it then? If we're the only people here."

"Evidently someone has arrived before us, I presume."

Bruce decided that the time had come to enlighten his parents.

"There's a rumor that about five years ago a man set out alone for Venus," he told them. "I hadn't mentioned it before because there didn't seem to be much to it. But Herb Jenkins told us he'd heard his father talking about it once and Gregor said he'd heard it, too. The man was supposed to have landed safely and established communication with the Earth, but his transmitter went dead right afterward and that's the last that was ever heard from him."

"To think of deliberately setting out for a place like this alone!" his mother exclaimed.

"The man must have been insane," said Mr. Robinson.

"Maybe he just wanted to be alone," said Bruce.

The effect of the warning had been to draw the four more closely together. They looked around them with growing apprehension. The vegetable monsters with their barrel-like trunks and grotesquely protruding arms seemed horribly deformed creatures that had been spoiled in the making.

Frank, who had taken no interest in the proceedings whatever, began to cry. Mrs. Robinson tried to comfort him but it was no use. By this time they were all thoroughly miserable, hungry and thirsty, and exhausted from the steaming heat. Whatever danger threatened, they could hardly be much worse than the immediate peril from lack of food and water.

"Well, let's go on inside and take a look around," said Mr. Robinson resolutely. "We won't get anywhere sitting outside here feeling sorry for ourselves, and complaining."

"If you don't mind I think I'll stay outside," Mrs. Robinson said. "I'm still afraid of that ship."

"Very well then. You wait out here with Frank. If anything happens just yell and we'll come running."

Bruce followed his father inside the Aurora. In some places they had to crawl on their hands and knees to avoid projecting pipes and conduits. The floor was covered with odds and ends of machinery while the passageway leading to the storeroom was twisted almost beyond recognition. Bruce came to the conclusion that the interior of a rocket consisted chiefly of wires and gas pipe.

"Here's some canned spaghetti and dehydrated milk," Mr. Robinson said. "And here's a bottle of vitamin pills. We can't live on them but they should form a valuable supplement to our regular diet, if any."

"I don't seem to have much luck," Bruce said, pawing over a heap of rubbish. He reached for a box winch fell apart when he tugged at it.

"Well, what do you know!" he exclaimed. "Here's that gadget the captain was so worried about. I almost dislocated my jaw trying to get it loose."

Bruce and his father examined the apparatus. The boy turned it over and jiggled one of the dials on the plate face.

"Looks as if it was meant to be a camera of some sort, doesn't it? Here's a couple of lenses and here's a drum where the film's supposed to go. And see this little glass bulb with those tiny wires inside. Queer how they came through all that bumping around without getting broken."

Mr. Robinson regarded the instrument curiously. "My guess is that this is a part of some larger piece of machinery that was meant to be assembled on the moon. You can see from these holes here that it was going to be fastened to something else."

"It sure must have been precious from the way the captain handled it," said Bruce. "You'd have thought it was the crown jewels instead of an old piece of machinery."

"In our present situation I'm afraid it's just about as much use to us as the crown jewels would be, too."

"Maybe Frank could get some fun out of it," said Bruce, turning a wheel that set a series of gears in motion. "Poor kid! He hasn't a thing to play with around here." He set the instrument beside the canned goods and other articles that had seemed worth salvaging.

They continued the search for another hour without finding anything likely to be of value to them. They were on the point of giving up when Bruce gave a low whistle.

"Say, come and take a look at this. Boy, this is really something."

His father came over to where Bruce was investigating the contents of a long narrow box.

"I thought it was some more gas pipe when I first felt inside," Bruce told him, "but then somehow it didn't feel just like gas pipe so I thought I'd poke around some more. And look what turned up. If anybody comes nosing around here, we'll be ready for 'em now."

The dim light gleamed along the polished barrels of two wicked looking snub-nosed automatic rifles. Even to their inexperienced eyes it was obvious that they were high-powered weapons of the latest design.

"Just holding one in your hand makes you feel different," Bruce chuckled, picking up one of the rifles and squinting down the barrel. "And already loaded, too."

"It does give you a kind of courage," his father admitted, handling the other rifle gingerly. "Though I've never fired a gun in my life."

Bruce laid his rifle down and began delving into the bottom of the box. "There's plenty of ammunition, too. Enough to hold off a whole regiment of Venusians."

His father was eying the weapons thoughtfully. "You know it strikes me as rather odd finding these arms here."

"How's that?"

"Well, why should there be any need for weapons on an ordinary passenger-carrying spaceship?"

"That's so. Why should there?"

"Going to the moon certainly isn't like venturing into a wild country filled with hostile natives. There's nobody on the moon but our own people. Not much danger from attack there that I can see."

"It does seem kind of curious," said Bruce, contemplating the rifles. "I guess Mother was right. The Aurora was a queer ship."

"Whatever the reason may have been, at least we'll be able to generate a little fire power should the need arise," Mr. Robinson said, with some satisfaction. "And now what do you say we take our spoils outside and have a bite to eat?"

"How about these spacesuits here in the corner-shall we take them or not?" Bruce asked.

Mr. Robinson regarded them dubiously. The suits were sadly jumbled together where they had fallen under the stairs. Of vital necessity on the moon, they were merely an encumbrance on Venus.

"The helmet on this one is pretty well busted up," Bruce said, running his fingers over the bulky headpiece. "There's a crack in the face plate, too."

"Oh, let's take them along," his father said. "You never can tell. They might come in handy."

"Okay," said Bruce, dragging the heavy suits over into the center of the room, "in they go."

They both felt positively jubilant when they surveyed the results of their efforts. The collection was indeed considerably larger than they had had any reasonable right to expect. Although the ship carried only sufficient provisions for the immediate needs of the passengers, together with the usual emergency rations required by law, they had managed to scrape together a quantity of canned goods, dehydrated fruits and vegetables, and other miscellaneous items, to last them for several weeks with careful rationing. And by that time they felt confident of being able to live off the planet.

"Let's see if we can't load part of this stuff into those boxes over there," said Mr. Robinson. "If the canned goods will go in, I believe I can carry the rest in my arms."

"Where do you want to put this bottle of vitamin pills?" Bruce asked.

"Stick them inside the box if you can," Mr. Robinson told him, wiping the oil from a carton of crackers. He stopped abruptly and cocked his head to one side.

"Did you hear something just then?"

Both held their breath listening intently. There was silence for a moment, then the unmistakable sound of a cry filtered in through the walls.

"That's Helen's voice," said Mr. Robinson. "I told her to call if there was danger."

"Let's go," Bruce cried, reaching for his rifle.

They found Mrs. Robinson lying on the ground near the point where they had left her, with Frank a few feet away crying lustily. Mr. Robinson seized his wife's arm and began massaging it at the wrist.

"Helen, what happened?" he demanded.

She moaned faintly and turned her head restlessly from side to side. Her face was flushed and the skin felt hot and dry as if she were burning with fever.

"Wonder if we ought to give her artificial respiration?" said Bruce. He had taken a course in first-aid at school and this was the first opportunity he had had to try it out.

"No, wait, I think she's coming around," Mr. Robinson said. "Fan her with your shirt, will you? This heat is enough to kill anyone."

Bruce tore off his shirt and began flapping it in front of his mother's face. Whether the breeze he created helped or not was uncertain but in a few moments his mother opened her eyes.

"Feeling better?" Mr. Robinson asked.

She regarded him with dull unseeing eyes. Her lips moved but the words were too low for them to catch.

"What was that?" he asked, bending lower.

"The nightmare," she whispered. "It was the nightmare again."

Mr. Robinson looked at his wife as if she had taken leave of her mind.

"But it couldn't have been. You were wide-awake when we left you."

She shook her head impatiently as if irritated at his slowness to comprehend.

"I can't help it. It was the nightmare again. Remember? The same nightmare we had in the ship."

"You mean it's this heat and the long walk down here. Bruce, run inside and get one of those cans of grapefruit juice."

Bruce dashed in the ship and returned with a can of grapefruit juice in each hand. He knocked some holes in the top of one of the tins with a screwdriver and handed it to his mother.

"Here, drink this. It'll make you feel better."

She tried to brush the can away at first, but after taking a few sips, seized it and began drinking eagerly. Suddenly she stopped and looked around her.

"Where's Frank?" she cried.

"Right here," said Mr. Robinson soothingly. "Poor little fellow. We'd almost forgotten him."

They gave Frank some of the grapefruit juice, after which they all refreshed themselves.

"Highly unsanitary, I dare say," said Mr. Robinson, setting down the empty tin and wiping his mouth, "but it's a calculated risk we'll have to take. Now, dear, try to tell us what happened if you can."

"I really don't know," she said slowly, looking about her as if still dazed. "Frank was playing with some bright-colored rocks he'd found. I was sitting here leaning back against the ship feeling so tired I wasn't even bothering to worry about what was going to become of us any more. When it began I don't know. Gradually I had the feeling that something peculiar was happening to me, without being able to say what it was or where the sensation came from. I suppose a person being hypnotized feels about the same."

"Can't you describe this sensation more closely?" Mr. Robinson asked her. "Give us some idea of its general nature?"

"It's hard to describe. I don't believe I've ever experienced anything quite like it before. My mind was all mixed up and confused and I felt so terribly nervous and depressed. You know, the way you feel in a nightmare just before you wake up. There was a ringing in my ears and then I began to feel so hot. That's all, I guess. I can't remember any more after that."

"You didn't see or hear anything unusual? Think hard now."

"No, nothing. I was so tired, I really can't remember." She turned her head aside as if the questions annoyed her.

"Well, whatever it was it's over now and we're still all here together," Mr. Robinson said at length. "Probably just a combination of too much heat and too little food. Enough to make anyone light-headed."

"See what we found in the Aurora," Bruce said, brandishing his rifle. "Plenty of ammunition, too. If anything attacks us now it'll get a hot reception."

He took aim at a particularly repulsive looking vegetable monster. "I'm going to give this thing a try, Let's see what it'll do to that old plant over there."

There was a series of sharp reports as he pulled the trigger. Simultaneously some dark bleeding holes appeared in the fleshy head of the plant.

"See there!" he cried. "Suppose that'd been an animal trying to attack us. We don't need to be afraid any more. We can fight back now."

His mother smiled weakly. "There are some things you can't fight with bullets, Bruce."

Chapter 8 The Cave

THINK we should try to find some spot to use as a permanent base of operations," Mr. Robinson said, when his wife had to some extent recovered from the effects of her shock. "We certainly can't live out here in the midst of this cactus garden. If no one has a better plan I suggest that we explore the base of that cliff over yonder for some place of shelter. We might find some water, too. As I recall, the little stream that flowed over the ledge where the Aurora landed was in that vicinity."

"I think I can see it now," said Bruce. "Looks like there's a waterfall by that ravine."

"Water," Mrs. Robinson breathed. "Lots of soap. Bath salts. A big thick towel. I could just love that old shower of ours back home, even if it did leak."

"Well, suppose we go over there and take a look around then," Mr. Robinson said, getting to his feet. "We might as well leave our supplies here until we've decided upon a permanent homesite." He spoke as if he were back in Los Angeles about to inspect a new subdivision.

They started toward the cliff with their rifles under their arms and a wary eye out for possible attack. But the journey was quite uneventful; in fact, Bruce was rather disappointed that they failed to meet any bug-eyed monsters that he could annihilate with a burst from his rifle. Mr. Robinson carried a knife with which he cut a gash in one of the plants every few yards to guide them back to the Aurora, After about an hour of winding their way among the plants they emerged from the jungle into an open space before the cliff. After the somber darkness of the black plants the region was most inviting. A waterfall cascaded down the hillside into a stream that gurgled cheerfully along its base. In place of the giant weeds with their fetid odor were gorgeous flowering plants along the side of the stream, consisting of a single enormous white blossom with a golden center surrounded by clusters of thick green petals several feet in length. The family greeted the scene with shouts of delight.

"Oh, this is simply delicious," Mrs. Robinson said, dabbling her feet in the water. "Why, it actually feels cool."

"At least it sounds cool," Mr. Robinson said, gazing around admiringly. "You know, this wouldn't be a bad location for a summer resort. You could put up a hotel over there against the cliff with a dining room on the side overlooking the stream. With these lovely white flowers and a little landscaping you'd have a sure money-maker."

"Oh, dear," his wife sighed, "there you go trying to promote something again. It doesn't make any difference where you are. If you were on Saturn you'd be running excursions out to the rings. If you were on Pluto you'd have a chain of ice-skating rinks."

"Think I'll see the land office about filing a claim on this property if we ever get back to Earth," he said. "As the discoverers we certainly should be entitled to priority, I should think."

Bruce, in the meantime, had been busily exploring the bank on the other side of the stream.

"Come over here and see the swell cave I've found," he shouted. "Just what we were looking for."

The cave proved to be everything that Bruce claimed for it. The opening was about fifty feet above the level of the stream, high enough to provide a clear view of the country for miles around but not so high as to make ascent difficult from below. The cave wound back into the side of the cliff through a series of different-sized caverns, like a long suite of rooms. Best of all, a cool draft of air blew continually from the dark interior at the rear.

"I'll bet this cave winds back into the mountain for miles," Bruce said, trying to pierce the blackness. "Dad could install electric lights and take tourists on excursions when he gets his hotel running."

"Not a bad idea," his father remarked approvingly.

"I wouldn't want to go very far back without a light," Mrs. Robinson said. "It doesn't look safe to me. You might get lost and never find your way back and die."

She waved a warning finger at Frank. "Don't you ever dare go beyond this point where we are now. Do you hear me?"

"Okay," Frank agreed, without enthusiasm.

"What was that?" said Bruce quickly. "I thought I heard something."

They listened for a moment but there was only the faint whisper of the air riffling through the cave.

"I can't hear anything," Mrs. Robinson said.

"I thought I heard rustling," Bruce told her. He put his hands to his mouth. "Hey, is there anybody back there?"

"Oh, Bruce, you shouldn't have done that," his mother reproved.

Their voices went echoing from corridor to corridor, rolling on and on as if they would never stop. Bruce's words would come floating back, so weak and confused that they could hardly hear them, then so strong and distinct as to make them jump. Mingled with his voice was the faint reproving tone of his mother calling to him over and over again. Besides their voices there was a multitude of other sounds. Vague whisperings and murmurings as if a thousand things, long dormant, were stirring to life.

Mrs. Robinson shivered. "I'm going outside," she announced, taking Frank by the hand. "And, Bruce, don't you go yelling back there any more. If there's anybody there you let them stay."

After the dark interior of the cave, the gray light outside seemed positively bright. They stood for a few minutes taking in the scene below them. The twisted arms of the plants across the stream were now merged into a solid mass of dark red. The position of the Aurora was readily discerned by the path it had plowed through the jungle growth, like a lawn mower through high grass. Bright blossoms of the plants by the stream stood out in sharp contrast against the somber crimson of the landscape beyond.

"Feel that heat," Mr. Robinson said, as a gust of wind struck them from below. "You'd think it was straight from a blast furnace. I wonder how long the day lasts on Venus? It was practically night when we landed, and although the sky is lighter now, it's hard to tell anything about the sun with all these clouds around."

"How long has it been since we landed?" Mrs. Robinson asked. "I've lost all track of time."

"According to my watch we arrived here at what would have been ten o'clock in the morning back in Los Angeles. That was nearly twenty-four hours ago."

"Nobody knows how long the day is on Venus," said Bruce. "Some astronomers think a day here might be as long as a month. Maybe even longer."

"I suppose the length of the day would depend upon where we landed, too," Mr. Robinson mused. "If we happened to land at the north pole of Venus, the day would probably be different than if we hit near the equator. And of course we have no idea about that at all."

"Perhaps the clouds will open long enough for us to get a glimpse of the sun sometime," Bruce said, scanning the lowering mass overhead. "If the sun ever does come out I'm going to try to measure its altitude with the astrolabe the space club gave me. I'm keeping it right here on my belt just in case." He wiped a bit of dirt from the watchcase that enclosed the instrument.

"Well, it certainly isn't getting any cooler," said Mr. Robinson. "And we still have those supplies to bring back from the Aurora. How about it, son? Feel equal to the trip?"

"Any time," said Bruce.

"Then we might as well get it over now as later. Only this time I vote that one of us stays here with Mother and Frank. It will take us longer but time isn't worth much to us here."

"But then you or Bruce will have to make the trip alone," Mrs. Robinson objected. "I really don't mind so much."

"No, we can't risk having you exposed to another shock like that last one," he told her. "Bruce and I will be armed. And besides, we will be within shouting distance of each other if an emergency should arise."

Mrs. Robinson made a few feeble protests but it was plain to see that she did not relish the idea of being left alone. "If the sun would only come out so that we could really see something. This perpetual twilight makes you feel that there's always something lurking in the dark waiting to grab you."

"It is unnerving," Mr. Robinson admitted. "Perhaps in time we shall become adjusted to it."

He took a coin from his pocket. "And now, Bruce, who makes the first trip? Shall we flip for it? Which do you take—heads or tails?"

"I'll take heads."

"Here we go then," his father said, tossing the coin. It bounded against the side of the cave and came to rest near Bruce's feet.

"Heads it is," he said. "I guess I'm elected."

He struggled to his feet and took a few steps down the side of the hill. "I'll bring the canned goods back first. Then Mother can be getting dinner ready while we fetch the rest of the stuff."

"Dinner," his father said longingly. He cast his eyes heavenward. "I'm thinking of one of those meals your mother used to serve out on the back porch on Sunday evenings in the summer. M-m-m. Cold sliced chicken with potato salad—long crisp stalks of celery—jumbo olives."

"Don't forget the iced tea!" Bruce called back.

"And ice cream with a cherry on top," Frank added.

"We never knew how well off we were in those days." Mr. Robinson sighed. "Why sometimes we thought it was pretty rough going."

"Well, I'll bring back some nice canned spinach and vitamin pills," Bruce told him.

"You'll be careful, won't you?" his mother said anxiously.

"Oh, sure. I'll slow up at all the turns and only go across the street on the red signal," he promised.

He swung down the hill and across the stream with a jaunty stride, as if he were setting out on a holiday trip. He lost some of his confidence, however, when he was out of sight of the cave and had to start working his way into the jungle. He had no particular difficulty in following the trail his father had blazed, but as he penetrated more deeply into the plant maze, and the darkness of the jungle began to close around him, he found it hard work to keep his imagination within bounds. He felt sure he was being followed. There was a rustling sound from somewhere overhead, together with a plaintive piping whistle that was too distinct for him to be mistaken. He tried whirling abruptly to catch his pursuers by surprise, but after executing this maneuver several times without result decided to give it up. Instead, he determined to keep walking resolutely ahead, concentrating on the path immediately before him rather than to try to see in all directions at once.

He proceeded in this manner for several minutes whistling Hail, Hail to L. A. High for the benefit of the weed population. The stalwart melody, which had been lifted from Tschaikovsky's Marche Slav, helped considerably to restore his courage. This was more like it, he told himself. As his father had said, you mustn't let yourself become frightened over things that existed only in your mind. Keep a level head on your shoulders and everything would come out all right.

He had gotten through the school anthem three times when it occurred to him that he had not seen a gash in the plants for quite some time now. He decided that he had probably passed a mark without noticing it, in which case the proper procedure was to go back the way he had come until he picked up the trail again. But this proved harder than he had anticipated, for footsteps were hard to discern in the rocky ground. He stopped and looked carefully for one of the familiar gashes. Ah, there was one on that plant about fifty feet away. But when he reached it, the mark was nowhere to be found; only a dark place on one side where some fungus growth had attacked the surface.

For the first time Bruce felt panic creeping over him. He had often read stories in which a character had gotten lost in a snow storm, and went wandering around in circles till rescued—near the bottom of the page, but he had always flattered himself that nothing of the sort could happen to him. Now he was not nearly so sure.

He determined to keep calm at all costs. First he scrutinized the region around him slowly and methodically. After a careful survey, however, he was compelled to admit that there was nothing whatever in sight to guide him. He was hemmed in by a bewildering wall of plants, not one of which bore the sign of his father's knife.

At length he decided that a particularly weird looking specimen, resembling a goat with three horns growing out of its head, looked familiar. He hurried toward it, searching on every side for the blazed trail. This time when he reached the plant and found it unmarked he did not pause, but immediately set off in another direction. He was beginning to tire badly, but felt that he dare not stop for an instant until he had picked up the trail.

The heat was blinding. He felt as if it were concentrated on one burning spot at the base of his brain. The faint odor of rotting flesh from the plants made him sick and dizzy. There was a ringing in his ears, but he could not tell whether it originated in his head or in the swarms of metallic colored flies buzzing around the plants.

He halted suddenly, swaying unsteadily on his feet. Was it his imagination or had a plant up there changed form? He was sure that a moment ago its two arms were hanging down. Now in the dim light they were most certainly pointing up. But a plant couldn't change position like that, he reasoned. He wanted to be quite sane and sensible about it. There were some plants that could move a little, like the mimosa, but not at that rate. Unless, of course, these were entirely different from plants on Earth and possessed an extraordinary degree of mobility.

The whole jungle was moving and swaying around him now, swimming in a mist of red heat. There was a little open space over there. A good place to rest. He plunged toward it, then came up short at sight of the bulky object in his path. The object looked vaguely familiar. But what was it? He knew, if only he could remember. He dashed the sweat from his eyes, took a deep breath, gathering all his powers of concentration together into one last effort.

