Part 1 (1/2)
The Golden Amazons of Venus.
by John Murray Reynolds.
[Sidenote: Dakta death, horrible beyond the weirdest fever-dreams of Earth-men, faced s.p.a.ce s.h.i.+p Commander Gerry Norton. The laconic interplanetary explorer knew too much. He stood in the dynamic path of Lansa, Lord of the Scaly Ones, the crafty monster bent on conquering the fair City of Larr and all the rich, shadowless lands of the glorious Amazons of Venus.]
The s.p.a.ce-s.h.i.+p _Viking_--two hundred feet of gleaming metal and polished duralite--lay on the launching platform of New York City's munic.i.p.al airport. Her many portholes gleamed with light. She was still taking on rocket fuel from a tender, but otherwise all the final stores were aboard. Her helicopters were turning over slowly, one at a time, as they were tested.
In the _Viking's_ upper control room Gerry Norton and Steve Brent made a final check of the instrument panels. Both men wore the blue and gold uniform of the Interplanetary Fleet. Fatigue showed on both their faces, on Steve's freckled pan and on Gerry Norton's lean face. Gerry in particular had not slept for thirty-six hours. His responsibility was a heavy one, as commander of this second attempt to reach the planet Venus from Earth. Well--he would have a chance to catch up on sleep during the long days of travel that lay ahead.
The two officers finished their inspection, and strolled out onto the open deck atop the vessel. For a while they leaned on the rail, staring down at the dense crowds that had thronged the airport to see the departure of the _Viking_. In this warm weather the men wore only light shorts and gayly colored s.h.i.+rts. The women wore the long dresses and metal caps and thin gauze veils that were so popular that year. Around the fringes of the airport stood the ramparts of New York's many tall buildings, with the four hundred story bulk of the Federal Building a giant metal finger against the midnight sky.
”When are we going to pull out, Chief?” Steve Brent asked.
”As soon as the s.h.i.+p from Mars gets in and Olga Stark can come aboard.”
”Funny thing--I've never been able to like that gal!” Steve said. Gerry smiled faintly.
”That puts you in the minority, from all reports. However--that's aside from the point. She's the most capable s.p.a.ce-pilot in the whole fleet, and we need her. What's she like personally?”
”Tall, dark, and beautiful--with a nasty tongue and the temper of a fiend,” Steve said. He yawned, and changed the subject. ”Y'know--I've just been wondering what really did happen to the _Stardust_!”
Gerry shrugged without replying. That was a question that was bound to be in the minds of all members of this expedition, whether or not they put it in words. Travel between Earth and Mars had been commonplace for more than a generation now, but there had not yet been any communication with Venus--that cloud-veiled planet whose orbit lay nearer the sun than that of earth. Two years ago the exploring s.h.i.+p _Stardust_ had started for Venus. She had simply vanished into the cold of outer s.p.a.ce--and never been heard from again.
Gerry Norton thought the _Viking_ would get through. Science had made some advances in these past two years. His s.h.i.+p would carry better rocket fuel than had the _Stardust_, and more efficient gravity plates.
The new duralite hull had the strength to withstand a terrific impact.
They would probably get through. If not--well--he had been taking chances all his life. You didn't go into the Interplanetary Service at all if you were afraid of danger.
”There comes the s.h.i.+p from Mars now!” Steve Brent said, suddenly pointing upward.
A streak of fire like a shooting star had appeared in the sky far above.
It was the rocket blast of the incoming s.p.a.ce liner. Yellow flames played about her bow as she turned on the reverse rockets to reduce the terrific speed. The roar of the discharge came down through the air like a faint rumble of distant surf. Then the rockets ceased, and the s.h.i.+p began to drop down as the helicopters were unfolded to take the weight and lower her easily through the atmosphere.
”It won't be long now!” Steve said in his low, deep, quiet voice.
”Aye, not long!” boomed a deep voice behind them, ”but I'm thinking it will be a long day before we return to this braw planet of ours!”
Angus McTavish, chief engineer of the _Viking_, was a giant of a man with a voice that could be heard above the roar of rocket motors when he chose to raise it. He had a pair of very bright blue eyes--and a luxuriant red beard. There were probably no more than a dozen full sets of whiskers worn in the earth in this day and age, and McTavish laid claim to the most imposing.
”Fuel all aboard, Chief,” he said, ”The tender's cast off and we're ready to ride whenever you give the word.”
”Just as soon as these people come aboard.”
”Tell me, Mac,” Steve Brent interposed, ”Now that we're all about to jump off into the unknown--just why _do_ you sport that crop of whiskers?”
”So I won't have to b.u.t.ton my collar, ye f.e.c.kless loon!” the big engineer replied instantly.