Via Venus

By Gordon W. Giles
Author of "Via Etherline," "Via Asteroid," etc.

FORTIETH Day.

Hello, Earth! Venus Expedition Number One reporting to Earth via etherline radio. We're on Venus, safe. Our ship cushioned down on soft, muddy soil an hour ago. Operator Gillway speaking.

Karsen, our rocket man, planned the descent expertly. Once we hit the atmosphere of Venus, successive bursts of the retarding jets warped our course into a narrowing spiral. Thus, we eliminated the danger of dropping down through Venus' steamy air-envelope too quickly.

Believe me, that atmosphere is really blinding. Visibility—only twenty-five feet! We felt as though we were sealed off from the rest of the Universe, in a bubble of fog. We all kept strict watch for first signs of terra firma, or rather Venera firma, and finally saw the glint of water. It was the surface of an ocean that extended for about three thousand miles, We were certain Venus was all sea!

But we finally sighted this miniature continent we've landed on. Beyond it stretch other waters, endless. Undoubtedly Venus' total land area is far less than its oceanic surface.

All is excitement right now, among us. We are glad to be on a planet after those forty long days in black, monotonous space.

The Venusian landscape is weird, outside our port-windows. We are on a low plateau, overlooking the ocean. About a half-mile back of us rears a thick, towering jungle of alien vegetation. Above us and all around are the veiling mists, obscuring vision. The sun is absolutely invisible behind this sky-curtain.

"Not much like Mars, eh?" Captain Atwell said to us "veterans" of the Mars Expedition-Markers, Greaves, Parletti and myself. We agreed with him.

But perhaps the strangest thing of all in our surroundings is the pyramid that looms at the highest point of the plateau. Yes, a pyramid similar to any of old Egypt. It either means intelligent life once existed, or exists now. Domberg is already running an archeological fever.

More on that later. Captain Atwell has just ordered us all to bed for a long, hearty sleep. We need it. Somehow, we couldn't rest much in space. Will resume tomorrow, if my batteries recharge successfully from the air-ion generator specially designed for operation in a water-loaded atmosphere like Venus.

FORTY-FIRST Day.

Chemist Greaves tested the air before we made any move outside the ship today. He found it damp and warm, but definitely breathable. So Earth's scientists are wrong, and the atmosphere of Venus does possess oxygen. Their long-range speculations only applied to the Venusian stratosphere. Down here at the surface, oxygen, composes one-fourth of the air content, and its proportion is richer here than on Earth.

Captain Atwell, naturally, had the honor of being the first to step put and plant the flag of Earth in Venusian soil. When the rest of us followed, he said:

"Earth's sister world!" He turned to us. "Maybe we are only the first, men, of thousands of Earth colonists to come!"

We have learned a little about conditions. All the ground that isn't grown with wiry grasses is perpetually muddy. We wear rubber knee-boots. The mud is slippery. Tarnay proved that when he lost his footing and plowed into, the mud face-first, nearly strangling. We laughed, but later, for exercise and in the spirit of fun, we all stripped and ran a relay race down a sloshy stretch. Before we were done, we were covered with mud from head to foot. A convenient rainfall then washed it off.

Venus seems to be a planet of clock-like regularity. The temperature hovers uniformly within a degree of 105 Fahrenheit. Humidity is at saturation. So uncomfortable as it may be, we'll have to tolerate that hot sticky feeling every hour of our stay on this planet.

Periodically, after every five hours, a veritable cloudburst deluges down for about seventy minutes. It is like a hot shower. After each rain spell, a slight but blessed breeze blows for a while. Nothing else varies.

Wilson, our physicist, believes from these observations that Venus keeps this day-side eternally toward the sun, or else rotates very slowly. We won't know until we've had a chance to locate the sun's position, or observe a suntide of the ocean, if any. It is rather a peculiar situation, not knowing if there is to be a night.

Your etherline messages come through with strong echoes. Evidently Venus has an ionic shell, similar to Earth's Heaviside Layer, that reflects certain wave harmonics.

FORTY-SECOND Day.