Why, it was the spaceship. The good old Aurora. He had stumbled upon it just when he was on the point of giving up in despair.

But what were those figures stalking around the opening? They looked like people and yet they didn't exactly either. Besides, there couldn't be that many people on Venus. Wild thoughts raced through his mind. The captain and engineer returned. Gregor come back to life. His father and mother....

One of the figures had detached itself from the group around the opening and was coming toward him in little skipping steps.

With a hoarse cry Bruce raised his rifle and pulled the trigger. Never had he known anything so wonderful as the stuttering reports of the bullets as they sped from the gun, smashing down the creature in front of him. It was the last thing he remembered.

Chapter 9 A New Threat

RUCE tried to shove aside the thing that was mauling him but it was no use. He was flat on his back, and no matter how hard he struggled, he always got the worst of it. He could see Herb Jenkins grinning at him, gloating because he had him flat on his back behind the handball court with half the school looking on. But wait a minute. That was years ago when they were kids at Virgil. Herb couldn't do that any more.

Now Herb had gone. His father was up there instead. How had he gotten into the picture? Everything was so blurred and confused. If they would only let him alone. Give him a chance to get hold of himself.

His father was squirting water in his face from the rubber bottle they had used in the spaceship. That had been one of the funniest things about the whole trip. The fact that in free fall you couldn't drink water out of a glass in the ordinary way, but had to squeeze it out of a rubber nippled bottle. And here was his father now using the bottle to squirt water on him. The thought struck him as so ridiculous that he started laughing till his sides ached.

"Bruce, that's enough. Now stop it," his father told him sharply, sending another stream of water into his face.

Bruce got hold of himself sufficiently to stop laughing and sit up and look around him. His father handed him the bottle. "Take some of this. You look as if you need it."

Bruce took a long pull from the bottle. He needed it all right. He was thoroughly dehydrated.

"I got off the trail somehow," he said. "When I couldn't find the way back I got panicky and began running around every which way. Lost my head completely."

His father looked him over with a slightly puzzled air. "We began to feel worried when you didn't show up after a couple of hours. Then when we heard your rifle we knew something must be wrong. I hated to leave your mother but there was nothing else to do."

Bruce turned his head toward the Aurora. "I remember shooting at—something. There was a bunch of 'em clustered around the hole in the ship. At first I thought they were men. They were about the same size and shape as men. Then when one of them started at me and I got a look at its face . . ." He buried his face in his hands unable to continue.

"Was that when you fired?"

"I think so."

"If you hit anything then it must still be here. Where was it when you fired?"

Bruce got up and walked over to the ship. "Along in here some place, I guess." He marked a spot with his foot.

"Think you hit it?"

Bruce shrugged. "I couldn't be sure. I thought so, but by that time I was pretty far gone."

They scanned the region around the ship without finding anything.

"Well, I can see where you sprayed the side of the ship all right," his father said, "and I notice that you shot our canned goods full of holes. Otherwise I fail to see any results of your artillery barrage."

Bruce looked thoroughly sunk. "I don't understand it either, Dad. I'll swear I saw some sort of a creature about the size of a man with a face— Well, it's hard to describe its face. It was all shrunk and wizened like a mouse's more than anything else I can think of."

Mr. Robinson frowned. "It's a fact that we seem to get into trouble every time we're around the Aurora. Let's make ourselves independent of this ship as quickly as we can. We still have to pack this stuff back to the cave. Do you feel up to the trip yet?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Then let's get on with it. I can't help worrying about your mother and Frank."

They loaded as much of the provisions and other goods as they could into some sacks and started back for the cave. Mr. Robinson had been careful to make more marks along the trail when he went in search of Bruce so that it was impossible to mistake the way. In fact, Bruce couldn't understand how he managed to get lost in the first place.

He tried to identify the place where he had first strayed from the path but the whole episode was so dim and confused in his mind that he gave it up as hopeless. Some incidents, such as the plant which had seemed to change position, could be attributed to his agitated condition; but the creatures around the spaceship still seemed real. He could not banish the feeling that they were still back there some place and that sometime he would meet them again.

For the next hour the two men pushed through the jungle, looking neither to right nor left, speaking only in grunts. The heat was a steaming ocean against which they struggled like tired swimmers breasting a tide. Their bundles, besides being heavy, were awkward and cumbersome. At every step the bottom of the sack Bruce was carrying hit him in the back of the legs. He thought of those hated walks to school and almost laughed out loud. How trivial they seemed. Why, they were nothing.

"Want to rest awhile?" Mr. Robinson said, waiting for Bruce to catch up.

Bruce shook his head. "Let's keep going. I think I can hear the stream."

Another five minutes saw them out of the jungle and into the open space before the cliff.

"See your mother anywhere?" Mr. Robinson asked, peering anxiously ahead. "If this everlasting twilight would only lift!"

"I think there's someone at the entrance of the cave," Bruce said. "Can't be sure though."

Somehow they found the strength to hurry across the stream and toward the foot of the cliff. Bruce felt more as if he were walking with his mind than his legs. He got a certain gloomy satisfaction out of the thought that if he ever returned to school he ought to be in fine condition for the mile. Might even make the crosscountry team.

Near the falls he almost stumbled over a small figure playing by one of the huge white plants.

"Frank!" he cried. He gave his astonished brother a hug that left him breathless. "Where's Mother? Everything all right?"

"We re all right except we're hungry. You bring back anything to eat?"

"Sure did," said Bruce, displaying the contents of his sack. "And that isn't all either. Here's something for you. Take a look at this."

He dragged out the mysterious gadget that the captain had prized so highly, and began manipulating the dials on the front panel for Frank's benefit.

"See how it works. You jiggle this thing and that makes everything inside here move."

"What is it?" Frank asked, reaching for it.

"Well, sir, I don't know for sure, but I wouldn't be surprised if it was a time machine. You can play like it's a time machine anyhow. If it were mine I'd make it take me back to the time when I lived in Los Angeles."

Bruce hurried on up to the cave where he found his mother waiting for him at the entrance. He dropped his sack and threw his arms around her.

"Ma, it's good to see you again. Everything okay?"

"Just fine. You were the one we were worried about. When we heard those shots we knew something must be wrong. Where's Dad?"

"Here he comes now," said Bruce, as his father staggered in with his sack.

"Now tell me what happened," his mother said.

Bruce recounted his experiences from the time he wandered off the trail until he stumbled upon the spaceship.

"At first I thought the figures about the ship were men. Then when one of them turned and started after me I felt just as if something was chasing me in a nightmare. You know how paralyzed you feel? I just had strength enough left to lift my rifle and pull the trigger. Although I didn't seem to have hit anything."

His father stood frowning at the dark band that marked the jungle. "We must be on our guard every instant. Until we find what this thing is that threatens us and how it operates."

For a long time Bruce lay watching the light glistening from the stalactites on the roof of the cave, wondering how long he had been asleep, and what the next twelve hours held in store for him. He and his father had taken turns standing guard while his mother and Frank slept, for they had agreed that someone should be on the alert at ail times now. Yet not a thing had happened. Somehow he felt cheated for the hours he had spent nodding at the mouth of the cave, rifle by his side, waiting for he knew not what. But when his turn to rest had finally come he had been unable to relax, turning and twisting endlessly, never wholly asleep or awake. Now he felt more tired than when he had dozed off. His arms and legs and shoulders ached as if he had rheumatism. Even his ears ached.

He got up cautiously, taking care not to impose any undue strain on his muscular system and strolled out to the mouth of the cave. His mother was sitting on a rock keeping a watchful eye on Frank.

"Where's Dad?" Bruce asked, stretching himself.

"He went down to the stream to take a bath. Goodness knows he needed it."

They watched Mr. Robinson as he climbed up the trail. His hair was wet and matted, his beard was beginning to show, and his clothes were torn and dirty. Yet he managed to look cheerful and even summoned up a certain air of distinction.

"Better take a good look at me now, honey," he said, dropping down beside his wife. "In another week when this beard is fully developed you won't know me any more."

Mrs. Robinson failed to appreciate the humor of the situation. "What worries me is what we're going to do for clothes," she told him. "Do you realize that we haven't a thing to wear but the clothes on our back, and they're practically falling to pieces already?"

"Seems to me we used to have the same trouble back home," he remarked.

"It's this damp heat," said Bruce, twisting the sleeve of his shirt between his fingers. "It goes right through everything."

It was true. The fabric seemed to rot in the hot stagnant air. After scarcely two days on Venus their clothes were not only threadbare but covered with dark greenish stain.

Mr. Robinson brushed a lock of hair from his eyes. "Well, now that we've finished discussing the clothes situation, how about a little breakfast? What do we have on the menu this bright but unearthly sunshiny morning?"

"Same thing we had for dinner," his wife told him. "There's canned spinach, canned spaghetti, canned tomatoes, peanut butter, and graham crackers. It's back there in those cans we opened up last night."

Despite the fact that there was no day or night, but only the monotonous gray twilight, they continued from force of habit to speak of "last night" and "yesterday" morning as if they were still on the Earth.

"I think I'll just have a drink of water from the brook," said Bruce.

"The trouble is we aren't taking this in the right spirit," Mr. Robinson declared, his customary optimism beginning to assert itself. "Think how often people pay a lot of money to camp out under conditions that aren't so different from those we have right here. Remember that so-called vacation we had a couple of years ago at the Mount Winslow Hotel? Cost us fifteen dollars a day, and when you come right down to it, we're practically as comfortable here in this cave. No mosquitoes, either."

"Now, Paul, you know the food at Mount Winslow wasn't quite so bad as this."

"I'm not so sure about that, Helen. I think they served up the same brand of canned goods we've got here in the cave."

He leaned back and stroked his beard reflectively. "I wonder if it wouldn't be a good idea to take it easy for a while? I confess I can still feel the effects of my exertions of yesterday. How about you, Bruce?"

"I feel as if I'd been out for football practice."

"We must have brought enough canned goods from the Aurora to take care of our immediate needs. So I propose that we rest up today and call it vacation. Then we can resume our labors refreshed."

"Sounds good to me," Bruce said heartily.

"It will be a relief just to know we're all safe together," Mrs. Robinson said.

"Then let's to breakfast," said Mr. Robinson, getting up stiffly. He bowed to his wife. "Would you care to join me in the grill, my dear?"

"I suppose we might as well make the best of what we have," she said, smiling up at her spouse. "Come on, Bruce. Better have something to eat with the rest of us."

Mrs. Robinson went to the rear of the cave where they had stored their canned good and other provisions. As they were without cooking utensils, plates, or even knives and forks, they were compelled to eat directly from the cans.

"Well, here's the spinach and spaghetti," she said, placing the two cans beside her husband. "Peanut butter and graham crackers coming up in just a minute."

"Ah, nothing like starting the day on a nice can of cold spaghetti," Mr. Robinson said, reaching for the can. He closed his eyes, gulped a couple of times, and raised the can to his lips.

On the point of taking a mouthful of the contents, he suddenly emitted a spluttering sound and set the can down so hard that part of the spaghetti spilled over. Mrs. Robinson came hurrying out with her hands full of graham crackers. Her husband looked deathly sick.

"Why, what's the matter?" she gasped. "Anything wrong?"

He pointed to the can of spaghetti. "Oh!" she cried, recoiling at the sight. "I never noticed."

The spaghetti was covered with a thick green fungus growth.

"It's on the other stuff, too," said Bruce, from the back of the cave. "Everything's spoiled. This hot damp air again."

For several minutes no one had the courage to speak. Mrs. Robinson was crying softly. Mr. Robinson gave the can a vicious kick with the end of his toe.

"Vacation's over," he said grimly. "Come on, Bruce. We've got work to do."

Chapter 70 The Fire Eaf

o YOU suppose this is poisonous?" Bruce said, examining the green fungus growing on the tomatoes. He picked up a bit on the end of a stick and sniffed at it.

"Why certainly it's poisonous," his mother cried, dabbing at her eyes. "I should think you could tell by the sight of it. Anybody ought to know that."

"I'm afraid this puts quite a different aspect on our food situation," Mr. Robinson said gravely. "Hereafter we must eat our canned goods immediately after opening, or risk danger from contamination. Already we have lost a sizable portion of our supply. Not only the cans we have opened but those that Bruce shot full of holes yesterday."

"This awful place," Mrs. Robinson whispered. "Everything seems against us. This terrible heat. This twilight that never ends. And horrible things that you can't even talk about! Oh, Paul, whatever is going to become of us?"

"I don't know, Mother. The outlook certainly isn't very bright. But somehow I feel that we won't be left

stranded forever, that help will come eventually. In the meantime we must adopt strenuous measures, use every means at our command."

"Perhaps we could arrange a way to keep the food from spoiling so fast," Bruce suggested. "Like cooling by evaporation, for instance."

For the first time he had begun to feel a sense of real family responsibility. Back home he had known that a time would come, in the faraway future, when he would have to go to work and make a place for himself in the world, but there had been no need to decide the matter immediately. He had been quite content to drift on from day to day while his mother and father shouldered the burden of living. But on Venus problems arose that had to be solved—not next month or next week or even the next day—but right now. And there was no one to solve them but themselves. Bruce could almost feel himself growing up from one minute to the next.

"Well, let's go over to the Aurora and get the rest of the food," Mr. Robinson said. "How about it, Mother? Do you think you can hold the fort while Bruce and I are gone?"

"Why, certainly," Mrs. Robinson replied. "You're right, Paul. We mustn't give in so easily. We've always found a way out in the past and we'll do it this time."

"That's the way to talk," Mr. Robinson told her. "We have no other choice than to adapt ourselves to these new conditions. The trouble is that we've been trying to live in the secure little world we left behind us. A world full of electric refrigerators and doctors and drugstores. Where there's a fire department down on the corner and the police are always within a minute's call. We can't realize that these things don't exist for us any more. We still have the feeling that they're out of sight some place and that we'll find them pretty soon. That's our next job—to convince ourselves that we must begin to live an entirely new, more dangerous kind of life than we've ever dreamed of."

It was a long speech but it served to clear the air and give them renewed strength to face the future.

"Look, I believe the sun's coming out," Bruce cried. "It's almost bright enough to see your shadow."

"A favorable omen," Mr. Robinson declared. He turned to his wife. "Mother, I am going to leave this rifle here with you. Keep it always near you. Should the need arise do not hesitate to use it."

"I'd be as much afraid of the gun as I would of a Venusian," Mrs. Robinson told him, regarding the weapon doubtfully. She stood at the entrance of the cave watching until they were across the stream and out of sight in the jungle.

As they plodded along the trail, Bruce noticed that some parasite had attacked the plants in exposed places where his father had slashed them with his knife. He noticed also that the jungle floor was covered with the remains of countless other dead brown plants, indicating that the present growth was of recent origin. Evidently the weeds grew with astonishing rapidity at a certain stage in their development like the century plant, for several, which had been about his own height, were now well over his head.

As they had feared, the amount of canned goods worth salvaging from the stock left at the Aurora proved disappointingly small. And the contents of the cans which had been punctured by bullets were already badly spoiled.

"Looks as if it would be the last trip we need to make over here," Mr. Robinson said. "I wonder if our friend has left any new warnings about?"

"Don't see any," said Bruce, strolling over toward the ship. Suddenly his pace quickened.

"Say, there is something new," he called back excitedly. "Or at least there's a new edition of the same thing."

"How's that?" his father said, coming over beside the ship.

"See here. He's written the same message over again, exactly the same as it was word for word."

The words "Warning-don't-go" appeared on the hull as they had been before except that underneath they had been scrawled again.

"Wonder if they were written by the same fellow?" Bruce said. "The writing looks about the same as near as you can tell, doesn't it?"

His father nodded slowly. "Now why do you suppose a person would do a thing like that?"

They stood in silence examining the two messages which some person or persons unknown had been kind enough to leave for their benefit.

"A person living alone on Venus would probably get kind of queer after a while, don't you think?" Bruce asked presently.

"Wouldn't be surprised," his father replied thoughtfully. "Without anyone to talk to, or any books to read, it would be pretty hard to keep on an even keel."

They walked around the spaceship without finding anything else of an unusual nature inscribed upon the outside; they had no desire to explore the gloomy interior of the vessel. After speculating some more about the words on the hull they shouldered their packs and headed back for the cave. So absorbed were they in their thoughts that neither spoke until they were at the outskirts of the jungle.

"Oh, Bruce?"

"Yes."

"I've been thinking about those two messages on the side of the ship. Perhaps it would be just as well if we didn't mention them to your mother. No use worrying her unnecessarily, you know."

"Good idea," Bruce agreed. He didn't add that he had been thinking precisely the same thing himself.

"Well, that's the last of the canned goods," Mr. Robinson said, contemplating their little store in an alcove of the cave. "Hardly enough to last a week even with careful rationing. Bruce, my boy, it behooves us to start scouting the countryside immediately."

"I never saw anything grow the way that mold does," Mrs. Robinson said, displaying some green spots on the side of her dress. "It's every place. Even on our clothes!"

The gravity of the situation was only too evident. The question was what to do?

"Where do you plan to look first?" Mrs. Robinson asked, gazing down on the landscape that wore its usual forbidding appearance.

"I really haven't the ghost of an idea," her husband replied. "So far, we haven't seen any game worth mentioning, but then our activities have been confined to the region around this cave and the Aurora."

"Why don't we follow along the stream?" Bruce suggested. "The animals ought to keep near water, I should think."

"A very sensible suggestion," his father commented. "Also, by keeping to the stream we won't have to carry water for ourselves either. That rubber bottle may be all right for space travel but it was never meant for a hiking expedition."

Mrs. Robinson and Frank accompanied them as far as the stream. Frank had built a sand fort replete with tunnels, rivers, and waterfalls near one of the big white plants. They could not but envy the delight with which he went about his hydraulic operations, completely absorbed in the present to the utter exclusion of the past and future.

"I expect we'll be gone about four hours," Mr. Robinson told his wife on parting. "Now don't worry if we aren't back right on time. And if you should hear some shots you'll know that we've bagged a bear or a bull moose for dinner."

"But you'll be back as soon as you can, won't you?" she said, regarding him anxiously.

"Naturally we won't stay any longer than we can help. But we don't know how far we'll have to go or what sort of animals we may encounter."

She smiled. "I'll be waiting for that steak."

"We'll bring back a whole herd of cattle," Bruce promised confidently, as he and his father started down the stream.

They trudged along the bank for half an hour without sighting any game, aside from a few small rodents that scurried for cover as soon as they approached. The vegetation became increasingly dense and more luxuriant; in addition to the giant weeds a vine bearing broad dark leaves formed a nearly impenetrable network in places. Its tendrils, which were as tough and thick as a stout rope, exuded a thick white sap similar to that of the milkweed or poinsettia. At length the jungle became so dense that the explorers would have had difficulty groping their way along the stream if the gray veil overhead had not shown signs of breaking.

"I've almost forgotten how it feels to see real honest-to-goodness sunlight any more," Bruce said, watching a bright spot in the cloud layer.

"You haven't had much chance to use that astrolabe yet, have you?"

Bruce laughed. "If the space club had known we were coming to Venus they'd have probably given me a flashlight instead."

"Either that or an ax," Mr. Robinson said, trying to pick his way through the thick undergrowth. "This is the worst place we've struck so far."

They tried to find some means of forcing their way through the jungle barrier but without success. The vine was firmly entwined in all directions, forming a solid barrier as high as their heads.

"What do you say we try over on our right," Bruce suggested. "Maybe it isn't quite so thick away from the water."

"All right," his father agreed, "it can't be much ^orse than it is along here."

They left the stream and struck off at right angles into the jungle, first taking bearings on several prominent landmarks to avoid getting lost.

"I haven't seen any animals yet worth mentioning," Bruce muttered, trying to free his foot from a mass of tangled vine. "Not even those little groundhogs or whatever they were."

"It begins to look as if we'll have to live on groundhog meat," said his father.

"They're too small to waste ammunition on them. What's the matter with this planet? Can't they grow anything bigger'n a jack rabbit?"

They fought their way ahead but the creepers, if anything, were denser than by the stream.

"Curious the way this vine grows," said Mr. Robinson, pausing for breath. "It's strung from one tree to another almost like a fence."

"Look over there," Bruce said. "The ground's practically bare. As if all the weeds had been cleared out of it-Mr. Robinson followed his gaze. "It does look unnatural, doesn't it? Such a difference in the growth of the vegetation could hardly be accidental."

"Perhaps the vine strung along here was meant to be a fence," Bruce said, "and that clearing in there was made on purpose, too. But how do you suppose it could have happened?"

His father shook his head. "I could tell more about it if I could see better."

Bruce held up a warning finger.

"Listen. There's something over yonder. Hear it?"

Both men froze to attention. From beyond the fence there came a sound like that of a heavy body being dragged over the ground. It stopped for a moment, then began again—a slow ponderous movement accompanied by occasional grunts and labored breathing-

"Watch out," Mr. Robinson gasped. "I think it's headed this way."

Bruce fingered the trigger on his rifle. "From the sound, it must be the size of a house."

"Well, you were complaining about the size of the animal life on this planet only a moment ago. Now maybe you'll be satisfied."

They strained their eyes in the direction of the movement, but the light had grown as dim as late evening, and the dragging had momentarily ceased, though the breathing was louder than before.

"I can't hear it moving," Bruce said. "Maybe it's getting ready to spring."

"Got your gun handy?"

"Sure have. Say, I wonder if these bullets will stop an animal that size?"

"Don't know. We'll soon find out."

