THE DRAGON-SLAYERS
BY FRANK BANTA
Got any dragons to kill? Here's
the fastest—and wildest—way!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, November 1962.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
In a gleaming chrome and glass federal building located at the centerof Venusport, Division Chief Carl Wattles wearily arose from his officecouch. He had been taking his usual two-hour, after-lunch nap, buttoday it had brought him little refreshment. Earlier he had received anunexpected report that made sleep impossible.
"John?" he mumbled.
John Claxson, the generously padded assistant division chief, stoppeddrilling out his earwax but did not remove his feet from the blotter ofhis desk. "Yeah, Chief?"
"I've heard from the Kentons again."
"I thought something was deviling you, the way you was carrying on inyour sleep." He raised thick eyebrows. "Is their production down again?"
"Worse than that, John. Kenton has had the gall to request time off tobuild a new house!"
"No! I can't believe it."
"I can't either, John. They know it's not in the Manual."
"Certainly it's not, Chief. The nerve of those people wanting to dosomething that's not in the Manual!"
"People like us wrote the Manual, John," the Chief added with simplemodesty. "That is why it is so good, good, good."
"I know," said John, accepting the weight. Then he complained bitterly,"Wanting to build a new house! They are supposed to do personal stuffat night, or when it's raining."
The Chief allowed his rage to climb. "They've got nothing to do but goout into the jungle and pick a little old bale of pretzins every day,but do you think they are going to do it? No. They want me to go anddo it for them!"
"You can't do it, Chief!" protested John.
"You know I can't, John," agreed Wattles as he stretched. "I got all Ican manage right here. More."
"What you got to do, Chief?" John asked curiously, forgetting cautionfor a moment.
"Plenty!" retorted the Chief.
"I guess you have at that," John admitted, getting back aboard.
"Time was," brooded the Chief, "when that Kenton was a fair pretzinfinder. But all he can think of to do now is to find excuses togoldbrick. Wait until he sees the stiff memorandum I'm sending him...."
Bliss Kenton had not gone far from their Venusian jungle cabinthat morning before the vacuum snake hung one on her. The thick,two-foot-long pest lay very still on the ground, and she only got aglimpse of it before it jumped. Out it whipped to its full, slim,six-foot length and wrapped around her throat. Fangs struck, and inthree seconds—with a loud slurp—it had withdrawn a quart of herblood. Then it unwrapped just as swiftly as it had come, and leapedinto the cover of the jungle.
The hefty young matron wobbled back to the cabin.
"Pole!" she called as she hurried in. "I've been slurped!"
"Again?" her lanky husband asked, looking up from the reports on hisdesk.
"I'm so sorry, Pole," she said contritely.
"Well, sit down and start recovering, Bliss," he said in a kindlymanner. "You can't pick any pretzins today."
"But I wanted to pick pretzins, Pole. Darn that vacuum snake and hisfast draft."
"I just hope the neighborhood dragon doesn't come around while you'rein that weakened condition, Bliss," Pole worried as he totaled up themonth's production on h