We took out the folded partitions of light but strong beryl-alloy and set up our "accordion" house, working at it all day. We sealed the edges with vacu-wax, to keep out the rain. It offers far roomier quarters than the ship, thanks to those who designed it on Earth. We moved in our bunks. Tarnay and Markers, our engineering team, are working out a way to install the ship's gyroscope, fitted with vanes, as a huge fan for our comfort.

We have seriously begun to consider our position. We do not have to worry about air and pure water supplies. But the third essential of continued existence in an alien environment—food—may be a problem.

We did not notice it the first two days, but this morning; when we broke open a barrel of flour, the white surface instantly discolored. As fast as Domberg, our official cook as well as archeologist, scooped out the contaminated material, the exposed layer discolored. Swinerton used his microscope and reported it as a mold, an almost incredibly rapid-acting form. It probably exists in the atmosphere of this planet. Some of it seeped into our ship's air, entering when we used the lock.

Swinerton made a test with a protein-stick, taking it out of its sealed cellophane wrapper in open air. It discolored instantly. In five minutes it was crawling with a purplish-green mass. The stuff thrives on organic matter of any kind, Swinerton reported, though it is apparently harmless to our lungs and bodies.

Captain Atwell frowned thoughtfully. We went without a meal all day until Wilson, Markers and Swinerton had rigged up an ultra-violet bath. The rays kill the mold satisfactorily. Domberg will have to prepare all meals under the ray, wearing thick glass goggles and tanning deeply all over his skin. To eat, we have to snatch spoon and forkfuls of food from under the ray and gulp it down swiftly.

It is a hardship like that, however, that builds morale. Our science has conquered a budding menace to our existence. We are ready to face any new mysteries this damp, hot world has to offer.

Thanks from all of us for the special program dedicated to us last night. And particularly for your "surprise." It gave us a greater thrill than most of you on Earth can imagine to hear our relatives and friends say hello and extend their wishes from our loudspeaker.

FORTY-THIRD Day.

Life is rampant on Venus. The jungle is an impenetrable tangle of vines, fronds and-immense trees. We have seen dark forms, some of them huge, lurking in the shadows. Gleaming eyes peer out at our ship and at us. We found what must be the equivalent of the Earthly rat scampering in our bunkroom today. Lord knows what strange diseases it might carry.

Down at the beach, Tarnay says he saw a giant crablike creature, at least three feet high. He took a shot at it and it scrabbled back into the water. We carry pistols and rifles at all times. And Atwell has ordered that none of us wander any distance from the ship alone.

Dick Swinerton, naturally, is nearly wild with excitement. He is much like his brother Charles was—God rest him!—on the Mars Expedition. As biologist, he sees before him a complete new world of life-forms to study. He claims he measured the rate of growth of a vine near our ship and overnight it added six feet to its length!

But most of all, we hope eventually to contact some sort of intelligent life!

We are almost sure there are quasi-intelligent beings here. While descending in the ship, and shooting over the ocean, we saw vague forms on the surface that might have been sailing vessels. Several times we saw smoke on small islands. Anything that can produce fire on this ultra-wet world must be intelligent. Captain Atwell says if things go smoothly the first week or so, we will then organize an exploring party across the plateau, and look for intelligent life. And that pyramid—it looms like a gigantic question mark.

FORTY-FOURTH Day.

It appears that intelligent life is looking for us! At least, this "morning" a dim shape hovered in the mists just a half-mile or so from the cliff on which our ship stands. It might be wishful thinking, but it seemed to be a small boat. It's hard to tell in this fog-bound air. However, it finally retreated back into the mists. We called out, of course, for it to come nearer, but our shouts had no effect. Perhaps it was just a marine monster.

Markers has located the sun. It was a neat bit of clever calculation. Periodically, after the regular five-hour rain, the whole misty bowl of Venusian sky breaks out in a spangle of rainbows. Brilliant rainbows of all shapes and configurations, some spiral, some arched, some straight as an arrow. It is a sight more breathtaking and beautiful than Earth's Aurora Borealis.