Bruce strove desperately to pierce the darkness that was settling upon them at an alarming rate.

"What's happened to the sun? I can't see a thing any more."

His father was gazing awestruck at the sky.

"Bruce, it's an eclipse. An eclipse!"

"Not on Venus!" Bruce cried. Even with a wild beast about to leap at his throat, he could remember that much. "There can't be an eclipse on Venus. Venus hasn't got a moon to make an eclipse."

"Then what's going on up there?" his father demanded, pointing overhead.

"It is an eclipse!" Bruce gasped.

Through a break in the clouds the sun had appeared as if by magic. But what a sun! Instead of a bright shining disk there was only the merest sliver of light. And that sliver was shrinking rapidly. Now but a single gleaming point lingered, as if the sun were reluctant to be blotted out completely. Then while they watched, the last bit of light vanished, plunging the world in total darkness. Simultaneously, the pale corona flashed out around the black disk of the Venusian moon.

So absorbed were they in the eclipse, they momentarily forgot the peril which threatened them in the jungle. It was almost upon them now. In their bewildered state, its heavy breathing seemed to come from all directions. They were surrounded by it. Bruce felt a hot blast of air upon his back. He spun around.

Facing him not five feet away was a monster such as he had supposed existed only in medieval folklore and legend. A monster with the head of a dragon attached by a long neck to a bloated body set on thick, powerful legs. And like a dragon, its mouth was dripping with fire. Liquid fire was splashed over the creature's chest and forelegs—its entire body was covered with glowing phosphorescent patches.

As Bruce raised his rifle to fire he got another shock. He himself was all lighted up like a neon sign!

Chapter 11 Oswald

IIIHILE Bruce stood staring at the apparition before 111 him the sky lightened. Through the driving clouds y V a brilliant crescent of sun appeared, growing 11 rapidly larger. The eclipse was over. It had lasted scarcely a minute.

The monster stood motionless regarding the two men with a quizzical look in its eye. Its mouth turned up a little at the corners giving its face a self-satisfied complacent expression. After a brief inspection the animal wagged its head, heaved a long sigh, and scooped up a mouthful of leaves. Bruce noticed how the white sap, drooling from its mouth, left a trail of fire wherever it dropped. So that was the source of the glowing marks upon his clothes. The phosphorescent sap from the vine was not bright enough to show in the ordinary dim twilight, but came out with startling luminosity during the darkness of the eclipse.

Bruce was hesitating whether to shoot or not when his father caught his arm. "Hold it awhile. This creature doesn't look particularly vicious to me."

Bruce lowered his rifle, although still keeping it

pointed in the general direction of the beast. On its part, the animal continued placidly munching the vine, as if wholly unconcerned over the fact that its life was being weighed in the balance by two beings from another world. The general appearance of the reptile reminded Bruce of pictures he had seen of the diplod-ocus of the Jurassic age. There was the same long neck and long flexible tail dwindling to a lash at the end, probably for use as a weapon. But whereas di-plodocus had a small head, with a brain cavity scarcely large enough to hold a walnut, this animal had a skull several feet in diameter, implying a more highly developed nervous system. And like diplodocus, this saurian also had blunt teeth, indicating it to be a vegetable eater.

The pale disk of the sun was visible for a fleeting instant before it vanished behind a bank of cloud. Nevertheless there was enough light to discern objects with tolerable distinctness for a distance of several yards.

"There's a whole herd of those animals beyond the fence," Mr. Robinson said. "Must be a dozen at least."

Bruce stole a glance in the direction of the clearing at the same time keeping a wary eye upon the animal in front of him. A group of the saurians were huddled together staring dumbly ahead of them like cows in a pasture.

"They don't look so very fierce," he said.

The animal in front of him continued eating, its jaws grinding with a rhythmical motion as steadily as if they were animated by clockwork, while the long vine disappeared into its mouth inch by inch. Bruce ripped off a bunch of leaves and waved them invitingly in front of the saurian's flat snout. The animal hesitated, nibbled tentatively upon the leaves, then evidently finding them uncontaminated by this obliging stranger, went to work upon them as methodically as before. When the leaves were gone the animal looked at Bruce inquiringly, then advanced a step.

"It wants some more," Mr. Robinson told him, chuckling.

"It can rustle up its own dinner," Bruce growled, hastily backing away. The sight of an animal the size of a two-story house bearing down upon him was a bit overwhelming—even if it did have the disposition of a tabby cat. The animal contemplated him expectantly, but seeing that no more food was forthcoming, began foraging for itself.

"I doubt if we have anything to fear from these animals themselves," Mr. Robinson said, studying the herd within the fence. "They seem harmless enough unless one happened to step on you or sideswiped you with its tail. But that herd in there has an ominous look to me. I doubt if they got penned up like that by accident."

"You mean they were penned up in there deliberately? Like cows in a pasture?"

Bruce had been too excited over the eclipse and the saurian to think much about the significance of their discovery. Now he began to grasp dimly at his father's meaning and the thought made his heart skip a beat.

"What else can we think?" said his father. "Take this network of vines here. It's crude but nevertheless it makes an effective fence. Animals the size of those could doubtless break through if they tried but they're probably too docile to make the effort."

Bruce sent his glance roving through the gloomy fastness of the jungle. "Do you suppose there's anybody around watching them? Some kind of guard or keeper?"

"Wouldn't be surprised. We don't want to be caught napping anyhow. Let's see if we can't get a little closer to that herd in there."

They crawled along the fence, taking care to keep their heads below the level of the shrubs, until they were within a few yards of the saurians. For several minutes they sat watching them, so tense that they hardly dared to breathe lest they call attention to themselves. But the only sound was the gentle rustling of the wind among the leaves and an occasional grunt from the herd.

"If anybody's watching these animals, they're certainly keeping well out of sight," said Bruce, poking his head above the bushes for a cautious look around.

His father nodded absently. He was concentrating upon the animals in the corral. The reptiles had no external armor but rather a smooth soft coat like cowhide.

"See those marks on them," his father said. "Can you make out what they are?"

The light had faded so that the animals were mere black hulks within the corral. Bruce watched intently, waiting for the twilight to lift.

"They—they look like sores," he said presently.

"That's what I thought. Like little bites of some kind."

"Yeah. Some are fresher than others, as if they'd just been opened."

They studied the markings thoughtfully.

"They could be insect bites," Bruce said.

"They could be," his father admitted, "but somehow I don't think so. See how regularly the marks are distributed over the surface of the animals. There's a definite line along the flank and up the side of the neck. Besides, they look much too deep and sharp for insect bites."

In the gathering darkness the jungle seemed filled with evil things, all the more sinister because they chose to remain out of sight.

"For the first time I think we're getting close to the people of this planet," his father whispered. "These great dumb brutes are doubtless their main source of food supply. They keep them penned in here to feed upon them when hungry. The way we keep chickens in our backyard."

"You mean by biting them? Sucking their blood?"

"Something of the sort. They probably feed upon the animals until they are exhausted, then turn them out to pasture to fatten them up again. Like the one we found roaming beyond the fence."

Bruce looked fearfully into the darkness. "What do you say we beat a retreat?" he murmured, crouching lower among the vines. "I'd rather not be on hand in case some hungry Venusians show up."

"Nor I," his father said, "in case they should develop a taste for human blood."

After a quick look around they started back toward the stream, walking in a half-crouch Indian fashion so as to keep their heads below the general level of the vegetation. They were making excellent time considering the obstacles in their path when Bruce, who was in the lead, heard a thud behind him followed by a groan. He turned to find his father sprawled full length upon the ground.

"What's the matter? Take a spill?" he asked.

"Sure did. Tripped over a root, I guess."

"Hurt yourself?"

"No, not much.Knocked the wind out of me though."

"Say, you did hurt yourself," Bruce told him, peeling back the sleeve of his shirt. "You got a bad cut on the side of your wrist."

"Just a scratch," his father muttered. "Must have hit a rock when I fell."

He rose painfully to his feet and carefully felt himself all over, looking for signs of damage.

"No bones broken apparently. That would have been disastrous."

"Think you can walk all right? Here, put your arm around my shoulder."

His father waved him off. "No, I'm all right. Besides, we've got to keep moving."

They resumed their march picking their way through the treacherous- undergrowth more cautiously now. But they had hardly gone a dozen yards when Mr. Robinson stopped.

"Son, we've forgotten something."

Bruce looked blank. "Forgotten something? We're both here—and I've still got the rifle."

"We've forgotten the thing we came for in the first place. Game. Food. Nourishment. We can't go back to your mother and Frank empty-handed."

Bruce's jaw dropped. "You're right. Meeting that animal scared me so I forgot all about it."

"Running away like this won't help us. We're still living back home. Still thinking in terms of the police department and the corner drugstore."

"But what can we do?" said Bruce. "We never found anything to take back with us."

"Oh, didn't we? Think hard now."

Bruce thought hard. "You mean that saurian? That oversize cow?"

"Well, it's certainly big game, isn't it?"

"It sure is. There sure ought to be a lot of steaks on an animal that size. Don't know how tender they'd be."

"That is something we will have to find out," Mr. Robinson said firmly.

For a moment they stood looking at each other. Then without a word they turned and headed back toward the corral.

Bruce marveled at the comparative ease with which he returned to face danger that would have terrified him only a few days before. But he was becoming aware of a new force stirring within him. A force which he felt had always been there but which he had been too lazy to put to use.

They found the saurian still grazing near the corral. It regarded them with an air of detached interest but made no effort to move one way or the other. The two men kept at a respectful distance while discussing the best way to handle the situation. Here was meat in abundance, but now a new problem reared its ugly head. What were they going to do with it now that they had it? In the past the Robinsons had been accustomed to obtaining their meat from the Sanitary Market at the corner of Pico and Country Club Drive where steaks and chops garnished with parsley came stacked in neat piles under a refrigerated glass counter. But the sight of several tons of beef on the hoof was a bit overwhelming.

Mr. Robinson regarded the saurian doubtfully. "I'm sure I haven't the haziest notion how to proceed with this business."

"The only thing we've got to cut it up with is my pocket knife," Bruce said, "and it's kind of small for a job like this."

He began searching through his pockets. The knife he referred to was a birthday present from his uncle, a multi-purpose instrument that in addition to a large blade and a small blade, also boasted of a screwdriver, a nail file, a nut pick and a corkscrew.

"I just remembered," said Bruce, "I gave that knife to Frank before we left the cave. He wanted to use it on that gadget we took from the spaceship."

Mr. Robinson gave his son a long look. "My boy, as old hunters and trappers I'm afraid we're badly miscast. I'm beginning to suspect that we lack the necessary know-how."

The sight of the herd in the corral still made Bruce nervous.

Sooner or later he knew that somebody was going to pay them a visit. He turned a speculative eye on the saurian.

"Do you suppose we could drive this animal back to the cave? He looks as if he might be fairly cooperative."

"That would be a good deal easier than lugging the meat back ourselves, wouldn't it?" his father admitted. "Suppose we try it."

Bruce approached the animal, ready to run or fire in case it bolted.

"Watch out for its tail," Mr. Robinson warned. "One swipe from that rudder on its back end, and you'll be a goner."

The animal regarded Bruce steadily while continuing to devour some vine. No matter where he went the animal's eyes followed him. Apparently it had the ability to turn its head around through half a circle like a bird. Bruce decided that perhaps a flanking action would be better strategy than a direct frontal approach.

"Come on, get up," he said, prodding the animal's bulging side with a long stick. "Nice bossy. Come on, now."

The animal continued chewing thoughtfully for several seconds. Then to the utter amazement of them both it rose ponderously to its feet, heaved a bitter sigh, and started ambling through the jungle.

"Head it off!" Bruce shouted to his father. "Keep it moving toward the stream."

His father waved his arms and made excited gestures in the direction of the stream. Like a well-trained elephant the saurian changed course in the direction indicated.

"What did I tell you?" Bruce cried, delighted at the success of his project. "It does everything you tell it."

"I expect it's been trained that way," said Mr. Robinson. "Notice those scars along the side of its neck. You can see that this animal has had the same treatment as the others. Only these scars are mostly healed."

"The devils!" Bruce cried. His feeling of fear was rapidly giving way to one of rage at these invisible antagonists. "I'd just like to get hold of one of those brutes once."

"Be careful they don't get hold of you first."

They reached the stream without incident and turned up toward the cave, but to their surprise the saurian waded through the water and continued up the opposite bank toward a range of mountains in the distance.

"Hey, it's heading for the hills," Bruce said. "Now what do you suppose gave it that idea?"

"Acts as if it were following a regular path like the cows coming home at night, doesn't it?" his father said. "Let's follow it for a while and see where it takes us."

Despite its great bulk the saurian moved at a pace that kept them hustling to keep up with it. In fact, if it had not been for the animal's insatiable appetite they would soon have been left far behind. Time and again it paused to sample some tender grass blades or nibble at a succulent plant, displaying a remarkable delicacy of touch for so large a creature. It showed, particular preference for a certain pale green pear-shaped fruit which grew rather sparingly on some low trees.

"If the animals can eat these, maybe we can, too," said Bruce, plucking one of the pears.

He sampled a bit with the tip of his tongue. "Any good?" his father asked. "Not bad. Tastes kind of sweet and juicy like a pineapple."

"Let's notice your pet's choice of food along the way. We can probably pick up some valuable dietary hints."

The saurian was leading them into a wild barren region with great blocks of jagged glistening rock on every side. Some of the rocks had assumed queer forms like those in the Garden of the Gods: castles and ships and faces of old men and children. The animal never hesitated but paddled steadily on as if familiar with every step of the way. After about an hour it rounded a turn and made straight for a narrow gap in the side of a mountain flanked by walls rising to a prodigious height on either side.

"Where's he going now?" said Bruce, regarding the passageway with distrust. "I think we've gone far enough."

"This mountain looks as if it might be the remains of an extinct volcano," said Mr. Robinson. "See how the sides slope to a point at the center."

"Wonder where that opening leads?"

"No telling. Looks dark enough, doesn't it? Only thing that's missing is a sign over the top, 'Abandon hope all ye who enter.' As you say, I think we've gone far enough."

They ran in front of the saurian, waving their arms and shouting directions. The animal stood irresolute as if perplexed at this unexpected turn of events, flicking its tail back and forth and peering about with the same serene complacent expression on its face. At length it appeared to get the idea, for presently it turned with surprising agility and started back over the same path it had come, with Mr. Robinson and Bruce in pursuit. They reached the stream and had no trouble this time in persuading the animal to make the turn toward the cave.

By observing the saurian they had gathered various objects which had tempted its appetite along the way, so that by the time they neared the cave they were laden with fruits and vegetables. Their best find appeared to be a tuber resembling a sweet potato.

"Well, we aren't coming back empty-handed anyhow," said Bruce, stuffing some more tubers into his pockets. "Not with Oswald here leading the way."

"Oswald?" said Mr. Robinson.

"This animal here," said Bruce, tossing a pebble at the beast. "We've got to call him something, haven't we?"

"Why Oswald?"

"Oh, I don't know. Somehow he just looks as if his name ought to be Oswald."

They had reached a point a few hundred yards below the cave where the stream curved sharply around the side of a band.

"It just occurred to me," Mr. Robinson said. "Your mother and Frank will be scared to death if we come walking in with Oswald unannounced. I think I'll run on ahead and prepare them for his appearance."

"Fine," said Bruce. "We'll take it easy till you get there."

As Oswald at that moment was engaged in consuming a young tree Mr. Robinson had no trouble leaving them behind. Bruce allowed the saurian to graze at leisure, only prodding him occasionally when he showed a disposition to make a meal off the entire countryside. The truth of the matter was that Bruce was tired and welcomed a chance to take his time over the last few steps of the journey. A curtain of cloud was darkening the sky and bringing out the phosphorescent patches on the animal's hide. How frightened he had been when first seeing them during the eclipse! An example of ignorance induced by fear, he reflected. Once you understood a thing it lost the power to frighten you.

Filled with such philosophical thoughts Bruce prodded Oswald into motion and resumed his journey up the stream. By this time, his father should have had ample opportunity to sketch in Oswald's background, and to prepare the way for his unveiling. Bruce chuckled to think how astonished his mother and Frank would be to see him calmly escorting home a monster large enough to crush them with a blow if it cared to do so.

He ran ahead scanning the hillside for the rest of the family. He had anticipated that they would come down to see his strange pet; instead, there was no one in sight. A vague sense of alarm seized him. Had something happened? Another nightmare? A visitation from the crazy man who had scribbled the warning message on the ship? A thousand wild ideas went racing through his head.

"Come on, Oswald. Shake it up," Bruce commanded, giving the animal a slap on its flank that sent it waddling up the stream full speed ahead. Now they were around the bend and in full view of the cave. Bruce spied his mother and father in front of one of the white flowers beside the stream. But where was Frank? And why were they dancing and waving their arms like that?

"Hey, folks, take a look," he called. "See what I've got.

He waved and pointed toward the saurian lumbering behind him. Then suddenly he started running with every ounce of strength he possessed. Something awful was happening there by the water's edge. Something too horrible to contemplate.

Frank was disappearing within the folds of the mammoth white plant!

ChdptCt                                                                    Animal

rjHOKiNG and gasping for breath, Bruce reached his mother and father. The situation was obvious at a glance. The lovely cream-colored petals, which J had been the plant's chief attraction, were transformed into tentacles twisting and writhing around the child's back and neck like a mass of earthworms. And the golden corolla at the center had expanded to form the lips of a mouth surrounded by pulsing sphincterlike tendrils leading to the bulky stem below. Ordinarily the plant had to obtain its supply of protein in little pieces from insects and small animals that strayed within its grasp. Now with the deliberation of a slow-motion picture the tentacles were bearing the screaming child toward the mouth yawning to receive its prey. Here was a feast indeed!

Without a thought Bruce dashed to the rescue. When he'd almost gotten hold of his brother, Bruce fell back howling with pain. Long rows of squirming fingers were protruding from the broad leaves of the

plant where his body had brushed against them. Now they were retracted into stubby palps waving restlessly, eager to resume the fray.

Bruce looked wildly around him. If they only had something to enable them to break past the plant's outer defenses. A board, a stepladder, a rake—anything with which he could reach the child. He was about to send a stream of bullets into the twisting leaves when his mother seized the gun.

"Don't. You might hit Frank instead," she cried.

"But we've got to do something!"

The child was almost swallowed up within the petals. Already one foot was being sucked into the greedy throat of the monster.

Bruce took careful aim and sent a stream of bullets into the outer defensive leaves. Instantly a ridge of the fingers leaped from the surface seeking their attacker. But aside from a neat row of holes which the bullets had sliced through the thick leaves the plant was uninjured. If anything, the white tentacles had tightened their hold upon the child.

Now only Frank's head and shoulders remained in sight. He no longer struggled or cried. His face was purple and his eyes, although wide open, were glazed like those of a sleepwalker's.

Mr. Robinson and Bruce threw themselves at the plant. They struck at it with their fists. They tore at it with their fingers. They kicked at it. Once Bruce thought he was going to get through. But the plant resisted like an animate thing. Their strength was useless against it. In the end they were hurled back beaten and exhausted. Bruce fell to the ground and gave vent to his feelings in great sobs that shook his whole body as though he had a fever.

Bruce felt something smooth and hard brushing against his side. Something that shook the ground and breathed with the windy grunt of an old steam engine. He felt a whiff of hot air against the back of his neck that made him sit up with a jerk.

At first all Bruce was able to see were some tufts of hair on Oswald's right front leg. Then he perceived that the saurian was examining the plant, moving its head back and forth in long sweeping curves. For a moment it nibbled tentatively upon one of the leaves against which Bruce and his father had struggled in vain. As before, the long palps came leaping from the surface but this time they were confronted by a different foe. The saurian, apparently well satisfied with its first mouthful, placed one foot on the squirming leaves and then methodically began devouring the very heart of the plant, pausing occasionally to savor a particularly juicy morsel.

The white tentacles went groping upward, loosening their hold on Frank, as they strove to resist this new menace. Two of them left the child and sought to entwine themselves around the saurian's neck. With a careless almost contemptuous gesture the animal brushed them aside and proceeded unconcernedly with its meal.

"Give it to him, Oswald," Bruce shouted. "Beat it up! Tear it to pieces!"

The tentacles had now entirely fallen away from Frank and were waving helplessly in the air. Similarly the palps which had resisted with the strength of steel drooped like tired fingers. Bruce waited his chance. As the saurian lifted its head he darted inside the plant, seized Frank in his arms, and bore the unconscious child to safety.

Mrs. Robinson folded Frank in her arms and leaned over him, laughing and crying by turns. The child appeared to be uninjured, except for some surface wounds where the rough petals had scraped against the skin.

"Good old Oswald," said Bruce fervently. "That thing didn't have a chance once he got in there."

As if in a gesture of triumph Oswald placed both feet on the plant-animal. Then with a snort and grunt he lifted his head in search of other worlds to conquer. At the same time he brought his tail around in a sweeping circle that uprooted the plant and sent fragments flying in all directions.

Mr. Robinson stood regarding the saurian with the same affectionate gaze that one bestows upon a member of the hometown football team who has just snatched victory from defeat by running the length of the field for a touchdown.

"Good old Oswald is right," he said, "From now on Oswald is one of the family."

"Who's Oswald?" Frank demanded, sitting up and blinking at the mountain of flesh in front of him.

