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Venus Has Green Eyes

<div class="titlepage"> <h1>VENUS HAS GREEN EYES</h1> <h2>By CARL SELWYN</h2> from Planet Stories Fall 1940. </div> <hr class="chap" /> Charlie Mead, trapper, and Flip Miller, ex-prospector, started a forty-day drunk. Charlie just liked the idea. Flip had reasons. "In a few hours it'll be wetter'n a swamp duck's gullet," said Charlie, grinning behind his whiskers. "And darker'n West Pluto!" Charlie had been trapping otters here for five years and accepted the long nights as resignedly as the mud, the eternal fog and the heat. He poured another glass of loku, squinted at its blue sparkle in the tube-light. The gray mists swirled through the open door and the raw wind whistled through the rusty holes in the wall. Flip leaned back against the bundles of fur and held up four fingers. "To hell with the following," he counted, "I.M.C., radios, fuel tanks, and this soggy planet of yours, Venus!" <hr class="tb" /> Noted for his wild-goose chases and wilder ideas, Flip Miller was always running into trouble. In fact it was just two months ago that the Space Patrol found him marooned on Pallas. He had one pint of air left when they found him, said he fell out of his plane while looking for diamonds. The Patrol took him to Mars. There, he immediately got in a poker game and made a fortune—and immediately got in another and lost it all. That is, all except a doubtful map of a Venusian xanite mine which nobody else would accept as stakes. Which was his reason for being here, if Flip ever needed a sane reason for being anywhere. For once however his screwball ventures panned out. "And I've been here all these years without knowing a billion dollars was in my back yard," said Charlie who considered the matter very funny. "Leastwise it was a billion till—" "Shut up, you blinking old veedle-chaser," said Flip. People always laughed at his misfortunes. Maybe it was because he did too.... Charlie's island was in the middle of the Black Swamp. The mine was a few hundred miles east. Fused with asphalt and deep in the mire, thousands of miles from nowhere, it was small wonder it had lain there unvisited since its original discovery. The map had passed through the hands of sundry dissolute, short-lived sourdoughs till the location became as dubious as other bar-room talk. It was Flip's luck that the map eventually got around to him. He was probably the only man in the system who would have believed in it. Filled with quick visions, he'd figured his treasure up on the spot. It would cost about fifty dollars a ton to get it out of the swamp, smelt the asphalt and ship the ore to Earth. On Earth xanite ore was worth over a thousand dollars a ton. Then the fates ran amuck. His plane's fuel tank sprang a leak. Flip lost every drop of the reserve that was to carry him back to the mainland. The mainland was 25,000 miles away. Then his sending set blew a transformer and he couldn't radio for help. Last, while trying to ascertain his position on the receiving set, he heard that I.M.C.—Interstellar Metallurgical Company—had just opened a gigantic xanite deposit on Mars. The Market quoted xanite now at twenty dollars a ton. Venusian xanite suddenly wasn't worth swamp water. "It shore is too bad," continued Charlie with smiling sympathy. "You probably wished it on me," said Flip, "so you could have company on this mildewed damn island." That was the one blessing in his barrage by malevolent fates—he'd glided to Charlie's island and the old fellow, one of many of his kind in the Venusian swamps, had placed his metal shack, his canned beans and his loku at Flip's disposal. To all of which he was doomed till the supply ship came around after the rains—forty days ahead. "I wish one of your pirates would show up," mused Flip. "I might could bum a ride out of here." "Don't wish that, boy," said Charlie with quick seriousness. "I've been pretty lucky so far but I told you about the fellow who used to be here—he's buried out yonder in the mud. These here Venusian pirates're about the meanest critters you find anywheres." "They come around during the nights, huh." "Yeah, when the season's catch is ready for packing. They kill the fellow and take his pelts. You quit talking about pirates, boy. They'd just as soon skin you as an otter." "Say! What about this female pirate I heard about on the mainland?" "Captain Vixen? I never seen her—never knew nobody that had. She don't come out here and the natives won't talk about her. But you can bet your Sunday space-togs she's behind this swamp raiding—she runs everything on the mainland, about ruined the big industries there. Supposed to be a native queen back in the hills; hates foreigners. They say she's nursed scorpions and killed men with her fingernails." "Pretty tough date, huh." And now the twilight was coming on, it was starting to rain—and soon it would be blackness and constant rain for forty dreary days. "Oh, hell," yawned Flip. "And I didn't bring my bathing suit." He joined Charlie in a drink. <hr class="tb" /> The thirty-eighth century Haliburton and the Black Swamp Bacchus were doing nicely with the sixteenth verse of Lulu Drank Loku on