The phenomenon lasts only a few minutes. Markers sketched a series of them on paper and finally figured out, from geometrical arrangement, where the sun must be to make such designs. The sun lies halfway down the sky from the zenith. But whether it is setting, rising, or standing still, Markets can't say. Venus has no magnetic poles, we've discovered. We have no "east" or "west" here, except by our own definition.

Wilson took out his physicist's balance and determined the force of gravity as exactly eighty-three and five-tenths percent of Earth's. Just enough saving of weight to make us feel like dancers on our feet. Wilson also estimated the ionic-content of the air as four times that of Earth, indicating high radioactivity in the soil. For one thing, I know that-my ionic-charger juices up my batteries at a terrific pace. In fact, one battery burned out completely from overcharge.

Greaves made flash tests of a sample of sea-water. It is far more saline in content than Earth's ocean water, paradoxically, and is fairly loaded with gold, silver and radium. Perhaps some day, when space-travel passes into its eventual boom, the oceans of Venus will be exploited as a chemical treasure-chest.

And so we are finding out, little by little, what a world Earth's sister is.

Tamay collapsed today, apparently from the humidity. He had not slept well since our arrival. None of us does, really. Parletti—as good a doctor as he is a geologist—dosed Tarnay with quinine, to reduce his fever, and put him to bed. He is in no danger. We would give a fortune for an air-conditioning. unit

We have just finished our dinner and are lying around in a mood for music. Can you give us some?

FORTY-FIFTH Day.

Yes, there are intelligent beings here on Venus!

Today, at least a dozen sailing vessels dissolved out of the ocean mist and hovered offshore. One came so near we could distinguish figures on the deck. They are observing us, probably amazed and wondering who or what are. We called to them and gestured for them to approach, but they made no move to accept the invitation.

Captain Atwell sums them up as being quite backward. Their ships look crude. No engines are apparent. Perhaps they are little more than savages, at the beginning of civilization as we know it. They vanished again, in their mysterious way.

Another thing has happened today that rather upsets us. Wilson, strolling outside the house for exercise, slipped in the mud and cut his finger on a sharp stone when he fell. He came in, laughing over his own awkwardness. When Parletti started to apply iodine to the slight cut, he started. The wound's edges had discolored.

Parletti swabbed on the iodine, but a few minutes later Wilson's arm began to swell and he complained of feeling sick. Parletti let out a yell and fairly dragged him to the UV unit. He snapped on UV power. The swelling stopped after an hour, but Wilson's whole arm is blistered from the burn. He will be laid up at least three days.

"At the slightest cut, fellows," warned Parletti, "get it under the UV rays. There is some kind of mold, or germ, in this Venus air that poisons human blood. And at the same swift rate that the food-mold attacks our food!"

We are getting an inkling of the rapid pace of lite and death on Venus. Swinerton theorizes that it is only natural on a world of super prolific life. There is swift death, he says, swift decay and swift life again, because Nature has crammed this rich environment to the limit.

As another illustration, our first attempt to procure fresh meat was also our last. Captain Atwell had a clear shot at some jungle creature that looked like a deer, and downed it. By the time he approached its still twitching body, a blackish mold had blossomed around the wound. He left, shaking his head.

When he turned and looked back, reaching the ship, a horde of small creatures were tearing at the flesh and gulping it down as fast as they could. Several vulture-like birds also joined the feast, scaring the rodents away. Then a bearlike creature took over what was left of the carcass, gulping it down, mold and all.

In ten minutes there was nothing left but bones, with insects swarming around them.

SWINERTON carried the thing a step forward, for experiment's sake. He shot a small animal, watched the mold develop. He shooed away scavengers until the corpse had become crusted with the black mold, and swelled. Then he stepped back. But now the scavengers shunned it, even the insects. In fact, a weasel-like creature that sniffed too close suddenly rolled over and went into convulsions.

Swinerton, in realization, held his nose and mouth tight and even closed his eyes as he left. The swiftly acting decay-mold is obviously virulent in concentrated form, even in the lungs.

We caught a glimpse of the sun to-day. For just a few seconds the cloud-envelope parted, like a deep tunnel, and blinding sunlight poured through. Those of us. outside felt as though hot branding irons had been touched to our naked skins. It would be impossible to live on Venus under the constant radiations of that giant sun.