"I think that Bruce and I found out a good deal about the inhabitants of this planet today even though we failed to come directly to grips with them," said Mr. Robinson, taking another bite of the tuber or "sweet potato" as they preferred to call it. Although they found that roasting improved the flavor of the vegetable considerably, the tuber was in the same category as parsnips—edible without being really good.

"Judging from the construction of the corral we found in the jungle the Venusians are not a highly intelligent form of life," he continued. "There is no evidence that we have to deal with a superman or a mind far above our own in mentality."

"The thing they're best at, is keeping out of sight," said Bruce. "I'd like to meet a Venusian face to face. It would be better to know the worst and get it over with than to keep on playing this game of hide-and-seek all the time."

"I thought you did see a Venusian once," his mother said. "That time when you got lost on your way over to the Aurora"

"I don't know what that thing was, Mother. Sometimes it all seems very real. Then again it's so mixed up and jumbled in my mind I wonder if it ever happened to me at all."

"Our whole life's been that way ever since we came here," Mrs. Robinson cried. "This whole place seems unreal. This never ending twilight. Those crazy-looking plants out there. This hypnotic spell that creeps over you. If the Venusians aren't so smart, then how can they hypnotize us the way they do?"

"Those are questions that we cannot answer now," Mr. Robinson replied. "They are a part of the enigmas of this whole mysterious planet."

"I'll bet I know who could answer 'em," said Bruce thoughtfully.

"Who?" said his mother quickly.

"The fellow who wrote—" He suddenly became very much occupied in juggling a sweet potato he had just snatched from the fire.

"I didn't mean anybody in particular," he muttered. "I was just talking."

"No you weren't, Bruce Robinson. You can't fool your mother. Now what are you men hiding from me?"

She shot a glance at her husband. "Oh, I can see you're in on this, too. You've got that look on your face."

"We were merely trying to save you from worry," Mr. Robinson explained, "but under the circumstances I see no point of making a secret out of it."

Then he gave her a brief account of the identical messages they had found on the spaceship.

"Bruce's story of a lone spaceman here on Venus seems like the most reasonable explanation of the original message. We assumed that he was interrupted and unable to finish. But when we found the same words written again in the same hand we began to have our doubts. The man would hardly have been interrupted a second time at the same place. We cannot avoid the suspicion that our neighbor has become mentally unbalanced in the course of the years that he has spent in this desolate place. A few more experiences like the one with that plant would be enough to unhinge the best of us."

"Don't talk about it," Mrs. Robinson said. "I can't even bear to think of it."

"Any man in his right mind would have looked us up by this time," Bruce said. "That's what I'd have done right away."

"We have no idea what form his derangement may have taken," Mr. Robinson said. "Let us withhold judgment. A man left alone to brood over his troubles gets into queer ways of thinking."

Bruce laughed. "He probably thinks he's the king of Venus by this time. Maybe he's sore because we showed up at all. Maybe his message was meant to be a Keep Out sign."

"That's so," his father remarked. "The words could be interpreted either way, couldn't they?"

Bruce regarded the charred remains of the tuber which he had been gnawing. "Boy, how I could go for one of those double choc-malts at Melchor's drugstore. If I ever get back to Earth that's the first thing I'm going to do—head straight for Melchor's."

"Well, I don't know how much you could buy after you'd get there," his father told him. "We didn't have any money when we left the Earth and we certainly haven't made much since."

"I'd dig up the money somehow."

"You know, I think Bruce looks better now," Mrs. Robinson remarked, scrutinizing her son with that air of critical appraisal which parents are so fond of turning on their offspring. "I always said that Bruce used to eat too much, and you know we could never get him to do any work around the house. Why, he was almost fat. Now look at him. He's much thinner and his shoulders are better developed, too."

"Expect I'll be a regular Tarzan of the Apes pretty soon," Bruce muttered.

"Going back to the food situation," Mr. Robinson said, "how many cans do we have on hand now?"

"About a dozen," his wife replied. "I'm trying to make them last as long as possible."

"Are there any pears left at all?" he inquired. "Those are the only Venusian product I've found so far that really tastes good to me."

"I think we have about a dozen. I'll go look and see."

She returned holding one of the pears in the tips of her fingers.

"Would you believe it?" she said, displaying a patch of the green fungus growing over a soft place on the fruit. "Not twelve hours since it was picked, and spoiled already."

"Fortunately, we can always get some more," said Mr. Robinson, "although they only seem to grow near the stream."

"Mind if I take a look at that pear before you throw it out?" Bruce asked.

He took the fruit and began studying the mold through one of the lenses taken from Frank's time machine. Although only magnifying a few diameters it was sufficient to reveal the delicate hairs that formed the repulsive looking growth. He had read the article in his encyclopedia on fungi and related subjects; now he was trying to recall what had been said about the types of effects they caused.

Mr. Robinson rose slowly from beside the fire, doing his best to simulate the relaxed expression of a man who has just finished a bounteous repast.

"I think I'll go down to the stream and wash my arm again. It's begun to pain me a little lately."

The lacerations which he had received on his wrist where he had fallen near the corral had failed to heal. Now they were red and swollen and throbbed painfully.

Mrs. Robinson examined the festering cuts. "It looks infected to me. Wasn't there any medicine on that Aurora? I though all spaceships were required to carry first-aid equipment."

"So they are," said Bruce, still preoccupied with the mold, "but we couldn't find any. Must have gotten lost when the ship spilled over the side of the cliff."

"Oh, dear," his mother sighed, "if we could only call a doctor." She looked around the cave as if she still expected to find a telephone hidden in one of its recesses. "Now you go down to the stream and wash it while I boil some dressings."

Mrs. Robinson watched her husband with misgiving as he descended the hill, holding his arm rigidly to save it from the jar of walking. With his tousled hair, scraggly beard, and ragged clothes he looked like a perfect scarecrow; yet strangely enough the family were now scarcely aware of each others' tattered appearance. It had become a natural part of the Venusian landscape, like the dim twilight, the red weeds, and the clouds forever drifting overhead and forever veiling the sun.

Mr. Robinson came toiling back a few minutes later still carefully favoring his injured arm. "That water helped a lot. It feels better already."

"Come over here and let me put these dressings on it," his wife told him, fishing some bandages out of the water boiling in a large coffee can. "Hold still, will you? I can't do a thing if you keep moving every second."

"You know, I think Oswald really recognized me," Mr. Robinson said, after the bandages had been applied. "He came over to where I was bathing my arm and seemed quite interested in the process. I believe he has more intelligence than we give him credit for."

"Oswald's not so dumb," said Bruce, hastening to the defense of his pet. He gazed down the stream where the saurian was engaged in his usual business of feeding himself.

"Well, I believe I'll try to get some sleep," Mr. Robinson said. "It's nearly midnight and this arm didn't give me much rest last time."

They had tried to maintain regular sleeping periods every twenty-four hours although it was difficult to do so without the customary rhythm of day and night. Now they disposed themselves about the cave as comfortably as they could under the circumstances.

Bruce was in that annoying state of being tired without being able to relax and go to sleep. After tossing about for an hour he finally fell into a doze in which he was neither entirely awake nor asleep. Every time he drifted off, he immediately found himself dreaming—crazy confused dreams from which he woke feeling more tired than before. After several such experiences he finally found a spot in the back of the cave that was not so oppressively hot and went to sleep at once.

He awoke suddenly, sitting bolt upright with his heart pounding. For several minutes he was undecided whether he was awake or still dreaming. His thoughts were muddled in the most confused and irritating way. Above all, he was burdened with an overpowering sense of depression. Every wrong that he had ever suffered came back with irresistible intensity.

The words written on the side of the Aurora kept running monotonously through his mind like a phonograph record. . . . Warning don't go. . . . Warning don't go. . . . Warning don't go. . . .

Several minutes passed before he realized that these same words had been scratched on the opposite wall of the cave.

Chapter 13 Inthe Corral

n RADUALLY Bruce shook off the sense of depression that had burdened him upon awakening. He

B

erased the words from the wall and said nothing about them to the others. But their effect upon him could not be dismissed so easily. Was it possible that the man had stolen into the cave and inscribed his message while they were sleeping? It seemed incredible. Yet in his disordered state of mind he could not be sure of anything. Apparently his mother and father had experienced nothing unusual; or if they had, they chose to remain silent like himself.

The lacerations on his father's arm were much worse. The area around the wrist was puffed and inflamed and there were long red streaks running up the side of his arm. Although Mr. Robinson tried to minimize the gravity of his condition, it was obvious that he was suffering considerable pain and the infection unless checked would soon become serious.

The next two days, as measured by their watch, passed uneventfully. Bruce was kept busy in the eternal quest for food. He was forced to go farther and

128

farther afield to find something edible. His father was particularly fond of the pears; indeed in his feverish state they were the only items on their limited bill of fare that he cared for at all. But since the fruit molded so rapidly, Bruce generally picked only enough to last for the next twenty-four hours. Fortunately, the other fruit and vegetables which they found edible were more resistant to the growth, and could be stored for several days without fear of contamination.

About this time Bruce discovered another change in the Venusian scene that caused him some uneasiness. At the time the Aurora had landed, the air had been cold and the sky almost black. Gradually the night had given way to the twilight which had prevailed without a break, except for occasional periods of light and dark depending upon the thickness of the cloud layer. Several times, in fact, the clouds had cleared sufficiently for Bruce to measure the altitude of the sun with his astrolabe. These measures he had carefully recorded in a notebook together with the time and date of each. They showed that the sun had climbed higher in the sky until eight days after landing, when it had reached an altitude of around 75°. But now his measures revealed a decrease in the altitude of the sun. Was the slow rotation of Venus carrying the sun lower in the sky? If so, it meant that in a few more days the sun would set. The Venusian day had been bad enough. But who could guess what terrors the night might hold?

"How's Dad?" Bruce asked, bringing a couple of coffee cans brimming with water into the cave.

His mother shook her head wearily. "He hardly slept at all. I was up with him half a dozen times." "And you never woke me?"

"You have to hunt for food. Besides there was nothing you could have done for him. There's nothing any of us can do for him."

Bruce tiptoed back to the rude bed they had constructed for Mr. Robinson from leaves and packing material. The sight of his father's face startled him. One did not need to be a physician to see that the man was thoroughly ill. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes shone with an unnatural luster.

"How's the arm?" said Bruce.

"Not so good, I'm afraid. It hurts all the time now."

"Anything I can do?"

"Could you help me turn over? If I could only give this side some rest."

Bruce found this operation harder than he expected. His father was like a dead weight and every move caused him pain.

"Now," said Bruce, easing him back on the bed, "is there anything else you'd like?"

"Are there any of those pears left? They're the only thing that tastes good to me."

Bruce rummaged around the cave until he found some of the fruit.

"I'll put a stack on both sides of your bed. That way you'll be sure to find some if you want them."

He placed about a dozen of the pears by the bed where they would be within easy reach.

"Better try to get some sleep if you can," Bruce advised. "I've just brought up some fresh water. I think I'll go out and try to dig.up some more pears and tubers."

His father grinned feebly. "Thanks, son. You'll have to take over now."

Always before his father had been the leader of the family. Unconsciously they had come to rely upon him for advice and encouragement. Bruce thought of the many times in the past when the going had been tough, how his father must have grown tired and discouraged. Yet before the family he had always presented a cheerful face. Now it occurred to Bruce that possibly his father had not always been as cheerful as he seemed. That he might have had his moments of doubt and discouragement, too.

Bruce stopped for a word with his mother before he left the cave. "You'll be sick yourself if you don't get some sleep," he told her.

"I am tired," she admitted. "I'll try to get some rest while Frank is taking his nap."

Bruce walked slowly down the stream, taking no chances of an accident such as his father had suffered. In their present straitened condition, if he were trapped or ambushed, it would mean not only the end of him but the entire family as well. The knowledge that the burden of responsibility rested upon his shoulders alone, gave him a sense of pride he had never experienced before. He gripped his rifle and headed into the jungle with the firm resolve that he would prove equal to the situation.

Bruce took more than an hour to reach the corral. The memory of his encounter with Oswald made him smile. What a scare that had given him. He felt much calmer and more resolute now. Whatever Venus had to offer he felt he was ready for it.

Nevertheless his heart beat faster as he approached the corral. He found it hard to believe that everything would not be just as they had left it. Perhaps they had deceived themselves. Perhaps there was no such fence as they had imagined, but only the natural growth of vine around a sparsely vegetated region. And the saurians they had seen huddled together were there simply because they liked company.

Bruce forced his way through the tangled growth until he reached the place where they had examined the marks upon the animals' backs. He could still recognize his own footprints in the soft soil. But the corral was empty. A section of the fence, large enough for one of the beasts to pass through, had been turned aside! Moreover, there was unmistakable evidence that the section of fence had been removed deliberately rather than by accident. The loose ends of the vine had not been broken but had been laid aside so that they could be readily woven together again.

Bruce edged along the fence until he reached the open section. He hesitated for a while, then boldly walked inside. Entering the corral gave him a guilty feeling, as if he had stolen into someone's home while they were gone. Once inside, however, he saw that the corral was much larger than he had supposed, with frequent turns and unsuspected alleyways. The workmanship with which the vine had been woven together was of about the same quality as the construction of a bird's nest, crude but adequate for the purpose.

Bruce was rounding a sharp turn in the corral when a rustling noise brought him up short. He dropped to his knees, taking cover beneath the foliage overhanging the fence. The rustling was repeated, followed by a grunt and the sound of a heavy body being dragged over the ground. Another saurian, Bruce thought. He inched his way around the turn in the fence, keeping a firm hold on his rifle in case he should need it in a hurry. All saurians might not have such an affable disposition as Oswald's. He peered around the corner of the fence. It was another saurian all right. A whopper, too. In the darkness it loomed even larger than his own pet.

But what was wrong with its back? There was a great lump where the neck joined the body as if the animal were deformed or had met with an accident. It was some time before Bruce recognized that the hump was not a part of the animal at all, but another creature about the size of a man with its body flattened so tightly against the saurian that the two appeared as one. Now the creature was flexing its claws and squirming about as if seeking a firmer hold. After considerable maneuvering it settled down upon the saurian with a series of soft contented clucking noises. For a long time it remained fixed in this position. The saurian did not move or attempt in any way to dislodge the creature that was preying upon its back.

Presently the creature stirred as if awakening from a long sleep. Its body was so distended as to be nearly spherical. Bruce caught a glimpse of two bright little eyes set in a face like that of a mouse. Then with a faint rustling sound the creature spread huge membranous wings and fluttered off into the jungle.

Chapter 14^

RUCE did a quick checkup on himself. The sight of the creature feeding upon the saurian had produced an impressive and sinister effect. But he had reached a stage where such sights no longer had the power to panic him. He was really getting tougher, he told himself. Developing more will power and self-control.

The bat man was a few hundred feet away, flying sluggishly and following an irregular course. Bruce promptly took off after it. He got considerable satisfaction out of the thought that he was the pursuer this time instead of the pursued. The creature was not particularly hard to follow. Doubtless it was so gorged from its repast that it had trouble keeping on the wing. As long as the bat man was in flight, Bruce had no trouble keeping it in view, as its black wings made identification easy. But the moment it settled upon an object he lost it at once. The creature's power of mimicry was uncanny. Several times Bruce thought he had lost his quarry, only to see it fluttering up ahead of him again.

Bruce had not followed the bat man long before he discovered that it was following the same path over which Oswald had led him and his father the day before. He recognized again the savage desolate character of the scenery. The spires and pinnacles rising against the sky like grotesquely carven statuary. The oddly shaped faces that the wind had worn out of the rocks. The crater-like shape of the peak was more obvious this time than before. Bruce wondered if it was actually the remains of an extinct volcano or whether it was a ring shaped formation similar to those on the moon. The clouds had lifted somewhat, revealing a panorama he had not even suspected on his previous trip. Now he perceived a multitude of peaks rising in the distance, similar to the one he now approached. It appeared that the craters seen upon the moon were not peculiar to that body alone, for they were repeated upon a magnificent scale here on Venus. On all sides there was abundant evidence that the region had once been in a state of violent turmoil. And now it was frozen into these weirdly sculptured ringed plains and jagged mountain peaks. Did every planet go through such a stage of crater formation? Or was it a feature of only a few such as Mercury, Venus, and our moon?

Bruce approached the entrance to the canyon with the same misgivings as before. It yawned ahead of him dark, ominous, forbidding. He had the feeling that once inside those towering walls there would be no turning back. But he was determined now, either to solve the mystery of Venus or never return to tell of it at all.

The bat man fluttered about the entrance for several minutes as if waiting for some sign or signal before entering. Then with a flurry of wings it wheeled suddenly and darted inside. Bruce hesitated momentarily before rushing after it. The walls of the canyon closed over him and he was on his way to the secret depths beyond.

Bruce found himself gasping for breath in air stagnate with carbon dioxide and other fumes. The sides of the canyon were honeycombed with caverns and tunnels. He was startled at the sight of phosphorescent plants, their light pale and flickering, glowing in nooks and crevices. Gradually he lost all sense of time and direction. He felt that he had descended to a great depth below the level of the entrance. Several times he was on the point of turning back but always the fluttering wings of the bat man drew him on.

After what seemed hours he became aware of a change in the bat man's actions. Now he was flying faster and less erratically, as if sure of his way and anxious to reach the end of his journey. Bruce had difficulty keeping the wings in sight. He would get off the track and find himself wandering down the length of some endless gallery or climbing over the debris left by some ancient avalanche. Would the bat man never tire? He had been flying for hours without rest. Then Bruce sensed that the end of the journey was near. The bat man was gliding gently downward. Suddenly it dipped its wings and vanished below the canyon wall.

Bruce hurried on, fearful lest he lose the bat man entirely. Then he saw that further pursuit was useless. The wall of the canyon widened out and dropped away, forming a vast natural amphitheater, lined by jagged peaks and furrows that gave it the appearance of the ornamentation on the proscenium of a theater. At first glance the enclosure seemed empty, but upon inspecting it more closely, Bruce saw that what he had taken for rocks and shrubs were really bat men. There were thousands upon thousands of them. The walls were covered with them. A few were continually on the wing, flying in and out, as if bent upon some mission, but for the most part they clung to the walls in deep sleep. Occasionally a tremor would run through the sleeping creatures as if their rest had been disturbed by some agitation common to them all. An abnormal quiet hung ever the scene, broken only by the faint rustle and squeak of the bat men on the wing. The air was hot, heavy, and sweetish from the odor of the sleeping creatures.

Near the center of the amphitheater, upon a block of obsidian like a king upon a throne, was crouched a solitary bat man, his wings half-distended as if poised for flight. A dozen of the creatures circled around him, advancing and receding, sometimes almost touching him with the tips of their wings. Although the solitary bat man resembled the others in general appearance, there were yet differences, apparent even from where Bruce was watching. Thus he was at least a foot taller than his subjects on the wall, making his height roughly seven feet. His head was marked by a greater frontal development over the eyes, with longer ears and a more complicated structure around the mouth and throat. In particular, the wings were heavily veined and glistened like wet rubber in contrast to the dull uniform pattern of the others.

The bat men seemed possessed of amazingly sensitive nervous systems. Even in sleep the tremors that ran through them indicated that they were in some manner aware. Thus every motion of the solitary bat man upon the rock was instantly reflected in the quivering and uneasy trembling of the bat men upon the wall.

Bruce lay for perhaps an hour behind a sheltering ridge of rock observing the spectacle below him. He was about to withdraw, concluding that it was unwise to remain any longer in the neighborhood, when there was a sudden flurry of activity among the creatures. The bat men circling around the rock flew more rapidly and there was a marked increase in the number winging in and out of the cavern. The creatures seemed to materialize out of nowhere until the air was filled with wings. Only the solitary bat man upon the rock remained motionless, as if disdaining to share in the seething agitation around him.

And now Bruce perceived the source of the disturbance. A man was walking slowly up a winding path leading to the block of obsidian. He moved as if in a trance, looking neither to right nor left, and apparently oblivious of the wings beating around him. As he neared the throne the creatures suddenly dispersed, enabling Bruce to get his first good look at his face. A thrill of honor shot through him. It was the captain of the Aurora!

But what a change had come over him! All the life seemed drained out of him. No longer was there a semblance of the driving, dominating personality that Bruce had known in the spaceship. His powerful shoulders drooped. His huge hands hung at his sides. He made no move to escape, but stood waiting submissively before the throne of the bat king.

For the first time the solitary bat man moved. His body arched upward as he stood contemplating the figure below him. Then he squatted, gave a leap into the air. There was a flash of wings, and before Bruce realized what was happening, the bat king had settled upon his prey. He spent considerable time in twisting and squirming about as if seeking a firm comfortable hold. At length, apparently satisfied, the creature bent low and buried its face in the side of the captain's neck at the external jugular vein. The captain stood motionless, offering no resistance.

All Bruee's hard-won fortitude deserted him. He had only one desire, and that was to get as far away from that scene as possible, and then to blot it out of his mind forever. He fled in a blind panic, fighting and groping his way between the canyon walls, past the dark grottos and galleries and the pale glowing plants, never stopping until he was through the entrance and safe beside the stream again. There he lay for a long time, too faint and nauseated to move. Suddenly he was seized by a violent fit of trembling which he was unable to control. When the fit subsided he felt weak but calmer and more relaxed. He got up and started for the cave.

His mother was waiting for him at the foot of the path. She held up her hand in a warning gesture.

"How's Dad?" said Bruce.