Pluto when one of the more technical gestures necessary to the famous ditty caused the bottle to be overturned. "Now look what you've done," said Flip. "We've got only enough left for thirty-nine days." "Sho shorry," said Charlie. Flip felt in his shirt pocket for a cigarette and found the ill-starred map which had brought him here. The lines were blurred with sweat but he could still make out the circle designating the mainland port, the crow's feet designating the swamp, the large X in the upper left where the xanite was. He didn't need the map any more; for the location was stark in his mind. In fact he wished he could forget it. "Ah, well," he said. He opened the tube-light, held the map over the hissing jet. It turned brown, then black and he crumbled the ashes in his fingers. "I sometimes wonder what'll happen to me next...." He heard something above the wind at the door; probably a stray veedle, one of the mud-mice which infested the swamp. Then he noticed Charlie's eyes. They were very big and slowly his mouth fell open. He's gone loku loco, thought Flip. Charlie was staring past him, over his shoulder. Flip whirled around. A woman stood in the door. Flip dropped his glass. Behind the woman stood three men. The woman said something in Venusian. Flip couldn't understand and there was a dumb pause as he stared with eyes that grew wider. The woman wore hip-high swamp boots, two guns on her belt, a filmy shirt open at the throat. Her hair, uncovered and flowing, was golden, vaporous as the mist. Flip heard Charlie replying in the native language. The woman stepped into the room. Eyes flicking into every corner, the three men followed her. In the hand of each was an .03 pistol. She halted before them and Flip rose from his chair like a ghost. Charlie sat very still. His face was pale, eyes narrow. "Sit down." It was a command and Flip sank back down helplessly. In his amazement he'd probably have done anything she said. She spoke English, in the liquid tones of a native. And she was Venusian, in all its ancient connotation. Her eyes met Flip's evenly, calmly. Her eyes were emerald green. "You are Flip Miller," she said. "You have a map. Give it to me." She held out her hand, as if refusal to her easy words was unthinkable. Flip found his voice. "Who—?" he began. Her eyes were cold, commanding; his ego rebelled and he stood up quickly. With a swift hand, one of the men pushed him back down. Flip came up again with fists balled. A pistol was jabbed in his side. "Jupiter's jumpers!" cried Flip. "What is this?" "Captain Vixen...." breathed Charlie. <hr class="tb" /> The .03 gun was persuasive and Flip sat down. The man was huge, ugly with a welted blue scar across his cheek. He stepped back and stood with feet wide apart, the gun pointed at Flip's chest. Another stationed himself at the door, the other stood behind Charlie. The woman leaned against the table, crossed her legs. "The map?" she said and produced a cigarette. Bravado was the word for Flip, naturally or à la loku, and forgetting his anger he struck a match for her. She ignored him, lit the cigarette herself. Without changing his expression, Flip thumped the burning match toward the man with the gun. "So you're Captain Vixen," he said, meeting her gaze. "Perhaps I should ask for your autograph." "I should brand it on your mouth, Earthman. But the map, please?" She wasn't beautiful, thought Flip; her eyes were too far apart, her lips too large—sensual. And her green eyes, her eyebrows long and slanting, her firm lithe sleekness—they were more feline than feminine. Which was dangerously feminine, thought Flip, and perhaps she was beautiful. "Captain Vixen, the Legend does you an injustice," he observed. "The complexion! Like swamp lilies in the mist...." Then he laughed, for lovely women weren't danger to Flip Miller. Quite on the contrary. "Now what's all this about a map? My xanite mine?" "Fool, did you think your arrival on Venus was not made known to me—and your purpose here?" "You followed me to get that map!" Flip threw back his head with mirth. Charlie made shushing noises. But it was too funny, Flip thought. Didn't she know the mine was worthless? She must! But she had come out here after him in person. Perhaps she didn't know the bottom had fallen out of the xanite market. The woman motioned to the man with the scar. "Search him," she said, smoke curling from her lips. The fellow came forward, reached out a hairy hand. Flip slapped it aside, annoyed. "Oh, drop the mask, Viki, and let's be friends," he said. "And I don't like the company you keep." "Oh, Lord!" groaned Charlie. The man looked at the woman, waited for orders. "I said search him," she repeated. The man holstered his gun, snatched at Flip's collar. The shirt ripped and Flip's fist came up as he rose. Spat! The man staggered backward, hit the wall and slid to the floor. In the same second Flip hurled his chair at the man in the doorway. The woman was between him and the other fellow's gun, which probably saved him. He saw Charlie get to his feet as he whirled upon the woman—to find her pistol only inches from his belly. Charlie turned upon the man behind him and was struck in the face by a gun