Then we heard a shout of alarm from Domberg, inside the ship. We ran in to find him beating out a small flame that had started among clothes in one of the rooms. The terrific direct rays of the sun, focuses through a port-window, had started the fire. And those clothes had been damp from humidity!

We are almost certain of one thing now. Venus does not rotate on an axis. The sun seems no higher or lower in the sky than Markers had originally computed. Thus, this hemisphere we are on faces the sun constantly. The "day" is eternal. And on the other side, the night never ends. What it is like there, we don't know.

NEAR-tragedy struck today the Forty-Sixth!

It was at noon of our Earth-regulated day that five gigantic beasts lumbered out of the jungle nearby. Ten feet high, naked-skinned, built like bears, but with two huge crablike pinchers instead of arms, the nameless carnivores charged us.

We ran for the safety of the house, but Tarnay slipped in the muddy ground and lay stunned. Karsen was the first to see. He ran back and stood before Tarnay, pumping lead at the monsters. The rest of us stopped and opened fire with our rifles. Two of the killer-beasts faltered and fell back, but the other three kept on, clashing their huge pinchers together like cymbals. Our bullets seemed futile against their great bulk.

Tarnay managed to stagger to his feet and run for the house. Karsen quickly followed, but seemed about to be overtaken by the foremost creature. One vicious pincher sliced at his back. He dodged, but his upflung hand was cut. We were-horrified, thinking he was doomed. Luckily, at that moment, Captain Atwell emerged from the house with our submachine-gun. Firing over Tarney's head, Atwell's deadly hail routed them. Four of them lay twitching and moaning. The fifth staggered a hundred feet before it too fell, weighted with lead.

We rushed Karsen inside, knowing what delay meant. Already discolorations circled his gashed wrist. Parletti ran the UV rays over the wound at full power, but it was too-late. Karsen's hand swelled and blackened. With a nod from Captain Atwell and from Karsen himself, Parletti grabbed up instruments and amputated, under the UV rays. It was over in two minutes. Karsen fainted with pain. The rest of us were sick. But it was the only way we could save Karsen's life.

OUTSIDE, hordes of scavengers from the jungle fought over the bodies of the beasts. They were little naked-skinned creatures like weasels, gorging themselves as though there was a time-limit. And there was. Fifteen minutes later, as though at a signal, they scampered, back to their normal haunts, bellies distended. What remained of the corpses now became purple-black with mold and swelled. The mold was the final scavenger. The air filled with clouds of deadly spores.

Swinerton told us it would be worth our lives to venture out and breathe those concentrated, flesh-attacking mold-cells. We waited, flashing the UV rays all about us for our own protection. The periodic rain and the following breeze came to disperse the cloud. In an hour, there were only deserted bones, and the space before our ship and house lay quiet and serene again.

I have described all this like a rapid nightmare. That's just the way it was. That is the tempo of life and death on Venus. The swiftness of the episode left us stunned.

After the operation, when Karsen revived, Tarnay gripped his hand—his remaining hand—feeling1y, thanking him for saving his life.

"Forget it," said Karsen weakly, "Any of you would do the same for any one of us." Which, though perhaps true, does not detract from Karsen's heroism.

Swinerton says the queer pincher-bear creature is probably the king of the Venusian beasts, and ranges far and wide, foraging for food, when its usual prey is scarce. But we do not shudder so much at them as at the thought of the vicious mold, lurking in the air about us, waiting for its grim chance. Bullets cannot harm it.

Venturing out, we noticed, looking down over the cliff, that the boats had again appeared, with figures crowding the decks. Perhaps the natives had watched the whole episode. We are wondering when they will get up enough courage to land at our beach and approach within presence. We can hardly await the event ourselves.

FORTY-SEVENTH Day.

Weather still the same, as it always will be. Today, the natives finally visited us. But first, there was another attack by the ferocious king-killers. We were prepared this time.

Wilson was lookout, at the beach, and at his shout, we all ran either into the ship or house. Seven of the monsters milled around, waving their formidable pinchers. Then, from the roof of our house, "Tarnay poured submachine-gun fire among them. From the lock of the ship, Greaves and Parletti used rifles. The rest of us watched in satisfaction as four of the beasts fell. It was revenge, in part, for Karsen's suffering, who lay in pain and fever below.