"Still sleeping," said his mother. "That's why I came down to meet you. I was afraid you might disturb him. He's been sleeping ever since you left."

"That's a good nap. Let's see—I've been gone nearly four hours. Hope you haven't been worried. I—I didn't mean to stay so long."

"You look worn out. There's nothing the matter, is there?"

Bruce picked up a handful of pebbles and began tossing them into the stream. "Nothing more than usual."

"What do you mean—nothing more than usual?"

Bruce flung the rest of the pebbles into the water. "I'm afraid there's serious trouble ahead, Mother. Worse than anything we've gone through so far. Have you noticed how dark it's growing lately?"

"It's always dark."

"I know. Still there's been enough light so that we can see fairly well. But now it's getting along toward sunset. In another few days as we measure time it's going to be Venusian night. Then it will be—not this dim twilight, but dark. Really dark, I mean."

"Can the night be so much worse than the day?"

"Yes, Mother, I'm afraid it can. I feel that I solved a part of the mystery of this place while I was gone just now. I got my first look at the Venusians. At least, I suppose you would call them Venusians since they appear to be the dominating animal type on this planet. And I think they've been waiting. Waiting for sunset— their hunting time."

"What kind of creatures are the Venusians, Bruce?"

He considered. "Well, I guess you'd describe them as a kind of man-size bat more than anything else. They've got a face like a mouse. Their bodies are all covered with fur. And they've got enormous wings that must be twenty feet from tip to tip when they're spread out."

"But why haven't we seen any of these creatures? Where have they been keeping themselves?"

"That's the peculiar part of it," Bruce told her. "We haven't seen them because they sleep during the day. They've been hibernating all this time. Sleeping in the interior of some huge craters over there. Oh, we've run into a few of them scouting around, but I guess they're just strays from the main flock. But now that night's coming on they'll be out in full force."

"But we've got our rifles. We can hide in the cave. Shoot them if they try to molest us."

Bruce laughed. "I'm afraid our rifles won't be of much help. You could shoot a thousand bat men and there'd be ten thousand left. Besides, as we've found out, they've got some way of hypnotizing a person if they want to turn it on. They can get control of your mind so you're helpless. Remember those nightmares we had? And that experience of yours outside the spaceship? And how I got lost going back for supplies? Well, I'm sure now that the bat men were the cause of those things."

"But you said you were in the midst of a whole colony of them, and didn't feel anything."

"I know. I don't understand it. Of course, I wasn't so very close to any of them. Possibly that might have had something to do with it. But that isn't all."

In a few words he told her about the captain.

"You remember how strong and vigorous the captain was? Yet the bat men had him completely in their power. You'd have thought he was sleepwalking from the way he acted. He never tried to run or defend himself. He just stood there waiting. And when that big bat man landed on his shoulders . . ." He choked unable to go on.

"Let's get back in the cave," his mother said, taking his hand. "It is getting darker out here."

Chapter 15 ThePlant War

M

R. ROBINSON was still sleeping when they entered the cave. "You don't suppose there's anything the matter with him, do you?" Mrs. Robinson asked timorously. "Sleeping so long, I mean?"

"Maybe we ought to take a look," said Bruce. "We'll be very quiet."

His father's face was pale and covered with sweat and his respiration deep and regular.

Mrs. Robinson started to bend over him, then shrank back. "Oh, how awfull" she exclaimed. "Look."

Mr. Robinson had turned so that his infected arm had fallen into a pile of the pears that Bruce had left by his cot. In his hurry, Bruce had failed to notice that the fruit already was beginning to spoil. Now not only was it rotten but the mold had spread over it like green fur. The decaying fruit with the hairy patches of fungus lay thick upon the bare flesh.

Bruce examined the wound anxiously. They had tried to keep it clean by dressing it in strips torn from a

shirt and sterilized by boiling. Now all lhe work of days was undone.

"I'll never forgive myself," Mrs. Robinson cried. "I should never have left Paul alone so long."

"Now, Mother, it's nothing you could help. That sleep will do him more good than keeping his arm clean."

Mr. Robinson opened his eyes and blinked up at them inquiringly. "What's all the shouting about?" he demanded. "Just when I was getting a little sleep."

"Getting a little sleep!" his wife said. "Why, you've been asleep ever since Bruce left."

Mr. Robinson yawned. "That so? Well, I feel better. Guess that was what I needed."

"You got your arm in this moldy old fruit," Bruce told him. "Wait till I get some water and we'll wash it off."

Mr. Robinson regarded his injured wrist with anything but affection. "Hm-m. Certainly got it well plastered, didn't I? Never saw anything yet grows the way that mold does. Not even the weeds in our backyard in Los Angeles."

"There," said Mrs. Robinson, when the last bit of the green growth was washed away, "now put your arm down here on this nice clean piece of cloth."

Mr. Robinson settled back comfortably on his bed. "Awfully glad you didn't wake me up. That sleep did me worlds of good."

"I do think you look a little better," his wife remarked, examining him critically. "How does your arm feel?"

He tested it gently. "Still pretty sore. But I think the swelling has gone down a little. And it's not quite so inflamed around the wrist either/'

"We'll get it well in spite of everything," Mrs. Robinson declared. "Even my bad nursing."

Mr. Robinson grinned and patted her hand affectionately. Then he lay back sighing and let his gaze rove around the cave, finally coming to rest upon the faint patch of sky at the entrance.

"It seems darker in here somehow. Or are my eyes getting weaker?" he queried.

"It's getting darker all right," Bruce told him. "We've had about two weeks of daylight. In a few days more the sun will set. Then we'll be in for sixteen days of night."

"I'd forgotten there could be anything but this twilight," his father murmured. "We must begin making preparations. Keep a fire burning continually."

"I was telling Mother my discoveries while you were asleep," said Bruce, sitting down beside his father. "Do you remember that canyon where Oswald led us the other day?"

His father nodded, regarding him with questioning eyes.

"I was in there today. It's certainly a wild desolate place all right. Every bit as bad as it looks from the outside. I was crazy to go, I guess, but I found out some things we had better know now than later."

He described the gruesome scene he had witnessed, his parents listening attentively.

"Those bat men are coming to life in the canyon now," Bruce concluded. "Before long they'll be pouring out of there by the thousands, starved to death after hibernating so long. That's when we've got to watch out."

Silence settled over the little group. Mr. Robinson closed his eyes and passed his hand wearily over his forehead. Bruce sat staring at the bit of sky still visible at the opening of the cave as if he could hold the light there by concentrating upon it.

Suddenly they stiffened and glanced at one another with startled eyes. There was a sound of thunder from outside rolling rapidly louder like the rush of a mighty wind. Bruce jumped to his feet and dashed to the front of the cave. The sound was all around him echoing and vibrating from the hills and jungle. Then the thunder died away until the only sound again was the gentle rippling from the brook below.

"What was it?" said his mother, coming up beside him.

"It sounded like the exhaust from a spaceship." He hesitated. "I wonder if it could be an expedition sent to rescue us?"

Nobody spoke. Such a thought had been in the back of their heads ever since they landed, but the possibility that it had actually happened seemed too good to be true.

"We might as well be honest with ourselves," Mr, Robinson said finally. "After all, why should the government send a ship all this way to rescue us? Such an expedition would be an exceedingly expensive undertaking. We aren't really important. Of course, we can always hope. . . ." his voice trailed off.

"It could have been a spaceship," said Bruce. "Or it could have been something else about this planet that we don't know yet. Something to do with the coming of night."

His eyes strayed to the place on the wall where the words "Warning-don't-go" had been written.

With the approach of sunset every moment of the twilight hours became precious. The Robinsons were oppressed by a sense of urgency. A feeling that time was running out. That if they were to survive they must make every possible preparation against the long night that lay ahead.

As the twilight deepened the wind began to rise, blowing in great gusts that sent them scurrying for cover—then dying away suddenly as if exhausted by its effort. At times there was even a hint of chill in the air so that they kept a fire burning steadily at the mouth of the cave, both for its warmth and as a beacon to guide them on their journeys home.

"I think I'll go about a mile downstream today," Bruce said, preparatory to leaving the cave. "That's where the best tubers and other plants grow. This will be about the last chance I'll have to go so far afield again."

"I believe I'll go with you," Mr. Robinson said. "This cave is beginning to get on my nerves."

"Now, Dad, you stay here and keep the home fire burning. It's a lot longer walk down there than you think. You can't take any chances on a setback just when you're feeling better."

Mr. Robinson's astonishing recovery from the infection which they had feared at one time might take his life was the one bright spot in their otherwise dreary existence. Although still weak, he was able to be up and about, and eager to make up for the long hours when he had been a burden upon the family. In fact, their main problem now was to keep him from overtaxing his strength and risking another breakdown.

"I'll only go far as the bend," said Mr. Robinson. "The exercise will help me get my strength back. I've been confined in this cave so long I'll develop claustrophobia if I stay here much longer."

The light was so much fainter now that they could see only a few yards in advance; in fact, if they had not had the brook for a guide they might easily have lost their way. The wind made walking difficult, too, blowing with such fury that they were forced to bend double and wrap their arms around their heads to escape the driving dust.

As they approached the bend, they were surprised to find what appeared to be a great boulder blocking their path, one which they did not recall having seen there before. They were still more alarmed upon discovering that the boulder appeared to be expanding and contracting gently. Closer investigation, however, revealed that it was no boulder but merely Oswald in a recumbent position. He moved the toes of one foot slightly when Bruce poked him in the ribs but otherwise showed no signs of life.

"Sound asleep," Bruce said. "Holed up for the night."

"Too bad we can't do the same," said Mr. Robinson thoughtfully. "If we could only sleep through the bad part of our lives and then wake up when it's light again!"

Bruce chuckled. "I said Oswald wasn't so dumb."

They skirted around the slumbering saurian and continued on down the stream.

"Think you'd better go any farther?" Bruce asked, as they neared the bend. "Remember it's all uphill back to the cave."

"I'll go on a little farther," Mr. Robinson said, throwing back his shoulders. "This exercise is doing me good."

They had traveled a considerable distance past the bend when they became aware of a suffused glow ahead illuminating the clouds like the lights from a distant city. The light was so strong that the walls of the cliff stood out stark and black against it.

"Say, what's going on up there?" Mr. Robinson remarked. "The sky's lit up as if it were on fire."

"Seems too pale for a fire," Bruce observed. "Perhaps

it's the moon coming up."                                          ♦

"If it's the moon we ought to know in a minute," said his father. "That is, if it moves as fast as it did during the eclipse."

They waited expectantly but no moon appeared. As they hurried on {he light grew rapidly brighter.

"Be careful," Mr. Robinson panted. "We aren't on to all the tricks of this planet yet."

"How right you are," said Bruce, slowing down. By this time they had gone considerably farther than either had intended, almost as far as the turnoff to the corral. They came down over the side of a hill and then stood staring ahead of them open mouthed.

"It's the jungle!" Bruce exclaimed. "It's all fit up like a Christmas tree!"

Although by this time they were both familiar with the effects of the phosphorescent sap exuded by the vine, never had they beheld anything like this. The plants shone as if they were electrified. Not only was the vegetation strongly stimulated to light emission, but it was also moving about as if under the influence of some powerful exciting force. Indeed the whole jungle was in a state of uneasy motion, like leaves stirred by an approaching thunderstorm.

The two advanced warily toward the fringe of the jungle, taking no chances of another such encounter as they had had with the monstrous white flower. Their faces were positively green in the pale plant light and their lips were dead black. Evidently the light emitted by the plants consisted chiefly of blue and violet rays with little or no yellow and red.

Bruce threw a rock into the tangled mass of vegetation. The plants flashed brighter where the rock went slashing through them.

"These plants give the impression of being intensely agitated over something," said Mr. Robinson. "See how brightly they shine over there. Why it's almost as light as day."

"Too bad we can't grow plants like these back on Earth," said Bruce. "We could use 'em in place of electricity."

"I doubt if the women would favor such a form of illumination," his father said dryly. "Not very flattering to the complexion, I'm afraid."

The luminous vegetation had all the fascination of a fireworks display. Light would suddenly shoot along a vine like a ribbon of flame or a whole tree flare up and then fade as if a current of electricity had pulsed through it.

"Say, why didn't I think of it before?" Bruce said suddenly. "Now I know what causes the ashen light of Venus."

"Good," said his father. "That's something that's been worrying me for a long time. What is it?"

"For more than a century astronomers have observed pale patches of light on the dark side of Venus," Bruce told him. "Nobody has ever been able to explain what causes them and a lot of astronomers even doubt their existence. The best explanation of the ashen light they had was that it's an electrical display like our aurora borealis. But now we can see that it isn't the aurora at all. Look how the sky is lit up for miles around. If the clouds are thin enough, then some of this light must get through. And there you have your explanation of the ashen light. It comes when the plants get all worked up over something."

"Well, they're certainly worked up over there," Mr. Robinson said, pointing to a long line of flame surging through the jungle like the foam on the crest of a wave. "If any astronomers are looking at Venus now they ought to see ashen light in abundance."

"Headed this way, too," said Bruce. "It's spreading like a prairie fire."

They watched spellbound as the luminous wave sped on. The plants were writhing in a frenzy. Their agitation was infectious.

"Here it comes!" Bruce yelled, dancing up and down in his excitement.

Long white threads were creeping through the jungle growth feeling their way from one clump of vegetation to the next. The plants glowed brighter as the threads approached, sometimes causing them to hesitate or recede. In some instances when a plant glowed with exceptional brilliance the white threads were repelled momentarily. But inevitably they were succeeded by a fresh onslaught which enveloped the plant and ultimately destroyed it. Apparently the phosphorescent glow was a defense mechanism which the jungle plants used against the parasitic white threads that were attacking them.

Watching this terrible destruction, Bruce thought of his home, Earth. There, too, a continual warfare went on—in uncultivated fields and forests, among plants a raging battle, in which no quarter is asked, none given, and each tree and bush strives desperately to destroy the others. His encyclopedia even mentioned parasitic plants such as dodder,* which adheres to other plants by means of suckers until they are killed— then it moves on to others. But fortunately on Earth, plant warfare is waged so slowly that it can be discerned only by a trained observer. On Venus, where the vegetation is more mobile in form, the violent action is frighteningly apparent.

And Bruce thought what strange tales he'd have to tell upon returning—when—or perhaps he should say, if, that time ever came. For this was a tale of the parasite emerging completely victorious—where the white threads had swept on like a devouring tide, leaving the dark jungle plants withered and dying.

* A leafless twining herb of the genus Cuscuta.

Chapter /doxygen

111ELL, thank goodness that's over," said Bruce, watch-III ing the crest of flame that marked the attacking |/| line of the parasite sweeping on through the jun-! 1 gle. "I'm glad it was after the plants and not us."

"It may amount to the same thing in the end," Mr. Robinson said, contemplating the devastation around him. "If all the plants are destroyed how are we going to eat?"

"Let's hope the edible variety was spared," Bruce replied. "It seems to have gone after that big vine the hardest."

He began searching among the remains of the vegetation. "I had my eye on some fine tubers right along in here. Enough to keep us going for quite a while yet."

"Here they are," his father said, turning up one with his toe. "These vines seem scarcely touched. Apparently they were overlooked in the general tumult."

They gathered about a score of the tubers, enough to provide food for several meals. Although dry and lacking in flavor they were nutritious and highly resistant to the all-pervading fungus.

"Wonder how the pears fared?" said Mr. Robinson. "They were my favorite fruit."

"Well, here's a tree still standing," said Bruce, walking over to a small grove of the fruit. "The pears are still here but the trees don't look so good."

Mr. Robinson plucked a juicy specimen. "I'd better eat these now while I've got the chance. I'll never forget how that infernal mold was growing on my arm when you found me."

They collected as much of the vegetables and fruit as they could carry and began the trek back to the cave. One of the greatest handicaps with which they had had to contend was the lack of a good knapsack for transporting supplies. This made food hunting exceedingly tiresome, since they were forced to carry everything in old sacks taken from the Aurora. Never before had they been so painfully conscious of the importance of little things in then* lives—of how dependent one becomes upon seeming trifles such as handkerchiefs, shoestrings, aspirin tablets, and soap.

They had traveled about half a mile upstream when Mr. Robinson was forced to rest.

"I guess I'm not so strong as I thought," he said, sitting down on a convenient rock. "I seem to get winded so easily."

"The trip back is all uphill," Bruce reminded him. "It's more of a climb than you think."

"It is at that," his father replied, breathing heavily.

They plodded on again after a few minutes but the rest brought them little strength. Every step became a painful effort. Their lungs could not gulp the air fast enough. Finally Mr. Robinson collapsed upon the

Oxygen

155

ground, while his load of provisions went flying in every direction. Bruce sank down beside him.

"I don't understand it," Mr. Robinson said, his face pale and drawn. "I felt quite well when we set out. Now I'm so weak and dizzy I can barely hold up my head."

"I don't feel so good myself," Bruce admitted. "This little hill never affected me like this before. Just when I thought I was getting into condition too."

Presently Bruce got up slowly and began collecting the food his father had dropped. "How about it?" he asked. "Think you can make the cave?"

His father set his teeth. "I've got to make it."

"We'll be around the bend soon." Bruce told him. "You'll feel better when you see that fire blazing up there."

Now, as if the natural difficulties of fighting their way back were not enough, the wind began to rise, hitting them so hard at times that they had trouble maintaining their feet. But they struggled on cheered by the thought of the fire and the comparative comfort of the cave. To strengthen their lagging footsteps they tried a scheme which they used to play on hikes when Bruce was a child. Mr. Robinson would choose a tree or rock a few yards ahead as their goal, which they must reach before resting again. In the old days it had been a happy game between them but now it was a trick to outwit their exhausted muscles and nerves.

"Next stop's the bend," Bruce called back. "Coming all right?"

Mr. Robinson nodded, keeping his eyes resolutely fixed on the goal ahead. Bruce tried to keep a few steps in advance, thus partially protecting his father from the fury of the wind. He began to wonder if he were going to make the bend himself. His legs were so tired they were practically numb. His lungs and heart were bursting. When at last they reached the bend he dropped to his hands and knees and lay panting upon the ground like a hunted animal. Well, there was not much farther to go, he thought—although he dreaded that last climb up the side of the hill to the cave. He raised himself on one elbow looking for the fire. It should have been easily visible from this point but now he failed to spot it. Surely his mother would not have allowed the fire to die out. He had left plenty of the dry plant fiber for fuel. She knew how eagerly they would watch for the beacon light to guide them home.

Bruce scanned the hillside, holding both hands against his face to shield his eyes against the dust. Finally he made it out—a dull red glow barely visible in the side of the hill.

"Something must be wrong with the fire," he shouted against the wind. "Looks like it's almost out."

His father, who had taken a few steps ahead, came reeling back under a gust of wind. Bruce caught him in his arms.

"Keep going," his father gasped."Got to keep going."

"Better rest some more, Dad."

But his father shook his head and continued on up the trail with Bruce following. How they ever made it Bruce never knew. The climb to the cave was a nightmare of effort. But somehow they arrived at the top and staggered into the cave.

Mrs. Robinson was sitting by the fire fanning it with a shock of leaves. The coals glowed a dull red and occasionally a tiny flame licked up and died away in a trail of smoke. She waved her hand in a helpless gesture.

"I can't get the fire to burn any more. It keeps going out as fast as I light it again."

The two men sank to the floor and sat staring blankly at the fire, too tired to hear or care what she said. Mrs. Robinson came over to where she could see their faces better.

"Paul, you look sick. You haven't hurt yourself again, have you?"

Mr. Robinson shook his head. He was still breathing so hard that words were a distinct effort.

"The jungle was all lighted up when we got there," he told her at last. "We couldn't understand it at first. Then some parasite attacked the plants. Plowed right through them like a tidal wave. Strangest sight I ever saw." He relapsed into silence.

Bruce could feel an idea coming to life in the back of his head. He tried to fight it down for it was an idea that he didn't like at all, but it absolutely refused to go. Now what was it his encyclopedia had said?

"Those poor plants!" his mother cried. "Frank and I saw what happened from the mouth of the cave. Acres and acres wiped out in a flash."

Bruce scarcely heard his mother's words. His frightening idea now seemed even more true. Everything fitted together too well to admit any other answer.

"The death of the plants may mean the death of us, too," he said slowly. "You can blame that parasite for all our trouble getting back here. The reason we felt sick and got out of breath so easily. The fire going out. Everything."

They looked at him uncomprehending.

"You see, it's this way," he explained. "There really isn't much oxygen in the atmosphere of Venus, and most of it is near the ground. The oxygen isn't a permanent part of the air as it is on the Earth, but is manufactured right on the spot, so to speak, by the plants. The plants are oxygen exchangers. They take in carbon dioxide from the air and give out oxygen in return. I remember it said in my encyclopedia that the plants probably produced all the oxygen in the Earth's atmosphere."

"That awful encyclopedia again," his mother wailed. "They put the most dreadful things in those books."

"And now the plants are dead. They can't produce oxygen any more. That's the reason the fire smolders. It's got to have oxygen to burn. The same as we've got to have oxygen to breathe."

A gust of wind whirled into the cave. The coals blazed up for an instant, then faded to a dull sullen red.

Chapter //TheHairy One

RUCE fumbled for his rifle.

"What else can I do?" he demanded of his mother. "There isn't enough food in the cave for another three meals. I've got to find some. No use waiting till we're driven to it."

"But it's so dark out there," his mother protested. "If you only had a light—some way to see."

