There was a spatter of brilliance as it crashed into the hill. "Hurry with the warning," he called.
LIE ON THE BEAM
by John Victor Peterson
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Comet March 41.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Sweeping from perihelion, the black destroyer curved toward the gibbouswhite ball of Venus, its jets stabbing mocking fingers at the majestyof the sun whose clutching gravity it had cheated. Within the heavilyshielded control cabin, the hard skull-face of the commander split intoa fleshless smile. From his fanged jaws a single word was spat into thespaceship's intercommunication system:
"Adrakolarn!"
Back on dead sea bottoms the word had been but the weak utterance ofa dream of yesteryear's greatness. First a muted whisper in the thinair of a dying world; then a keening through the faint, dust-drivingwind; at last a clamorous cry banding together the spirituallyreborn remnants of a vanishing race.... Adrakolarn—moment ofdestiny—moment of reckoning!
Throughout the urgently racing ship other skull-faced, chitinous-hidedmen thronged to bomb tubes and waited, heavy eyelids nature hadfashioned as protection against the dust storms of the parent worlddrooping over eager, glittering eyes.
ADRAKOLARN—
Thousands of miles away, on the surface of Sol's second planet, aheavy, milky fog crept like a sentient thing up the side of a toweringapartment dwelling. In and out of window recesses it stole, climbinghigher and higher as if seeking entrance.
Soundlessly, mysteriously a window slid open. The fog gained momentumbefore a sudden wind and swept into the dimly lighted chamber. Thesilvery-haired young man on the bed did not awaken. His slenderform turned and twisted beneath thin coverings and the jargon ofastronautics came thickly from his lips.
A nightmare possessed him within which he was plunging down into Venus'clouds in a small spaceship. Suddenly his ports were shattered in ahead-on collision with a high-flying native pterodactyl. In the dreamas in actuality the great dampness of Venus poured chokingly into hislungs.
Almost instantly the urgent buzzing of a televisor signal brought himstruggling upright, coughing thick, humid air from congested bronchialtubes.
Half drunken from the high oxygen content of the surface atmosphere,Frederic Ward slipped from his bed and reeled over to shut theport-like window. Damn these Venusians anyhow, he thought, meanwhilewheezing, coughing and spitting. Probably thought one of their cliquewas sleeping here instead of a decently-evolved native of Pittsburgh,Earth. That froglike brute down in Air Control probably had theatmospherics switchboard all awry. Well, I'll buzz him when I get thistelecall answered. I'll tell him off proper. He has my temperature andhumidity chart. Of all the nerve!
Still grumbling, Ward turned to the television transceiver, clicking onthe audios and videos.
"Engineer Ward, Astronautics Authority, speaking."
The sight of Ward's room caused a grin to light up momentarily the fat,tired face on the receiving grid.
"What's up, Silvy? Getting acclimated to our lovely Venus?"
"What's on your mind, Wagner?" Ward snapped back, in no mood for jokingeven if the buzzing of the televisorphone had probably saved him froman oxy-hangover or, perhaps,