The remaining three retreated, and after the succeeding scavenger and mold raids, we ventured out again. Two hours later Wilson let out another shout, reporting a native ship landing at our beach. We crowded forward eagerly as they beached and hesitantly stepped to the sands.

We eyed one another, the rational beings of two different worlds. It was a thrilling moment. On Mars we had found the signs of a dead civilization, but here we were actually facing living creatures of intelligence, not born on Earth.

It is hard to describe them. They are long and seal-like and bear both fins and limbs. Swinerton says they have barely evolved from an aquatic environment. That is, within the last half million years, perhaps about the time, on Earth, that our arboreal ancestors descended to the ground. Their arms are really modified fins, with articulations at the end that are clumsy fingers. The legs are semi-flippers. But they stand erect and their heads are amazingly humanlike. They resemble Earth people more than the canal-building insectal race of Mars—now extinct—did.

We unanimously looked to Domberg to take charge of what might be caalled the welcoming. On Eagth, Domberg's archeological pursuits had taken him among dozens of unlettered, isolated tribes, with whom he had made friends. He has an instinctive knowledge of the science of gestures, probably combined with a subtle telepathic sense. He began a pantomime that seemed a little ridiculous, to us, weaving his hands. The Venusians stared dumbly but finally one of them stepped forward and made crude gestures himself.

It went on for a while, and Markers snickered. The contagion of laughter swept over us and soon we were all roaring heartily. We couldn't help it. We had noticed a tendency to laugh easily since we had been on Venus. Wilson explains it as the high oxygen content of the air.

BOMBERG ignored our merriment as did the natives. They were engrossed in each other. Finally Domberg stooped and made marks in the sand with his fingers. We caught on immediately as he drew a globe with radiating lines, and then four successive circles of wavy lines. He made marks for the positions of Venus and Earth and tried to indicate that we had come from the third planetary orbit.

This apparently didn't go over with the natives. After a while the leader made a farewell gesture and they left, as though satisfied for the time being at having seen us face to face.

Domberg was sweating when he turned to us. His hour of labor had resulted in a few vague facts. That they had come from another portion of the same island-continent we were on. They had seen us land in our space ship. They believed we were from some other part of Venus. The significance of Dornberg's sand-map had escaped them completely. But most of all, and Domberg was sure of it, they are entirely friendly in attitude. They had promised to return.

We noticed today, more markedly than before, how quickly metals rust in this watery atmosphere. Our entire space ship glistens with a bluish sheen, which Wilson explains as a thin layer of corrosion. We clean our guns twice a day. Captain Atwell is beginning to wonder how our metal things will stand up after fourteen months on Venus, until we return at the next conjunction.

Rainbow effects were particularly splendid today, if you can imagine about fifty of them, in the shapes of beams, arcs, crosses and circles.

Ion-charger spluttering. Will resume tomorrow.

FORTY-EIGHTH Day.

The Venusians kept their promise and returned today, three boatloads of them. Domberg spent nearly the whole day with them, on the beach. Greaves took his place as cook and UV operator.

Other duties occupied the rest of us. Captain Atwell is still driving to make our encampment permanently suitable. Tarnay and Marker set up the space ship's gyroscope in our house, fitting it with vanes of sheet-metal. It now waits a pleasant current of air through the interior, relieving the stifling humidity somewhat. Our problem on Mars was to keep warm; on Venus, it is to keep cool.

Parletti, Swinerton, Wilson and myself have been digging at a wide trench down to the beach. It will serve to drain away the water faster during the rainfalls. Physical labor is a trial in this oven-like climate. At each five-hour rainfall, we lie flat in the mud, with our mouths open, and let the water drain into our throats, to make up what we've lost in perspiration.

The Venusians left finally. Domberg was jubilant at his progress in communicating with them, solely by sign language. He had found out several things about them. They have a time system, based quite logically on the sun tide. The clock-like five-hour rain period is a smaller time unit they use.