"Well, it's lighter outdoors than it is here in the cave. If I keep to the stream I can always find my way back."

"But the bat men!"

"If the bat men get me, well, they'll get me, I guess. At least I know the worst about them now."

"Bruce is right, Mother," Mr. Robinson said, his voice sounding hollow and far away in the darkness. "Besides, are we any safer here than we'd be outside? The bat men can go anywhere. This is their world. They know all its tricks and secrets. We're strangers."

"Why, sure," Bruce exclaimed, "for all we know the bat men may be listening to us back there in the dark right now."

"Oh, no!"

"It's true. We might as well face the worst. We've never been so low before."

They sat huddled about the feebly glowing embers, listening to the wind howling in the front of the cave.

"Well, I'd better be on my way," said Bruce, throwing the provision sacks over his shoulder. "There's still quite a bit of light outside. Enough to recognize a tuber anyhow."

"Remember to go slow," his father cautioned. "The oxygen in the air is getting so low. Perhaps if you carried one of those tanks from the spacesuits it would help."

"I'll take it easy," Bruce promised. "I've got a hunch we may need that oxygen later on."

His mother put her arms around him. "Good-by, Bruce," she said.

"Good-by, Ma. I feel just the way I did the first day I started to school."

He kissed her quickly and set off down the hill.

The twilight had become such a natural part of their lives that Bruce had lost much of that instinctive dread of the dark that affects even the bravest of us at times. He was, however, thoroughly alert to the danger of his situation. The bat men were coming out of hibernation now. He could hardly avoid an encounter with them much longer.

Several times he heard sounds that struck him as suspicious. The faint tread of footsteps ... a shrill piping squeak . . . the rustling noise. But each time as usual he was unable to find anything definite upon which to base his suspicions. He wondered if the lack of oxygen was playing tricks upon him as it does to pilots flying at great altitudes.

Suppose he were suddenly ambushed by bat men? What would he do? It might be a good idea to have a definite plan of action in mind. If there were only a dozen or so he might be able to handle them with his automatic rifle provided he had sufficient warning. If he were in a narrow place where they could not surround him he felt he could hold them off forever. The thing that worried him was their ability to hold their victims spellbound without so much as touching them. The memory of the captain meekly submitting to that huge leathery creature still made him shudder. He detenu ined that if he were ambushed and retained possession of his senses he was going to sell himself very dearly. Before they got hold of him there were going to be plenty of bat men strewn over the countryside. Such large animals should make easy targets, too. Moreover, they would not be accustomed to rifle fire and hence wholly unprepared for the surprise he had in store for them. After a few such encounters they would think twice before attacking an Earthman again.

The more he thought about the bat men the madder he grew. He had not the slightest doubt that those creatures were responsible for all the calamities that had befallen them since they landed on Venus. And never once had the Robinsons intended them the slightest harm. It made him furious. He would like to meet a bat man. Show him where to get off. He strode along the bank of the stream getting madder every minute.

The air had been chilly when he left the cave, but now he felt as hot as if he were running a high fever. Somebody must be talking about me from the way my ears burn. There was a ringing inside his head that was even worse than the burning of his ears. His head was splitting with the noise—an insistent shrill high squealing that was enough to drive a man frantic. Yet when he stopped to listen, he could hear nothing. But he could feel it all right. Oh, how he could feel it. His face felt so hot his blood must be boiling. There was a red mist rising before his eyes, closing in around him, suffocating him. . . .

The man standing over Bruce might have stepped out of an advertisement for hair tonic back about 1870. Hair hung back over his shoulders in beautiful soft rippling locks while his luxuriant beard reached down to an equal length in front. There was so little of his face visible that he might have been any age from thirty to sixty. But from the alert expression in his eyes and the easy grace of his movements he appeared to be fairly young, probably not more than forty at the most. He wore a loose jacket woven from vegetable fibers, covering him like a sack from his shoulders to his knees.

Five bat men swooped to the ground, taking care to alight at a discreet distance from the two humans. They stood bunched together for several minutes as if undecided upon what course to pursue next. Presently the largest of the winged creatures walked solemnly over toward the bearded individual. The other four promptly followed, arranging themselves in a circle around the pair. They walked with a peculiar stiff-legged gait using the long thumb on their wingstalks as forelegs, and with their wings folded so tightly as to be almost invisible. Anyone seeing them from a distance might have thought they were huge spiders rather than bats.

Bruce was stretched on the ground, his head thrown back and his mouth gaping open. His rifle was several feet away where it had dropped when he fell unconscious. Now and then he rolled his head from side to side, emitting low moans. There were no marks or other signs of bodily injury upon him.

The largest of the bat men took a step toward Bruce, at the same time making a series of grunts and squeaks. The others followed suit at once. Indeed, whatever one did the others immediately did also, as if they were engaged in playing follow-the-leader or enacting some strange ritual.

The bearded one made motions with his hands as if urging the bat men back. There ensued a lively conversation punctuated by grunts, pipes, and squeaks, in which the human joined occasionally. Once a couple of the bat men made a move as if to carry Bruce away, an action which was vigorously opposed by the human. Apparently his words prevailed, for after more conversation, the five withdrew a few feet as if to discuss the matter among themselves. Although they now emitted no audible sounds, there was obviously some form of communication among them. They stood motionless for a moment while the bearded one watched them suspiciously. Then the largest of the creatures hopped into the air, his wings spread, and in a movement too quick for the eye to follow, was fluttering away in the direction of the canyon, the others close behind.

When they were out of sight the man darted over to Bruce and began massaging his wrist.

"Come on, fellow, wake up," he urged. "This isn't any time to be taking a nap."

He yanked Bruce to a sitting position, supporting him against his knee. Bruce sat with his head sunk against his chest and his eyes closed. The bearded man shook him impatiently. When this failed to produce results he began slapping him back and forth across the cheek with the palm of his hand.

Bruce muttered something and opened his eyes.

"Beginning to come around, eh? You must have got a real dose."

Bruce regarded him vacantly.

"Can you hear me all right?"

Bruce nodded.

"How's your head? Clearing up a bit?"

Bruce nodded again.

"How much are seven and five?"

When Bruce hesitated the man snapped his fingers impatiently. "Quick now—seven and five. Or don t they teach you those things on Earth any more?"

"Twelve!" Bruce gasped. It took a tremendous effort to get the answer out.

"Good! Now six and nine."

"Fifteen."

"I guess you'll live," the bearded one grunted. He gave Bruce a searching look. "Have any idea who I am?"

"Yes, I've an idea," Bruce replied. He still had trouble collecting his thoughts. "You're that legendary spaceman who landed on Venus five years ago."

"So I'm a legend, am I? Well, now that's something, isn't it? Not everybody can be a first-class legend while he's still alive and kicking."

He began laughing so hard that Bruce regarded him with some alarm. In the middle of a seizure he broke off sharply and became dead serious again.

"Sorry," he said. "Don't want you to think I'm crazy."

He seized Bruce by the shoulders and peered intently into his face. "You don't think I'm crazy, do you?"

"No, I should say not!" Bruce answered hastily.

"That's good. Just wanted to make sure." The bearded one continued to regard Bruce moodily, then suddenly brightened up.

"Maybe we ought to get acquainted. My name's Simmons—Bram Simmons. Been so long since I've had a chance to tell anybody I'd almost forgotten it myself."

"I'm Bruce Robinson. Our whole family's here. My mother and father and my brother, Frank."

Simmons nodded absently. "I know. I've been keeping an eye on you folks ever since you landed. In fact, I was practically down to meet you at the boat."

"You mean you've been watching us ever since we've been on Venus?" Bruce said.

"Well, not all the time. But a good part of it, at least. How do you suppose I happened to turn up just when Desmodus knocked you out? Eh?"

"Desmodus?"

"Scientific name for the vampire bat," Simmons said, in a matter-of-fact voice. "Although the Venusian variety are a shade larger than those you meet on Earth.

"Yes, I've been trailing you for quite a while. I still retain some fondness for my own species. Although I was beginning to consider myself practically one of Desmodus here lately."

Bruce regarded him incredulously. "You—you mean that you actually live with those brutes?"

"That's right," said Simmons. "You can get used to almost anything after a while. You know something?" he asked abruptly.

Bruce shook his head.

Simmons' voice sank to a whisper. "Their faces don't bother me any more. They look perfectly all right to me now. You probably can't tell one from another but to me each one is different. They're as different as the faces on the people you knew back home."

"Say, how did you manage to escape their clutches?" Bruce asked. "I saw what they did to the captain of our spaceship. And look what they did to me. I'd have been a goner if you hadn't been here to save me."

Simmons was thoughtful. "Well, as a matter-of-fact I did have a kind of rough time when I first landed. But somehow old Titan—that's the name I've given to the bell cow of the herd you saw perched on the rock-took a fancy to me. On his account they let me live and come and go just about as I please. You know how people who raise chickens or rabbits make a pet out of one of their stock? Well, you might say that I'm a pet of the bat king here on Venus."

Bruce took a while to digest this. He started to make a remark, then decided that under the circumstances perhaps it was a good idea to keep quiet. But there were many other questions he wanted to ask.

"Were you the one who wrote that warning message on the side of the Aurora?"

Simmons nodded. "I started to write it but the bat men wanted to leave in a hurry so I got pulled away before I had a chance to finish. I meant to tell you to keep out of that place where they hole up at night in the canyon. Probably wouldn't have helped much anyhow. You were sure to run into them sooner or later."

"But why did you write the message over again? And just the same three words every time?"

"How's this?" said Simmons frowning. "What do you mean—the same three words every time?"

Bruce described the words traced on the Aurora and on the wall of the cave that had puzzled him so much. Simmons stood regarding him with a bewildered expression, then suddenly exploded into laughter.

"I never wrote those messages. They were written by some fool bat man trying to amuse himself. Didn't you notice? They're as imitative as a monkey. Haven't a spark of originality. Some of them saw me writing those words on the side of the spaceship and thought they'd try their hand at it. By the time they're finished, those words will be all over Venus."

"I didn't suppose they were that intelligent."

"Intelligent? They're not intelligent at all," said Simmons scornfully. "That is, not really intelligent. Oh, they're a couple of notches above the anthropoid apes but that's the most you can say for them. Although they do have a sort of low cunning, much like some people you may have met."

"But they must be fairly smart," Bruce objected, "or they couldn't knock you out the way they do. How can they make you helpless without so much as touching you? And before you even realize what's happening?"

Simmons chuckled. "Cute little trick, isn't it? It took me a while to figure that out myself. Although it should have been simple enough once you stopped to think."

He paused for a moment as if considering the best way to begin. "Ever hear of the Galton dog whistle?"

Bruce shook his head. "Don't believe so," he said.

"The Galton dog whistle is a whistle a dog can hear but we can't. That's because the sound the whistle makes is so high pitched that our ears can't detect it. But a dog can hear it all right because its ears are more sensitive than ours. There are sound waves that you can't hear the same as there are light waves you can't see. They call these real high-pitched sound waves that we can't hear ultra-sonic." He studied Bruce keenly. "Understand?"

"I think so," said Bruce. "These ultra-sonic waves make a noise, but our ears aren't able to hear them."

"That's it. But whenever you're around a real powerful source of ultra-sonic waves, watch out. While you can't exactly hear them you can sort of feel them. Or maybe you'll be able to hear a real high squeak or piping sound. Anyhow, if you're close enough to them they'll drive you crazy in no time. First you begin to feel nervous and irritated. Then you begin to feel all mixed up in your head. And finally you get hot all over as if you had a high fever. But why should I be telling you all this? You should know the symptoms pretty well yourself by this time."

"You mean these bat men carry around some kind of machines or instruments for making ultra-sonic noises?" Bruce asked.

"Not exactly," said Simmons, smiling slightly. "They've got their own little ultra-sonic noise-making equipment right inside their throats. Born with it, in fact. They can talk to each other with sounds we can't begin to hear. Of course, they can make sounds that we can hear if they feel like it. I've learned enough of their language to talk with them some myself. The worst part is the way they can beam these ultra-sonic waves at you."

"Beam them at you?" said Bruce.

"Sure. They can send a beam of them right straight at you if they take a notion. Just like turning the hose on a man."

Bruce ran his hand nervously over the back of his head. "But isn't there something you can do? Some way to protect yourself?"

Simmons pulled some dark substance from inside his jacket and pressed it into Bruce's hand. It felt soft and pliable like wax.

"If you ever hear a faint high-pitched sound like a shrill squeak or whistle, that means the bat men are near and that you're under attack, that they're beaming their ultra-sonic waves at you. If you ever hear that sound, quickly plug up your ears. It won't protect you entirely but it will help some."

Bruce fingered the wax uncertainly.

"But suppose they should come in droves as thick as they were in the canyon? Then what?"

Simmons grinned. "Then you just do the best you can. That's the only advice I can give you. Now you better be getting back to your cave. Wall yourself up tight. It's your only chance."

"But aren't you coming back with me?"

"I can be of more help on the outside. There isn't much I could do anyhow. I'm much like a rooster strolling around the barnyard. Not much help to the rabbits when the farmer goes hunting."

Bruce was about to leave but he had only gone a few steps when Simmons called him back.

"Let's see if you're properly oriented first. I wouldn't want you to go straying off and getting yourself lost. It won't take a minute. Here, let me have your gun."

Bruce handed him the rifle, albeit a bit reluctantly. "What're you going to do?" he asked suspiciously.

"Stand up straight and put your hands by your sides," Simmons commanded, disregarding his question. "Now shut your eyes."

Bruce obediently shut his eyes while Simmons stood watching him closely.

"Hm-m. Well, you can pass the Romberg all right. Now keep your eyes shut and turn around three times."

Bruce turned around three times, keeping his eyes tight shut.

"Now touch the end of your nose with your right forefinger."

Bruce touched the tip of his nose with his forefinger. "Okay, that'll be all for today," Simmons told him, returning his rifle. "You seem to be straightened out all right. Now make for home as fast as you can."

He slapped Bruce on the back and gave him a shove in the direction of the cave. A moment later the hairy one had vanished in the tangled brush of the jungle.

Bruce hastily gathered as many of the tubers as he could carry and started upstream. He found the trip even more tiring than before, indicating that the amount of oxygen in the air was dwindling rapidly. A hundred yards was as far as he could plod without being forced to halt from sheer exhaustion. And always, as he walked, his ears were cocked for that faint squeak or whistling sound that would be the first and only signal of approaching peril.

Chapter 18 Attack

ELL, I guess that's about all there is to tell," Bruce said, speaking into the darkness on the other side of the cave where his mother and father were crouched. "Simmons undoubtedly saved my life. Somehow he managed to shoo away the bat men who knocked me out. But of course that doesn't mean anything. There are lots more where they came from."

He sank down on the floor, letting the back of his head rest against the side of the cave. Now that he was safely home a reaction was setting in. The shock of the ultra-sonic waves combined with the effort of walking had left him weak and shaken.

"Is this fellow simply going to abandon us here to our fate?" Mr. Robinson demanded indignantly. "Why didn't he come back with you? Help us fight?"

"He said he could be of more help working on the outside. Besides, what difference does it make? One more or less isn't going to cut much figure."

"To think of actually living among those creatures." Mrs. Robinson shuddered. "I couldn't bear to think of one of them touching me."

"He said you got used to the bat men like anything else. That after a while you can tell 'em apart just like your friends back home."

"How perfectly dreadful!"

"Er . . . how did this Simmons impress you?" his father inquired. "Do you think the man is sane?"

Bruce considered. "I don't know. Sometimes he acted as if he was kind of cracked. Then other times he seemed all right."

"Well, in any case he's in a position to know the habits of the bat men much better than ourselves. I dare say he can be of more help where he is. One thing is clear. We must be prepared to defend ourselves. Hold out to the very last."

"From what Simmons said the bat men can't hurt us with their beams unless they're fairly close," said Bruce. "The beams weaken rapidly in going through the air the same as your voice sounds weaker the farther away you are. If we can keep 'em at a distance we're all right."

"Then we must get to work at once," Mr. Robinson asserted. "Start building a barricade. If that roaring noise we heard the other day really was a spaceship then we know that help is near. That it's only a question of time until we're rescued."

"If it was a spaceship," Bruce corrected.

"True," his father admitted. "But whatever it was we must be prepared for a last ditch stand. It's our only chance of survival. Now let's see about this barricade."

The family followed him outdoors.

"We're lucky the entrance is so narrow," Mr. Robinson said, inspecting the region around the front of the cave. "There's barely room enough for two people to squeeze through. That means they won't be able to rush us in a body."

Bruce looked doubtful. "Those bat men can do most anything. Besides being able to fly they can hang upside down on a wall like a fly."

His father nodded as if he realized all too well the dangers that confronted them. "I expect the best plan would be to blockade the entrance, leaving just room enough for us to aim our rifles. If they get so close that we're in danger of their ultra-sonic rays we'll have to fill up the holes and withdraw to the back of the cave. We can pick them off from there as they come in."

"Where're we going to get the dirt to plug up the front?" said Bruce. "We haven't a thing to work with except our hands."

"We'll have to use those coffee cans. One of us can fill them with dirt while the other carries and empties them."

"Digging's going to be awfully hard," Bruce objected. "This ground's as hard as a rock."

"I think there's a sandy place farther down here," his father said. "Halfway to the bottom of the falls."

They were debating the dirt question when a scream from behind cut them short. The two men turned and dashed back up the path. Mrs. Robinson was holding her head in her hands and moaning.

"One of them just touched me with its wing!" she cried. "I could feel it on my face."

Bruce grabbed his rifle. "Where is it? Which way did it go?"

"I don't know. I only got a glimpse of it."

"Did you hear any sound? A faint squeak or whistle, for instance?"

His mother shook her head. "I didn't know anything till it touched me. Even then I didn't realize it was a bat man at first. I felt something soft brushing against my cheek and kept trying to wipe it away. Then I saw its face—"

She turned away, too overcome to continue, keeping one hand over the place on her cheek where the bat had touched her.

"They're here already," Mr. Robinson declared. "We must barricade the cave at once. Get up something— anything—to hold them off."

"Come, Mother," Bruce said. "It isn't safe out here. We must go inside."

He was helping her to her feet when Frank let out a yell. "The bat men! The bat men!"

The two men glanced wildly about. Bruce knelt beside the child. "Where, Frank? Where?"

"Up there," Frank said, pointing in the general direction of the sky.

"I see them!" Mr. Robinson said. "Three of them. Coming this way, too."

Both men took aim and fired. The air was filled with the crackle and whine of bullets. The bat men wheeled lazily about, then took off for the jungle.

"Didn't get a one," Bruce growled, lowering his rifle. "And they looked so big, too. I don't see how we could have missed."

"Probably only hit their wings," his father said. "I doubt if that would hurt much."

"Let's get busy on that barricade," Bruce said. "They'll be back in force any time now."

The four of them started heaping dirt at the entrance of the cave with frantic haste. Mr. Robinson and Bruce scooped dirt from the walls into the coffee cans while Mrs. Robinson and Frank carried them to the mouth of the cave, emptied them, and ran back for more. If the other cans were not ready, they carried the dirt in their hands. But despite their best efforts the work was pitifully slow. At the end of an hour the pile at the entrance was barely three feet high and their fingers were torn and bruised from clawing at the cavern walls. They gazed with despair at the results of their labors.

"It's so stuffy in here," Mrs. Robinson said. "I can't breathe."

"The oxygen's giving out," Mr. Robinson told her. "We'll have to start using the tanks on those space-suits."

"We'll only need the helmets," said Bruce. He picked up one of the cumbersome pieces of apparatus. "Here, Mother, let me help you get into this thing-"

The oxygen gave them a much needed lift immediately. Not only did it give them new strength but their spirits revived as well. But behind their newfound courage was the thought that every second the oxygen was running out, their lives were running out.

"Wonder how the bat men get along when the oxygen supply runs low?" Mr. Robinson asked.

"Probably don't need as much as we do," said Bruce. "And if the supply got way down they could go into hibernation and hold out indefinitely."

"Too bad we can't do the same," Mr. Robinson spoke regretfully. "Let's use our oxygen as sparingly as possible. Remember this is all we have."

With the white helmets dwarfing their bodies, the four resembled giant beetles creeping about in the dim fight of the cave. Although the oxygen enabled them to work faster, the barricade still grew at a rate that was discouragingly slow.

Mrs. Robinson sank to the floor to rest while Bruce filled her coffee can.

"Paul, do you think that noise we heard was a spaceship sent to rescue us?" she asked suddenly.

Mr. Robinson let a handful of dirt trickle through his fingers. "I don't know, Helen. The other day I was doubtful. Now somehow I feel more hopeful. It must have been a spaceship. What else could have made such a noise?"

"Then if it was a spaceship, why don't they come? It's been hours and hours now. I don't believe it was a spaceship."

"Helen, you mustn't talk that way. We've got to believe it was a spaceship. We must believe ... if we're going to hold onto our sanity."

"How can I any more? Oh, what's the use of going on this way? Trying to pretend we'll be saved. There's nobody coming to save us. Nobody. Nobody, I tell you."

"Helen, you're getting hysterical. We can't give up now. Look, we'll have the cave blocked up in a few more hours. Then we can rest. Take it easy. Why, with this cave safely barricaded we can hold out—"

"The bat men!" Bruce screamed. "They're at the entrance now!"