barrel. He fell across a pile of fur, was struggling up when the heavy man deliberately placed a foot upon his wrist. Flip heard the bone snap. He ground his teeth in rage, started to lunge at the man and felt the woman's gun press into his ribs. She had not moved from the table and her face was calm as ever. She had merely changed the cigarette to her left hand. Fingering their bruises, the men Flip had dealt with came up. The other had his gun leveled on Charlie. Flip saw the little trapper get slowly to his feet, holding his limp arm. His face was very white. It was then that Flip became quite sober to the situation. Suddenly he forgot this woman's beauty, and what had been admiration turned to burning hate. He told her so. "For the last time," she said, "I'm asking for that map." Her eyes were green ice and her hand did not waver on the gun. "I burned the map." "Then you will tell me the location." "I will tell you nothing." "Perhaps we can change your mind," she said. "Bring a rope, Thorg." <hr class="tb" /> After being thoroughly searched, they were pushed through the door. Charlie didn't say anything and Flip knew his wrist must be agony. Twilight had come, the long twilight of Venus which precedes the longer night, and the mist was wet with drizzling rain. Visibility was poor; Flip could see only a few yards ahead. The sun, never seen on this dank planet, was now below the horizon leaving a dull gray afterglow—like false dawn on Earth. He did not know where they were going nor what mad torture the woman had conceived. He knew only that hate flamed in his chest and her white throat in his hands would be a great pleasure. Never before had Flip desired to harm a woman. But never before had he seen one like this. They passed a trim strato-plane, vague in the fog, and Flip discovered how the pirates managed to land so noiselessly. On their craft's power jets were the slim serpentine coils of Doxim silencers, exhaust mufflers banned for years by Interstellar Law. If only a veedle would crawl in one of those tubes, he thought; it might blow up the ship. Slashing through the rain at Charlie's side, the threatening guns close behind, Flip was jerked from his heated musings by an .03 shot. He whirled around, saw smoke curling from the pistol in the woman's hand. A dead veedle, an exceptionally small mud-mouse, lay at her feet. Lordy, thought Flip as he was pushed on; the woman was heartless, mercilessly cruel for the sport of it.... The edge of the little island halted them. Here the rock fell away for several feet to the sickening ooze. Covering half of Venus, it was the Black Swamp which stretched off in the dismal fog. "Tie a rope around his neck and throw him over," came the woman's impassive voice. "He will become quite loquacious before he sinks...." So this was it. Flip looked at Charlie and Charlie looked at the swamp. Flip followed his gaze and the dark viscous mire rippled in a passing breeze, hissed against the rock and sucked hungrily like a live thing waiting to feed. The swamps were bottomless. The man Thorg, the one who had broken Charlie's wrist, threw a loop over Flip's head, pulled it tight about his neck. Flip fingered the rope and stared at the woman. Would she really do this? And would he talk? No! Damned if he would! He'd sink first. But the mine was worthless. Why not tell her where it was? But he had no reason to expect a lesser fate if he did. Besides it was a matter of honor now—and he knew one way to enhance that honor. "Hold the rope when you shove him in," said the woman, her eyes mere slits against the mist. "Let him sink slowly." The other two men had their guns trained upon Flip. He met Thorg's beady eyes. "Son of a veedle!" Flip said in his face. Suddenly he swooped down and upward with one long arm. The man was shoved forward, to the brink of the rock. He tottered there a long second, waving his arms frantically. Flip sprang toward the woman. Flame burst around him, he wasn't hit. He heard Thorg scream. He crashed into the woman as he heard a splash, more screams. Then there was silence and he was struggling on the wet-rock, the woman fighting like a tiger. Flip found her gun hand, wrenched the weapon from her. He got to his knees. The two men stood before him, one holding his gun on Charlie. They couldn't fire at Flip for fear of hitting the woman. Flip started to blast them, then turned the pistol upon their Captain Vixen beside him. "Drop your guns or I'll kill her," he said. He leveled his pistol, got to his feet and backed away from the group. "Take their guns, Charlie," he grinned. "We're not licked yet." "No?" said the woman. His eyes flicked to her. She had a pistol in her hand. Flip had his sights dead upon her. Damn, he thought; he'd forgotten she carried two guns. They stared at each other—stalemated. The very wind was still. "I've never killed a woman—" Flip said. "I've never killed a man," she said quietly, "before." For the first time she smiled. Flip's gun was suddenly jerked away, fire streaked toward him, he heard the crash. She had shot the gun from his hand. <hr class="tb" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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