The appearance and fading of the rainbows, in turn, is the smallest unit, about fifteen minutes. Having no systematic science, they need no finer subdivisions. In general, Domberg surmises they are comparable to Neolithic Man, in advancement and degree of intelligence.

He despairs of ever making them understand that we are from another world. Their skies eternally masked, they haven't the slightest onception, it seems, of space and the Universe. Venus is the whole cosmos to them. The "sky-world" is simply an endless ocean of air, as the seas are an endless stretch of water. The rare materializations of the sun, through a chance hole in the atmosphere, are to them fires that start and die by themselves.

The last thing Domberg revealed was that the natives had actually invited us to visit their home community! Captain Atwell shook his head firmly, and said we wouldn't do anything of that sort until fully assured they were friendly.

"They are friendly," insisted Domberg, a little heatedly. "It is a misconception that uncivilized people are savage, whether on Earth or Venus." Then he collapsed, probably from the excitement he had gone through. He revived quickly, however, in the gyro-fan's current.

FORTY-NINTH Day.

Today the great pincher-bears charged again, but were stopped, unexpectedly enough, by our drain trench. They growled meanly and ran up and down its edge, but did not essay to gimp across. Swinerton says evolution made them too ponderous to do any leaping.

Captain Atwell then quietly announced that we are pretty well settled and safe-guarded, and can begin to think of a scientific cataloguing of Venusian phenomena. The pincher-bears are no longer a menace. Other jungle creatures have not molested us in our open section. The food-mold has been conquered by our UV rays. And the natives are apparently friendly. We can look forward to our stay on Venus. Death and adversity stalked us far more relentlessly on Mars.

We are all eager to find out more about Venus. Swinerton wants to explore the jungle, to catalog wild lifeforms. Markers hopes to measure the marked libration of Venus, as the rainbows oscillate from a fixed point. Parletti wants to look for radioactive deposits, indicated by the high ion-content of the air.

Greaves believes he will find hundreds of new organic compounds in this resource-rich world. Domberg is in a fever to examine the pyramid. Tarnay visions a way to produce electricity thermally. Wilson wonders what in Hades clicks his Geiger-Müller cosmic-ray counter at double rate since the cosmic-rays can't conceivably be as plentiful as on Earth's surface. The mysteries of our sister world intrigue us.

Something significant happened to-day though we're not quite sure what. The Venusiaris landed at our beach again, and Domberg carried on his gesturing communications. Then, abruptly, the natives jumped up and left, after only an hour.

As Domberg explained it to us, he had made one more attempt to put across our othor-worldly origin. As an inspiration, he had drawn a picture of a pyramid in the sand. Then he had pointed at the pyramid faintly visible some distance along our plateau, and indicated that they were such in the "sky-world." He had been amazed at the electrifying effect among the natives. They made their sudden departure, shouting in terror. What it means we don't know. Domberg is very thoughtful.

There is something we miss greatly, as the eternal day of Venus goes on—the moon and stars. And darkness. Future colonists will find these things hard to forego.

FIFTY-FIRST Day.

I skipped a broadcast yesterday; as my ion-charger went haywire and had to be taken apart and repaired.

The whole complexion of things has changed, with the swift pace that seems normal on Venus. I just said, two days ago, that we seemed well established for our stay on Venus. Now we are not so sure.

All day yesterday and today, boats began to appear in the fogginess off-shore-hundred's of them. None of them landed. The natives seem to be gathering. Somehow, the move has a hostile air.

But much more shocking to us was Greaves' announcement, this morning, that most of our food supplies were ruined through mold! He had opened a sealed can of protein-sticks, to find the interior a mass of purple nauseation. We found the slight hole that had let the mold in—a hole eaten into the metal. Wilson turned pale. It was obviously, he said from the action of the highly moist and highly oxygenated atmosphere.

We investigated and found two-thirds of our other canned supplies molded. So, at one stroke, our rations have been cut down to a starvation minimum! We spent the day gloomily discussing the outlook.

Captain Atwell came to a decision, an hour ago, We will return to Earth immediately!