Already he could feel their deadly waves burning into Ins body. The infuriating ringing in his ears and the red mist rising before his eyes. If it had not been for the helmet of the spacesuit it is doubtful if he could have survived the attack, for the bat men were concentrating their rays upon him at a range of less than a dozen feet. Yet even as Bruce felt his senses leaving him he still retained sufficient control to perform simple automatic acts. By a tremendous effort of the will he reached for his rifle, raised it, and pulled the trigger. This time the bullets sped home to their mark. The bright eager look in the eyes of the bat men was succeeded by one of blank astonishment. Then slowly their eyes dulled and closed.

Bruce experienced an acute sense of relief almost before the reverberations of the bullets had died away, a feeling of returning to reality after struggling up through the oppression of a nightmare.

"Stopped them that time," he gasped. "Thought they had me for a second."

"So did I," said his father, steadying him by the arm. "All right?"

"All right," Bruce nodded, straightening up with an effort. "Watch out there aren't some more coming in."

"Stay here. Ill go see."

Mr. Robinson crept over to the barricade and slowly raised his head until the eye-slits on his helmet were on a level with the top. He continued gazing down the side of the hill as if fascinated by what he saw there.

"Any more of them out there?" said Bruce, breathing deeply of the oxygen.

"Thousands," his father said, his voice dull and muffled from within the helmet. "The side of the hill is thick with them. They're forming for another attack."

Bruce hastened to join his father at the barricade. The sight below made him catch his breath. The hillside was infested, crawling with the bat men. Near the brook there was a dense swarm which the creatures were continually joining and leaving in a double procession. As he watched, the mass resolved into a ring with a single bat man at the center.

"I'll bet that's old Titan there in the middle," said Bruce.

"Titan?"

"Name Simmons gave to the head bat man. He's their king."

The bat men circled round and round the dark central figure who stood as motionless as before, with wings half-poised for flight.

As Bruce lay gazing over the top of the barricade he became aware of a lump pressing against his chest. He sat up and reached into his breast pocket.

"Here. Take some of this," he said, handing a chunk to his father and mother. "Simmons said to plug up our ears with it. The wax is only partial protection but it will help keep out some of the waves."

They removed their helmets and sealed their ears tightly with the waxy substance, thus making themselves deaf to all but the most intense sounds. This simple act, by giving them something constructive to do at a critical moment, gave them a greater sense of security. Their deafness seemed like an invisible wall against the paralyzing rays of their enemies.

Now the bat men were wheeling about their leader at a furious pace. Suddenly a group detached itself from the rest and came winging toward the cave.

"Here they come," Bruce yelled, unconscious of the fact that no one could hear him.

He raised his rifle to fire but his father held up a warning hand. "Wait till they're closer," he shouted into his helmet. "Got to save our ammunition."

Bruce waited tensely, his finger crooked around the trigger of his rifle. It was terrifying to look into the mousy faces of those creatures with their bulging eyes and mouths gaping open displaying needle-sharp incisor teeth.

"Now!" his father cried.

Both men fired together into the thickest of the horde. For an instant the bat men hesitated as if taken aback by resistance from the cave. Then they reformed and came on again. It seemed to Bruce that the world was filled with a riot of flapping wings, clawing fingers, and bodies dropping out of the sky. Several times he felt a wave of heat flash across his face or heard the ringing noise in his head as a bat man swooped near. He poured bullets into the mass but still they came on. There seemed to be no end to them. Then abruptly as if in response to some inaudible signal the bat men turned and fluttered out of range.

They used the lull in the attack to reload their rifles with trembling haste. Bruce noted the amount of their ammunition with dismay. One more onslaught like the last and the stock would be exhausted.

The side of the hill was covered with the bodies of the fallen bat men, many of them lying still, others stirring feebly, while here and there one could be seen limping awkwardly about or flapping one wing in a vain attempt to fly. The bat men at the stream paid not the slightest attention to their fallen comrades. Even when one with his wing nearly severed at the shoulder brushed directly against them, they merely stood watching his antics curiously without making the slightest effort to go to his aid. Evidently their kind was useful to the colony only as long as he remained whole and uninjured.

The bat men were not long in reforming for a second charge. Again they swept down on the Earthmen in a torrent of beating wings. This time there was no slackening in their assault. They threw themselves at the cave with complete disregard for the guns of the defenders, apparently utterly indifferent to their own fate. But although they fought fiercely and efficiently there was no evidence of real anger or animosity in their onslaught. Their faces were as blank and expressionless when they were fighting as when they were sleeping.

This time the defenders did not pour bullets recklessly into the thick of the mob but withheld their fire until it was practically impossible to miss. But for every bat man they knocked out of the sky a dozen more came crowding in to take his place. It was becoming almost impossible to hold them off now. Every instant they were edging closer. Occasionally, despite their every effort, one would dive in almost close enough to touch before they could bring it down.

Bruce glanced at his rifle. The magazine was nearly empty. He waited until there was a temporary lull in the fighting, then passed back the gun for his mother to reload. She pointed to the empty ammunition box. He dashed to the back of the cave and began searching frantically among their little store of food and supplies. It was inconceivable that the ammunition could be exhausted so soon. There had seemed to be enough to last forever. Even after all hope was gone he continued pawing over the ground, lifting objects and throwing them down again, groping blindly for the bullets he knew were no longer there.

He wondered how much longer his father could hold them off. Strange that he was not firing any more. Was he out of ammunition, too? If so all was lost. They had nothing left to fight with but their bare fists. Unless they could escape into the deep interior of the cave. That, too, was useless. Wherever they went the bat men would follow relentlessly. As his father had said, it was their world.

Bruce was rummaging through a pile of empty tins when he became aware that some change had occurred in the light around him. The interior of the cave was illuminated with a white light that revealed its hollows and projections in harsh contrast. The whole front of the cave was ablaze—not with the dim gray of the Venusian sky—but with a brilliant blue-white glare. Light that brought back a flood of memories of the Earth and home.

As Bruce stood blinking trying to adjust his eyes to the unaccustomed brightness his gaze fell upon his father. For a moment he thought the man must have gone completely out of his mind. He had flung down his rifle and was jumping this way and that and waving his arms like a lunatic.

His mother also stood watching, too bewildered to move. Then they flung themselves upon him like swimmers trying to subdue a drowning man. But he shook them off and dragged them to the mouth of the cave pointing wildly below. Light from a half a dozen star shells lighted up the landscape. A group of men in spacesuits was advancing slowly up the stream. When they were within about a hundred yards of the swarming bat men they stopped and fired some object into their midst. There was a flash that for an instant made the light from the star shells pale. When Bruce could see again the bat men were gone. Where they had been before was simply bare ground.

But there was scant need to attack the bat men with weapons for the star shells alone had put them to rout. They seemed altogether dazzled by light of such intensity. Some flew straight into the star shells while others fluttered helplessly about as if completely disoriented. But for the most part they were fleeing back to the darkness and seclusion of their canyon retreat.

"I thought I was dreaming when those star shells began going off," Mr. Robinson said, after they had taken the plugs from their ears and had a chance to recover from the suspense of the last hour. "The very first one threw the bat men into confusion. They lost interest in us immediately."

"Boy, look at them go," Bruce chuckled. "Reminds me of the noonday rush for the cafeteria at L. A. High."

"Here come our rescuers," said Mr. Robinson. "Why don't we go down and welcome them? There's no more danger now."

"Let's go," Mrs. Robinson shouted gaily. "Oh, I'm so happy. I never expected to get out of that cave alive."

She took Frank's hand and started after her husband who was already halfway down the hill.

"Wait for me," Bruce called, throwing one leg over the barricade. In his hurry he struck the top of his helmet against a projecting corner of the cave, knocking it off his head.

He reached down to pick it up, then drew back quickly. A tall figure was stalking toward him from the darkness at the rear of the cave. It was a bat man, taller than the others with wings that glistened like wet rubber. Bruce realized his danger in a flash but it was too late. Already he could feel the waves beating into his brain. Waves of an intensity that made the others seem feeble by comparison.

"Titan!" he whispered.

The bat man advanced slowly, concentrating the full force of his beam upon the boy. Unlike the others who displayed no emotion even at the height of the attack, the face of the bat king was contorted with rage. The muscles of his throat were rigid and swollen with the ferocity of his effort. Bruce tried to raise his fingers to his ears but his hands were like lead. His face was on fire. The fire was creeping into his brain... searing it. . . .

Then the burning ceased as suddenly as if someone had pulled a switch.

Chapter 19 Simmons

nooD thing I'm here to look after you," Simmons said quietly, laying aside the rifle with which he "J had just shot the bat king. "Ever stop to think J where you might be if I hadn't landed on this paradise among planets five years ago?"

Bruce was sitting on the floor too numb and dazed to know what the man was talking about and caring less.

"Everything depends upon coincidences like that," Simmons continued. "You think you have control over your life but you really don't at all. When you're as old as I am you'll look back some day and realize that the whole course of your existence was changed by the girl who happened to sit across the aisle from you in algebra, or by the telephone call you missed, or the letter you forgot to write. Or maybe it was a letter you did write. It doesn't make any difference, of course."

"What doesn't?" Bruce grumbled. He wished Simmons would go away and leave him in peace. His head ached like fury.

"Why, whether you wrote the letter or not."

Simmons sauntered across the cave to where Titan lay sprawled upon the floor. In life the king of the bat men had been a towering, sinister figure. Now in death with his upturned toes and bulging stomach he was simply ludicrous.

" 'Alas, poor Yorick,'" Simmons muttered. "He was the only friend I had in this place. In fact, you might say he was the only friend I had. Period."

He stood with a curious expression in his eyes contemplating the prostrate form at his feet. Presently he knelt down beside him and ran the palm of his hand gently over the bat king's face.

"Notice the extraordinary maxillary development on this specimen," he remarked. "Sure wish I could get him in the dissecting room."

He got up and strolled back to where Bruce was sitting.

"Well, how's that ear condition today?" he inquired, with the professional air of a physician greeting an old patient. "Still giving you trouble, is it?"

Simmons laid the back of his hand on Bruce's cheek for an instant, then reached for his pulse. "Hm-m. About a hundred I should say. Not too bad. With rest and quiet and plenty of good nourishing food you'll be like new in a few days."

He sat down on the barricade and leaned back as if lost in thought. There was silence in the cave for several minutes. Below could be heard the voices down by the stream. Simmons watched the spacemen for a while, then turned to Bruce.

"How's the head?"

"Better."

Simmons took Bruce by the jaw. "Turn around this way. Now look me straight in the eye."

He studied him carefully for several seconds, then released his hold. "Pupils still a trifle dilated but then that's to be expected, I guess. Otherwise you seem almost normal.

"Now that the marines have landed and rescued you in this highly melodramatic fashion I suppose you'll be leaving us shortly. But before you depart there are a few things I can tell you about Venus that I think you ought to know. Are you listening?"

Bruce nodded.

"Good. Now pay attention to what I'm going to say, for it may come in handy sometime."

He began speaking rapidly in a formal manner as if he were delivering an address to a learned society that he had rehearsed many times before. Much of it was too technical for Bruce to follow thoroughly, but he had no trouble getting the general gist of it. Simmons had been talking for perhaps twenty minutes when they heard the sound of voices outside the cave. Simmons broke off quickly.

"Here the conquering heroes come," he said. "Let us greet them with all due accord."

Mr. and Mrs. Robinson came into the cave followed by half a dozen spacemen. One of them who bore the insignia of a commander in the space force seemed to be in charge. He stood with his hands on his hips taking in the scene. His eyes rested first on Titan, then shifted to the hairy face of Simmons, who stood regarding him placidly.

"So you're the legendary figure we've been hearing about for the last five years," the commander said. "Doctor Bram Simmons, I believe, formerly research associate in space medicine, Randolph Field, Texas. My name is Masterson. Possibly you may remember me. I did my work in subjective orientation under you."

"Hello," said Simmons, nodding casually. "Long time no see."

Masterson stood regarding him quizzically. "You always were an independent cuss. Venus doesn't seem to have changed you much."

Simmons did not reply. Masterson adjusted the valve on his oxygen tank. "How do you manage to get along on so little 0-2?" he inquired. "I'm puffing hard with a tankful on my back."

"Mostly a matter of becoming acclimatized," Simmons replied. "Besides, we haven't been exerting ourselves."

"I see," said Masterson. His glance shifted from Simmons to the tall form of the bat man stretched upon the floor. "What's this doing over here? Looks as if one of them got right in where you live."

"That's Titan," Bruce said quickly. "The king of the bat men. He showed up after all the rest were gone. Nearly got me, too."

"Came in by the back door," Simmons explained. "There's another entrance to this cave these folks didn't know about."

"Bruce, we thought you were coming after us," his mother exclaimed. "I wondered where you were. Why, you might have been killed."

Bruce laughed. "Guess I would if Simmons hadn't rescued me again."

Masterson walked over to the bat man and kicked him with the toe of his boot. "Big fellow, isn't he? Must be nearly seven feet stretched out."

"Let him alone," said Simmons. "He belongs to me."

"Oh, come now," Masterson said, good-humoredly, giving the bat man another poke in the ribs. "How can he belong to you more than anyone else?"

Before anyone could move Simmons had seized the automatic rifle and jammed it in the commander's side.

"I said to let him alone!"

The two men stood facing each other tensely. Nobody in the cave moved. Presently Masterson shrugged and bowed slightly. "Very well then, if that's the way you want it. He's all yours and welcome to him."

The tension relaxed. Several of the spacemen exchanged glances. Masterson stepped back and looked around him as if he had dismissed the incident from his mind already.

"We must leave Venus in a very few hours," he announced. "We're operating on a very tight schedule. You can understand that an expedition of this magnitude involving so many men was extremely hazardous. In fact, only a few months ago it would have been out of the question. And now to business."

He motioned to Mr. Robinson. "I presume you searched the Aurora thoroughly for provisions and other equipment that might be of use to you. Is that right?"

"Naturally," Mr. Robinson replied. "We took everything out of her that we could salvage." "Where is the Aurora now?" "About two miles on the other side of the stream.

You can see the wreckage from here when it's daylight. Full daylight on Venus, I mean."

"Now tell me," Masterson said, studying him keenly, "when you were going through the Aurora did you by any chance run across a box containing a rather complicated-looking piece of machinery? A piece of machinery that had been very finely polished, with precision dials on the side?"

"Was it about a foot square and did it have some lenses and a bunch of gear wheels in it?" Bruce asked.

"That's it," Masterson told him.

"Then I'll bet it's the gadget back here," Bruce said. He went to the rear of the cave and returned bearing Frank's time machine. "I hope it is not very valuable. We haven't been very careful of it here in the cave. It's gotten pretty dirty and rusty in spots."

Masterson seized the instrument and examined it eagerly.

"But why did you lug this all the way over from the Aurora? It couldn't have been of any use to you here, could it?"

"Oh, no," Bruce told him, "it wasn't of any real use to us. But Frank got a lot of fun playing with it. You see, it was the only plaything he had."

"Did you hear that?" one of the men exclaimed. "The kid's been using the top U. S. secret war weapon for a plaything!"

Masterson seemed too overcome to speak. When he finally got hold of himself he turned to Mr. Robinson again.

"Has anyone seen this instrument besides yourselves?"

"To the best of my knowledge, no one but the crew of the Aurora and ourselves," Mr. Robinson replied.

"Was the Aurora intercepted by another spaceship while you were aboard?"

"No. After accidentally getting off our course we never saw another ship. Our navigator made every effort to establish communication but he was never able to get through."

"That was no accident," the commander said grimly. "That was one of the neatest jobs of sabotage I've ever known. And although you had no way of knowing it, your navigator was able to get through. We got one message that you were preparing to crashland on Venus near a mountain so high that its peak projected above the clouds. It's a good thing he mentioned that mountain for it was the only bit of information we had to guide us. Otherwise we might have landed around on the other side of the planet somewhere."

"I remember now," Bruce broke in. "Greg—that was the navigator—was working like all get-out just before we crashed. He was still at the transmitter when we found him."

"You see, the idea was this," Masterson told them. "We were transferring this instrument to the moon for assembly at the rocket plant on the Mare Crisium. Now the natural procedure for delivering such an item would have been by government spaceship with the usual elaborate precautions for security. But that would also have been the way we would have been expected to send it. So instead we decided to ship it as an ordinary piece of baggage on an old boat like the Aurora. It's much like sending money by mail. The safest way to send money is not by registered mail, as most people suppose, but by ordinary letter or parcel post. Because if there's a holdup, the registered mail sacks are always the ones stolen. Thieves never pay any attention to the second-class stuff."

He grinned ruefully. "It was a swell idea. Only trouble was it didn't work. Must have been a leak somewhere along the line. That's our next job—to run down that leak."

He gazed thoughtfully at Frank's time machine, then turned to one of his men. "Henderson, you go check on the Aurora. Get all the data you can. Take plenty of photographs. We'll need them for the report."

He issued a few more orders, then joined the Robinsons and Simmons. "And now how about joining me in a bite of lunch? Perhaps you could stand some real food for a change."

"Could we!" Mr. Robinson exclaimed.

"Then if you'll come along I'll see if our steward can't rustle you up some hot coffee and stuff. Our ships are about three miles away," he added apologetically.

"For a real cup of coffee I'd walk three times around this planet," said Mr. Robinson.

The three high-thrust rocket ships were situated on a level space on the other side of the hill from where the Robinsons had been living. Never in his life had Bruce ever seen anything half so wonderful as those three slender, graceful hulls gleaming under the rays of a powerful floodlight. They made him want to laugh and cry and run up and throw his arms around them and do all sorts of crazy things. They stood for all he had known and loved in life without realizing it: eating lunch on the bleachers with the space club, dreaming over a choc-malt at Melchor's drugstore, browsing through his encyclopedia. . . . Little things that had never seemed of much importance until you couldn't have them.

What was even more wonderful was the real food served in spotless containers in the commander's cabin. Bruce had forgotten there was food like that. Cooked food. And clean! The sight of it almost frightened him at first. But once started he forgot all his table manners and began gulping it down like a hungry animal. He was reaching for another steaming hotdog when Simmons tapped him lightly on the wrist.

"Slow down," he ordered. "Your stomach isn't used to food like this. Be careful or you'll make yourself sick."

Bruce regretfully put down the succulent morsel he had been about to stuff in his mouth. He noticed that Simmons' plate had been scarcely touched.

"If you have any fond farewells I'd advise you to say them now," the commander said, when they had finished lunch. "We'll be leaving in about half an hour or as soon as that detail gets back from the Aurora."

Mr. Robinson looked across the table at his wife. "Well, we certainly don't have much packing to do. In fact, so far as we're concerned you could leave at once. How about it, dear?"

Mrs. Robinson closed her eyes. "I'll never be so glad to get away from any place in my fife."

Masterson smiled. "After seeing some of the fauna on this planet I wouldn't care to linger very long myself."

"If you don't mind," said Simmons, "I'd like to take a look around."

"Very well," Masterson replied, eying him shrewdly. "Only I must request that you remain near the ship as any delay in starting would endanger the success of the entire expedition."

Simmons nodded curtly. "I think I understand."

He rose and started for the door.

"Wait a minute," Bruce called, "I'll come too."

"Now, Bruce, don't you dare go away from this ship," his mother warned him sternly. "You heard what the commander said."

"I'll be good, Mother. I just want to take a look around with Simmons."

He turned to the commander. "Sir, I wonder if you have a container you could loan me?"

"What sort of container?"

"Just a small box of some kind. I'd like to take away a few specimens from Venus to show the members of my space club when I get home."

"Speak to the man in the galley. I think he can fix you up."

"Thank you."

Once outside the ship Bruce began hastily gathering specimens under Simmons' direction. The spaceships were located in a region that had escaped invasion by the parasite, so there were plenty of plants from which to choose.

"Who'll be king of the bat men now?" Bruce asked, when the box was nearly full.

"Some young whippersnapper probably," Simmons replied. "They always keep a few in reserve in case the old one dies or meets with an accident. You see the king isn't like the others. There are several anatomical differences like the structure of the skull, the development of the larynx, for example. To be a member of the royal family you have to come from a special breed."

Bruce was thoughtful. "Do you suppose they've gone up to the canyon where they hibernate during the day?"

"Sure. Sure. Clustered around that big black rock with a brand new king lording it over them."

"You—you kind of liked old Titan, didn't you?"

"In a way," Simmons said slowly. "He saved me from the others when I first landed here. Titan had some feelings, too. Now the other bat men didn't have any. They didn't have the faintest notion what love or pity meant. They didn't know what hate or anger meant either. They just acted because something told them that was the way to act.

"But Titan was different. He could feel hate and love and pity. Sometimes he was nearly human. And he seemed to take a liking to me right from the start. The others were working me over, the same as they did you, when he came along and took me under his wing. After that they had to let me alone."

"Well, he sure didn't waste any affection on us," Bruce said.

Simmons stole over to Bruce and thrust his face into his. "Do you know why Titan took a liking to me?" Bruce drew back startled. "No, I haven't any idea."

Simmons ran his hand through his beard. "It was because of my hair," he whispered. "He liked my long yellow hair."

"Oh, was that it?" Bruce gasped. There were times when Simmons could make him feel very uncomfortable.

Bruce walked deeper into the bushes. "What'll become of Titan now that he's dead?" "Nothing."

"You mean they won't give him a royal burial or anything? Just leave him there in the cave?"

"That's right. He's no more use to them now that he's dead. Why, by this time they've probably forgotten that he ever existed. It's a pretty good system not having any emotions. Makes everything so simple."

