The Dragon-Queen of Jupiter
By LEIGH BRACKETT
More feared than the deadly green snakes,
the hideous red beetles of that outpost of
Earth Empire, was the winged dragon-queen
of Jupiter and her white Legions of Doom.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Summer 1941.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Tex stirred uneasily where he lay on the parapet, staring into theheavy, Jupiterian fog. The greasy moisture ran down the fort wall,lay rank on his lips. With a sigh for the hot, dry air of Texas, anda curse for the adventure-thirst that made him leave it, he shiftedhis short, steel-hard body and wrinkled his sandy-red brows in thenever-ending effort to see.
A stifled cough turned his head. He whispered. "Hi, Breska."
The Martian grinned and lay down beside him. His skin was wind-burnedlike Tex's, his black eyes nested in wrinkles caused by squintingagainst sun and blowing dust.
For a second they were silent, feeling the desert like a bond betweenthem. Then Breska, mastering his cough, grunted:
"They're an hour late now. What's the matter with 'em?"
Tex was worried, too. The regular dawn attack of the swamp-dwellers waslong overdue.
"Reckon they're thinking up some new tricks," he said. "I sure wish ourrelief would get here. I could use a vacation."
Breska's teeth showed a cynical flash of white.
"If they don't come soon, it won't matter. At that, starving ispleasanter than beetle-bombs, or green snakes. Hey, Tex. Here comes theSkipper."
Captain John Smith—Smith was a common name in the VolunteerLegion—crawled along the catwalk. There were new lines of strain onthe officer's gaunt face, and Tex's uneasiness grew.
He knew that supplies were running low. Repairs were urgently needed.Wasn't the relief goin' to come at all?
But Captain Smith's pleasant English voice was as calm as though hewere discussing cricket-scores in a comfortable London club.
"Any sign of the beggars, Tex?"
"No, sir. But I got a feeling...."
"H'm. Yes. We all have. Well, keep a sharp...."
A scream cut him short. It came from below in the square compound. Texshivered, craning down through the rusty netting covering the well.
He'd heard screams like that before.
A man ran across the greasy stones, tearing at something on his wrist.Other men ran to help him, the ragged remnant of the force that hadmarched into new Fort Washington three months before, the firstgarrison.
The tiny green snake on the man's wrist grew incredibly. By the timethe first men reached it, it had whipped a coil around its victim'sneck. Faster than the eye could follow, it shifted its fangs fromwrist to throat.
The man seemed suddenly to go mad. He drew his knife and slashed at hiscomrades, screaming, keeping them at bay.
Then, abruptly, he collapsed. The green snake, now nearly ten feetlong, whipped free and darted toward a drainage tunnel. Shouting mensurrounded it, drawing rapid-fire pistols, but Captain Smith called out:
"Don't waste your ammunition, men!"
Startled faces looked up. And in that second of respite, the snakecoiled and butted its flat-nosed head against the grating.
In a shower of rust-flakes it fell outward, and the snake was gone likea streak of green fire.
Tex heard Breska cursing in a low undertone. A sudden silence hadfallen on the compound. Men fingered the broken grating, white-faced asthey reali