We could not survive on our remaining food supplies. Fresh food is out of the question, with the decay-mold so diabolically active. We were sorry about the announcement. It is not easy to give up our cherished plan to, spend fourteen months on Earth's sister world. We hope you of Earth understand. The next expedition will have to carry large and adequate UV apparatus; at least this much we have learned.

Swinerton found a beetle today that changes color almost instantly, to match its background. It's the most highly developed protective mimicry he's ever seen. We amused ourselves with it, testing its range. We stopped it cold on Parletti's blue serge suit. There is not much blue in Venus' mist-filtered daylight, and it has not learned to imitate that color.

FIFTY-SECOND Day.

Trouble has piled up, as thickly as the clouds over our heads. We were awakened this morning by the startled cries of Markers, who was on duty as guard. Natives had suddenly materialized from behind rocks and bushes and run forward, besieging us. Evidently they knew our period of sleep. They were armed with clubs, wooden spears and dried pinchers. Down at the beach, hundreds of their ships landed, disgorging more.

Utterly mystified, but not too alarmed, we watched to see what they were up to. They milled around our ship and house, banging against the walls with their implements. We were forced to conclude that the friendly Venusians quite suddenly were after our lives. But why?

Captain Atwell sent Domberg to the roof, to see if he could find out what they wanted. A puzzled look in his eye, Domberg went out the door instead, before anyone could stop him. We snatched up rifles, prepared to cover him if the natives attacked. But they didn't. His gestures of truce were respected. A Domberg came in an hour later, eyes dazed. He told a strange story and admitted it was mostly guesswork. The pyramid was the keynote. It had not been built by the natives, but by "invaders from the sky." Evidently a story handed down from generation to generation, Domberg had found out that long, long ago the invaders had come, killing wantonly. They had built the pyramid, and others, but eventually died out. It was a bit out of a hoary past. But in their folklore, the Venusians remembered the invasion, and were determined to resist a second visitation.

That was as far as Domberg could piece it out. The startling conjecture faced us that some time in prehistory, Earth-people might have visited Venus. But Greaves made the most sensible suggestion of all, that the Martians had been the invaders. We veterans of the Mars Expedition remember that pyramid on Mars, incontestibly more ancient than any on Earth. Had the Martians, then, before their final extinction, colonized both Earth and Venus?

CAPTAIN ATWELL cut short our excited discussion. The important thing, he pointed out, was that we were besieged.

A moment later things were still darker. Our ship suddenly began moving, slowly! It was being dragged by the natives. They had fastened vine-like strands to the rear rockets and were dragging it away—toward the edge of the cliff!

Domberg had told them we were leaving their world. But that had made no impression. They had indicated that they must destroy our expedition, lest we return and bring more "invaders." It seems to be a fixed obsession with them that we are the forerunners of armies who would be as cruel to them as the Martians apparently were. If we only knew the full history of that long-ago episode!

Captain Atwell picked up his rifle grimly and led the way to the roof. We were still not deeply concerned, except at the thought of having to shoot the natives. We thought them very foolish. One dead body among them would bring the death-mold and drive them away. So we thought.

Then we noticed something, before we made a shot. One native accidently nicked another with his weapon. The wound discolored quickly. Calmly, those around drove their weapons through the wounded one's body, killing him. Then the corpse was dragged to the cliff's edge and tossed over. Life is prolific and cheap on Venus!

And when we began firing into their massed numbers, the wounded and killed were swiftly dragged away. More natives came every moment. Atwell called a halt in the carnage quickly. It had been calculated to scare them, rather than decimate them. It was obvious that we would run out of ammunition before the Venusians ran out of numbers. And it was starkly apparent that they didn't scare!

There was only one hope left. If one of us could get into the ship, a few blasts from the rear rockets would settle the matter. The rocket fire would drive away the natives dragging the ship. But it would be death to try to run the gauntlet of natives, for even a hundred feet.

Will resume tomorrow; ion-charger low.

FIFTY-THIRD Day.

We are sitting in the ship now, safely in command of the situation. How it was achieved is easy to tell—but hard, also. For Domberg's life was the price.