"I suppose," said Bruce. He strolled away not wishing any more conversation for the moment. For some reason he found Simmons' remarks profoundly disturbing. He couldn't make the man out. He was as puzzling and mysterious as Venus itself.

There was a commotion around the spaceships and the sound of voices shouting commands.

"Bruce, come on," his father called. "Hurry. We're leaving in a minute."

"Coming," Bruce called back. He clamped the lid on his box of specimens and hurried over to the ship. A moment later he was crawling over the ladder into the cabin.

"Where's Simmons?" Masterson asked.

Bruce looked around him. "Why, isn't he here? He was right beside me a minute ago. He must be down below somewhere."

Masterson strode to the door. "Nowhere in sight. I was afraid of this all the time/'

Mr. Robinson frowned, "I don't understand."

"He never intended to return with us in the first place. I was sure of it from the first but there was nothing I could do. Queer chap, Simmons. Never could make him out."

He nodded to one of his officers. "Everything in order?"

"All in order, sir."

"Then we're leaving immediately. Our ship will be the first to take off." "Yes, sir."

Bruce couldn't restrain himself. "You mean you're leaving Simmons behind?"

"I warned him to stay near the ship."

"But he can't be far away. In fact, I think I know exactly where he went."

"I'm sorry but it's a risk I can't afford to take. We must meet our deep-space machine in precisely thirty minutes."

"But you can't leave him here alone," Bruce protested. "Titan isn't here to protect him any more. The other bat men will capture him. They'll turn then-beams on him. Burn his brain out."

Masterson laid his hand on Bruce's shoulder. "His brain was burnt out already," he said, stepping back into the cabin.

ehapter20 Home

I JR. ROBINSON laid down the morning Times and n h reached for his coffee cup.

I y I "Anything about us?" Mrs. Robinson said, com-I I ing in from the kitchen with a plate of toast.

"Not much. They've got us back in the shipping news now. I'm afraid we've about run our course."

"Well, that's good. If I have to answer any more telephone calls from people trying to sell us accident insurance with double indemnity for injuries incurred during space travel, or give out any more stories about housekeeping in a cave, I'll go crazy. Why, what do you suppose a woman wanted yesterday?"

"I wouldn't have the slightest idea," Mr. Robinson said, stirring his coffee while perusing the Want Ads.

"She wanted to interview me on Bat Men I Have Met. Can you imagine? Why some of the people I've met since we got home are worse than the bat men."

Mr. Robinson sipped his coffee thoughtfully. "In the last two weeks I've had my photograph in the picture magazines, I've been interviewed on television,

I've been quizzed by reporters, and examined and cross-examined by biologists, astronomers, and other assorted scientists. The one thing I haven't had happen to me so far is an offer of a real, genuine job."

"Isn't there any hope of getting back that job on the moon?"

"No. You see, when they heard the Aurora was wrecked, they naturally supposed we were wrecked along with it and got another man to fill my place. They're very sorry and they'll let me know if anything turns up and all that, but there's nothing they can do about it just now."

"Just to think," his wife sighed, "after all the terrible experiences we had on Venus, here we are right back at home exactly where we started. Haven't we any money left at all?"

"Precious little. We didn't have any money when we started and I certainly didn't have many financial opportunities on Venus. As a result, we still don't have any money now that we're back in Los Angeles."

Silence descended upon the breakfast table. Mr. Robinson turned from the Want Ads to the Business Opportunities. Bruce was absorbed in the comic section. Mrs. Robinson tried to restrain Frank from pouring his cereal over the table cloth.

"Frank, you've scarcely touched your Whackies. And to think that less than a month ago you were lucky if you had tubers to eat."

"Rather eat tubers," Frank declared.

Bruce looked up from the comics. "Well, at least we didn't miss much in the comics while we were gone. Dick Morgan is still stuck down in that runnel and

Kate Kendall's mother is still going to die if she can't raise the money for her operation."

"I think the postman just came," Mr. Robinson murmured. "Maybe there's something for us."

"I'll go see," Mrs. Robinson said. "I've got to get up anyhow." She returned from the front porch with a handful of envelopes.

"Anything that looks good?" Mr. Robinson asked hopefully.

"Here's a bill from Munger's Department Store," she said. "They've got a big red finger pointing to the amount due now. The Personalized Mortuary Service sent us a card. They're offering funerals of distinction this month for only two hundred dollars. Oh, dear, here's a shut-off notice from the Light Company. If we don't pay our bill within two days, they're going to send a man around to turn off the electricity."

"We got along on Venus for two weeks without any public utilities," Mr. Robinson remarked. "I don't see why we can't manage on Earth for a while."

"Anything for me?" Bruce asked.

"Anything for you?" his mother exclaimed. "No, I don't see anything. Now who on Earth would be writing to you?"

"Oh, I don't know. I was just wondering."

"Now that you mention it," his mother continued, "a man came to the door inquiring for you yesterday. Seemed quite anxious to see you about something. Kept wanting to know where he could find you and when you'd be home."

"Did he say what he was selling?" said Mr. Robinson.

"That's the funny part. He didn't seem to be selling anything. He acted different from the other people who've been hounding us."

Bruce laid down the comics. "He didn't say where he was from or what his name was, did he?"

"Let me see. I think his name was Willis or Wilkins. Said he came from a drugstore or something like that."

"Maybe he wants Bruce to endorse a patent medicine," Mr. Robinson said, beginning to take an interest in the conversation.

"I'll bet that was the same fellow who came to see me at school yesterday," Bruce exclaimed. "Wilcox was his name. He tried to catch me just before my chemistry class but I was in the auditorium. We had to go hear a lecture about being more careful crossing the street."

"What was it he wanted to see you about?" said his father.

Bruce got up and began pacing back and forth across the dining room floor. "Say, I'll bet Simmons wasn't so crazy as he looked. Or at least not crazy when it came to medicine. Although I didn't know whether to believe it or not when he told me. He made me promise—"

"There's someone at the door," Mrs. Robinson interrupted. "Now what do you suppose they can be wanting? At this hour in the morning, too."

"It's a whole delegation," said Mr. Robinson, watching several men emerge from a long shiny limousine parked in front of their house.

"There's the one who came yesterday," Mrs. Robinson told them. "The one with the mustache, in the gray suit."

"That must be Mr. Wilcox," said Bruce.

"I guess we've got to see them," said Mr. Robinson, as the doorbell rang.

He opened the door revealing a distinguished looking middle-aged man who nodded pleasantly.

"Mr. Robinson?" he inquired.

"Yes."

"My name is Wilcox. I'm legal representative of the Folger Pharmaceutical Company. You have a son named Bruce, I believe?"

"That's right."

"He came to our laboratories in Pasadena recently with some specimens of plant life which he had collected while you were on your ill-fated trip to Venus. His story sounded a little wild at first but one of our technicians became sufficiently interested to run a few tests on the plants."

Wilcox paused and regarded the family gravely. "You have a bright boy, Mr. Robinson."

Mr. Robinson smiled uncertainly. "Well, we hope so, although we've had our doubts at times. Won't you come in?"

"Thank you."

Mr. Wilcox came in, followed by three other men whom he introduced as technicians from the Folger Laboratories.

"This is Dr. Carradine who ran the tests on the specimens of plant fife which your son left with us. I think he has something to show you."

Dr. Carradine opened a box from which he took a cotton-stoppered Erlenmeyer flask. On the bottom of the flask was a piece of rotting pear covered with the green mold.

"Ever see that green stuff before?" he asked, holding the flask up to the light.

"Will we ever be able to forget it?" Mrs. Robinson cried. "It's that awful green mold!"

"That stuff grew on everything," Mr. Robinson told them. "It ruined our canned goods. Anything left lying around was sure to be covered with it. It certainly made life miserable for us."

"Yes, I expect it did," Dr. Carradine said, smiling broadly. "We don't appreciate mold when we find it growing on our food or clothes. And mold is nasty-looking stuff that makes us want to throw away anything that's touched by it.

"But perhaps you will be surprised to hear that growing mold is a million dollar business. Our firm, for example, has one plant that covers several acres devoted entirely to the process of growing mold."

"You mean that you actually want the stuff to grow?" Mrs. Robinson gasped.

"We certainly do. You see, there are thousands of people in the world today who wouldn't be alive if it weren't for certain molds. Take the mold we call pénicillium notatum, for instance, from which we extract penicillin. Penicillin mold looks just as repulsive as this green Venusian mold that grows wild on Venus. But nobody would deny that penicillin has its uses."

The Robinsons were staring at the mold in the flask with new respect.

"So far we've only had a chance to run a few preliminary tests on this Venusian mold," Dr. Carradine continued, "but I think we can safely say that it is one of the most powerful anti-bacterial agents we have so far encountered. One of its best features is that even when the concentration is thousands of times as great as the medicinal dose, the mold appears to have no toxic effect whatever. In addition, it attacks certain bacteria which are insensitive to penicillin, such as the tubercle and Brucella bacillus."

"Don't you remember," said Bruce, "when Dad had that infection on his arm? How it kept getting worse and worse despite everything we could do? Then he went to sleep and accidentally got his arm in the pears. When he woke up the mold had grown all over the sore place. And then right away his arm started getting better. We were afraid the mold would make the infection worse; instead, it went to work and killed the bacteria."

"Yes, that's still another good feature of the Venusian mold I forgot to mention, "Dr. Carradine added. "Unlike penicillin, which has to be given by hypodermic injection, this substance can be administered by mouth or even applied directly to septic wounds. In fact, it is my considered opinion that the green mold in this flask constitutes one of the most important contributions to medicine in the last hundred years. Your son deserves our heartfelt thanks for the care with which he gathered these mold specimens and his enterprise in bringing them to our attention."

"We wish to do more for your son than merely offer him our thanks," Mr. Wilcox added hastily, turning to Mr. Robinson. "We also wish to express our gratitude in a more material way. If you will step into our office at your convenience I can assure you that our firm is prepared to make a very generous financial settlement."

No one had anything to say for a moment. All eyes were on Bruce. Bruce tried to speak but there was a lump in his throat, making it hard to get the words out.

"Don't thank me. I didn't have a thing to do with it. Honest I didn't. I didn't have any idea what the mold would do till Simmons told me. He made me take some back to Earth and promise to show it to a pharmaceutical company."

"Simmons?" Dr. Carradine repeated. "Simmons? I used to know a Bram Simmons. Went into space medicine, I believe."

"That's the one," Bruce said. "He discovered that the mold would cure wounds and experimented with it. He noticed that the bat men used it all the time. Simmons said it was the one good thing on Venus."

"Where is this Simmons?" Mr. Wilcox asked. "I'll get in touch with him today. Contact him immediately. If you'll tell me where I can find him . . ."

"You'll find him in a cave on Venus, beside the king of the bat men," Bruce said.

Chapter 21 Backstageon Venus

N the previous pages there has been created a world of Venus to suit the purposes of our story. Needless to say, this world is wholly imaginary. It is a world that has about the same semblance to reality as scenery on the stage or in motion pictures. Although this scenery appears convincing, you would be surprised at how flimsy and artificial it really is. The stone building which looks so solid and substantial is nothing but canvas and plaster, and the volcano that threatens to destroy everybody is merely a miniature model of the real thing.

Although Venus comes closer to the Earth than any other celestial body except the moon and some tiny asteroids, we still know next to nothing about it. When you view Venus through a telescope, you see simply a smooth white disk devoid of a single marking. A few astronomers who make a special business of observing the planets have occasionally reported faint markings which they assumed were due to breaks in the cloud layer. It is doubtful, however, if any astronomer has ever actually seen the surface of Venus itself.

But while it is only on extremely rare occasions that we can see markings on Venus, they can be photographed practically any time, provided that you do it in the right way. The photographs must be taken with so-called "dark" or ultra-violet light which is invisible to our eyes, but which is easily recorded on suitably sensitive plates. The markings appear fainter on photographs taken with violet and blue light, and do not appear at all in orange or red light. On the ultraviolet photographs the markings resemble broad bands which change from day to day.

Why the markings on Venus should appear only in ultra-violet light is puzzling, to say the least. One explanation advanced is that the planet is covered by a thin layer of white clouds overlying a dense reddish colored layer. The red cloud layer is supposed to arise from dust stirred by Venusian winds. If we suppose that this red dust reflects no ultra-violet light whatever, then a photographic plate sensitive only to ultraviolet light would not be able to "see" the red dust layer at all. Places where the red dust showed through would appear simply as black markings on the photograph and as a result would stand out in strong contrast. It is much the same as if you looked at a white disk on which black spots have been painted. The black spots would show up distinctly because they contrast sharply with the white surface around them. But if the spots were pale pink, for example, you might not be able to see them at all.

In our story we have assumed that the surface of Venus, instead of being covered by red dust, is covered by plants which reflect only red and infrared light.

Such plants to our eyes would appear as dark red or almost black in color, instead of green as they do upon the Earth. This is not such a far-fetched idea, for green plants such as grass and tree leaves really do reflect red and infrared light very strongly, much more strongly than they reflect green light. The reason they look green to us is chiefly because our eyes are very sensitive to green light, whereas we can see deep red only with difficulty and infrared not at all. To a person who is color blind, grass and tree leaves look almost black—just about as we have supposed the plants look on Venus.

The cloud layer that perpetually enshrouds Venus looks as if it were composed of water vapor like the clouds in the sky. For a long time astronomers assumed that Venusian clouds were composed of water vapor and that the planet was largely covered with water. They assumed also that there was probably oxygen in the atmosphere of Venus as there is in the atmosphere of the Earth. And since Venus is much nearer the sun than the Earth, it seemed reasonable to suppose that the side of the planet turned toward the sun was pretty hot. Gradually, a picture of Venus developed similar to that of the Earth millions of years ago, when our planet was covered by steaming swamps and jungles, and although this picture was discarded in about the 1930*s, it still persists in many stories.

But astronomers have an instrument called the spectrograph with which they could make tests to determine whether there was oxygen and water vapor in the atmosphere of Venus. About 1932 such tests were made with powerful instruments, and they failed to reveal a trace of either oxygen or water vapor in the atmosphere of Venus.

Oxygen and water are two prime essentials for life as we know it upon the Earth. And if oxygen and water are both absent from Venus, it seems very doubtful if life could have developed there. It is true that certain animals can exist without these substances, but they are animals of the very lowest orders. Most of the energy of warm-blooded animals is derived from oxygen. Hence we can assert with confidence that if there is no oxygen in the atmosphere of Venus, then there are no manlike intelligent creatures there. (We are leaving out of consideration entirely the conception of creatures who might function on some wholly different chemical basis from ourselves. Such an idea is too speculative for consideration.)

This makes the situation look pretty bad for Venus as a habitable world. Yet it is not altogether hopeless. It is probably safe to say that all astronomers are not yet convinced that the Venusian atmosphere is entirely devoid of oxygen and water vapor, particularly water vapor. For it must be remembered that we can observe only the outer atmospheric shell of Venus. And the spectrograph can detect chemicals only in the form of a gas. It cannot detect them with certainty in the form of a liquid or solid.

Measures on the temperatures of Venus show the upper cloud layer of Venus is at a temperature of only about —13 °F, which is 45°F below the freezing point of water. There might be considerable water in its upper atmosphere—but in the form of rain or ice crystals which a spectrograph cannot record.

The situation with regard to oxygen is more difficult. It would seem that if there is as much oxygen in the atmosphere of Venus as there is in the atmosphere of Earth we should be able to detect it. But so far the only gas that has been detected with certainty in the atmosphere of Venus is carbon dioxide, the same gas that comes bubbling out of soda water.

Thus we must admit that what lies below the cloud layer of Venus is still largely a mystery. We can speculate and make conjectures but we do not know.

In accordance with these results, we have assumed that oxygen and water are scarce articles on Venus but that there is still enough to keep our characters alive. In particular, we have made the oxygen of a transitory nature manufactured on the spot by the plants. And so when the plants die, the oxygen in the air falls off at once. This is not such a far-fetched idea as it may appear. Most geologists now believe that the chief source of oxygen in Earth's atmosphere comes from the photosynthetic action of green plants. Green plants take in carbon dioxide and give out oxygen. Such a plant, with a leaf surface of ten square feet, can produce almost as much oxygen during the day as a man would need.

As for the bat men, since it was necessary to people Venus with some sort of creatures, either to menace or to help our characters, they seemed to offer some good possibilities. Bats are animals that naturally shun the daylight, sleeping during the day and coming out at twilight or at night to do their hunting. Therefore, batlike creatures might be expected to inhabit a dim shadowy world such as Venus. Furthermore, certain types of bats are vampires that live by opening a wound in the skin of humans, and animals such as horses and cows, and lapping their blood. They do this so stealthily that often their sleeping victims are unaware of the attack.

We have endowed our bat men with the ability to hypnotize their victims by beaming powerful ultrasonic waves upon them.

This is true to the extent that bats can emit ultrasonic waves that are beyond the range of the human ear to hear. The note called "C" near the middle of the piano is produced by 256 vibrations a second. But bats can emit and hear squeaks from about 25,000 to 70,000 vibrations a second. The highest note humans can hear is about 30,000 vibrations a second. It is by means of these vibrations that bats are enabled to fly with such uncanny accuracy in the dark. A bat emits high-pitched squeaks at the rate of about 30 per second when flying. The beam strikes an object such as a bug and is echoed back to the bat. It is this echo that guides the bat to its prey. Thus a bat can fly accurately when blindfolded. But a bat loses its sense of direction when both its mouth and ears are covered, so that it is no longer guided by the sound waves reflected from objects around it.

Assuming that the bat men could emit powerful beams of ultra-sonic waves, would they render their victims helpless in a few minutes? They could.

There is no question but that ultra-sonic waves are highly dangerous. People exposed to them in the laboratory exhibit the symptoms of a nervous breakdown very quickly: nervousness, mental confusion, extreme irritation, etc. One of the most dangerous effects of ultra-sonic waves is their heating effect upon the skin. Small animals such as rats and mice have been killed by very intense sound fields when their body temperature rose to 110°F. Ear plugs would be of some help in protecting the ear itself, but of course would be of no value against the heating effect of the waves.

But don't ever worry about being harmed by a bat. All except the vampires are harmless creatures which do good by eating bugs, insects, and small animal life.

One of the difficulties with stories of this type is in making everything consistent. Thus, although the sun is only visible for a few fleeting instants, it had to be in the right part of the sky at the right time.

To make sure that the sun was where it should be, we must first know several facts about Venus. We must know the rotation period of Venus. We must know the angle at which the axis of rotation is inclined from a perpendicular to its orbit. The axis of rotation of the Earth is inclined 23/2° from the perpendicular to its orbit and is the principal cause of the seasons. For Venus we have assumed a much larger inclination of 70°, which would produce great extremes of temperature between the Venusian summers and winters. There is also some slight observational evidence for such a high inclination. The rotation period of Venus is unknown but is believed to be rather long. In our present state of ignorance, we have adopted the "compromise" period of 30 days.

Incidentally, we made the Aurora crash at a spot on the equator of Venus just as the sun was rising there. Furthermore, we also supposed that the sun was at the point in the sky corresponding to the vernal equinox, so that spring was just starting in the northern hemisphere. After that everything was easy. We could calculate precisely where the sun would be in the sky of Venus just as well as we can calculate it for any place on Earth.

The direction of the sun when the Aurora crashed was straight east. After eight days almost exactly it would have been Venusian noon at the cave with the sun at an altitude of 78° above the north horizon. After eight days more, the sun would set at a point which would be 22° north of west on Venus. Thus at the particular spot where the Aurora landed, the day would linger on for nearly sixteen of our days with a night of about the same length.

Venus has no known moon, but it would never do to send our characters all that distance without having them discover at least one little moon. And so we had Bruce and his father witness an eclipse of the sun by a moon that has so far (presumably) escaped detection by astronomers. This moon is 100 miles in diameter and revolves around Venus at a distance of 1,548 miles above the planet's surface. Such a moon would make a revolution in 2 hours and 30 minutes and would almost certainly rise in the west and set in the east. The moon moves so fast that the sun would be eclipsed for less than a minute. It is possible that such a close fast-moving satellite has escaped detection, as it would be extremely hard to see, owing to the bright glare of Venus.

For convenience our knowledge of Venus may be summarized in the following table.

VENUS

Average distance from sun................................

Closest approach to Earth..................................

Diameter ..........................................................

Mass (compared with Earth).............................

Surface gravity (compared with Earth).

Velocity of escape.............................................

Temperature of outer cloud layer Estimated temperature at surface. . . .

67,270,000   miles 26,000,000   miles 7,848   miles

0.826 0.84

6.3 miles/sec.

—14°F 212°F

Measures on the heat radiated from Venus reveal the surprising fact that the temperature of the night side is only slightly lower than the temperature of the daylight side. Evidently the planet must rotate fast enough to keep the temperature about the same on both sides.

Venus has a dense cloud-laden atmosphere of unknown composition, except that it contains carbon dioxide.

Markings are rarely visible of the surface of Venus. On ultra-violet photographs, markings appear as broad belts apparently in the upper cloud layer.

Several experienced observers have reported bright spots flanked by deep shadows. The most reasonable explanation is that these markings are produced by the flow of air over the uneven ground below. The bright spots are produced by clouds thrown to great elevations, and the dark regions are caused by the destruction of clouds by descending currents. Hence, there is evidence that the surface of Venus is about as rough as that of our Earth with possibly high mountain peaks—such as the one near which the Aurora crashed.