Yesterday, after realizing we could not shoot our way clear to the ship, our position seemed hopeless. In another few hours the natives would have succeeded in dragging the ship to the cliff's edge. It would fall two hundred feet and be wrecked on sharp rocks. Our only hope seemed to be a desperate mass attack on the chance that a few of us would win through to the ship.

Swinerton declared gloomily that even then it was near hopeless. All of us would be nicked by the Venusians' weapons. We would arrive at the ship with our wounds contaminated by the death-mold. The UV apparatus could only save one of us. That one could not pilot the shipback to Earth. It was cold logic, undisputable. And all the while the ship was being dragged closer to its destruction.

A little later, we suddenly noticed that Domberg was gone. He had quietly slipped out of the door. We rushed to the roof and looked down. With peace gestures, he was outside, facing the menacing natives. Atwell called to him but he didn't turn. Gesticulating, he held the attention of the Venusians. We saw his daring purpose as he slowly moved toward the ship.

We knew it couldn't work. Halfway to the ship, the natives solidly blocked him. Weapons were raised threateningly. They were calling his bluff.

Domberg acted suddenly. Jerking out his two pistols, he fired into their ranks and plunged forward, bowling over the natives in his way like tenpins. We all began firing, at the flanks, trying to clear the way for Domberg. He was making a desperate, almost mad attempt to gain the lock, and we could only try to help.

Bleeding from a dozen places from wounds, Domherg's burly form reached the nose end of the ship, nearest us. A solid body of natives blocked the entrance lock. There wasn't the slimmest chance for Domberg to get through. Our barrage had little effect against their numbers.

WE all stopped firing suddenly. Domberg had done an amazing thing. He had climbed up the nose of the ship, using the outjutting rocket tubes as handholds. Lying flat, he crawled agilely up the smooth hull's slope, to the highest point of the ship.

Here he stayed, waiting calmly. His infected wounds became encrusted with the black death-mold. His legs and arms began to swell. The natives threw implements at him, trying to dislodge him from his perch. Several climbed after him, but he easily shoved them back with his foot.

We saw then what he had done—how he had saved us. In a few minutes his whole body was puffed, diseased, with the terrible death-mold. He waved to us once, then died—horribly. But still clinging to the top of the hull. In a few minutes a cloud of mold-corruption eddied from his corpse, driving the natives back. It surrounded the ship. Those pulling at the vines coughed and stumbled away. Some collapsed, adding further to the death-cloud.

At last the natives fled entirely. An hour later, when rain had partially cleared the air, the rest of us ran across to the ship, holding wet cloths to our faces. We gained the haven of our ship. The natives made a half-hearted attempt to attack again, but knew they had lost. Their boats left.

There was nothing left of Henry Domberg to bury. He is the first Earth- man to die on Venus, sacrificing his life for others. However, we held a short funeral service at the spot of his death. Captain Atwell's voice broke a little on the brief prayer for him. It was a doubly sorrowful occasion for him, and for Markers, Greaves, Parletti and myself. We were remembering those other times, on the Mars Expedition.

They have consecrated Man's venture into space, Domberg and those others. There is no more fitting epitaph.

FIFTY-FOURTH Day.

Cosmic irony! We must remain on Venus after all!

Just after I finished my broadcast yesterday, a startling fact came to our attention. Tarnay went over the engine, but when he tried to start it, nothing happened. Feverish examination showed that our fuel supply is impregnated with water, making it useless. The high humidity worked its way through the piping system.

So, despite Domberg's sacrifice, we are marooned on Venus! We must somehow try to exist even though most of our food supplies are destroyed. The death-mold lurks at our elbows. The natives will probably attack again. Our metals are deteriorating. Yet we hope to survive, despite these ominous factors. If at all possible, we will try to dehydrate our fuel, for a return trip at the next conjunction. Formidable task—on a world in which a cloudburst is almost an hourly item!

This will be our last direct contact, by etherline, as your return signals have become very weak, with the increasing distance between Venus and Earth. I will send through the click signal, however, twice a day at noon and midnight, Greenwich Time, as Venus circles the sun.

Good-by, Earth! If Providence wills it, we will resume etherline contact in fourteen months.

Venus Expedition Number One signing off.