Spawn of the Venus Sea
Date: 2020-04-27T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Science fiction; Short stories; Sea stories; Venus (Planet) -- Fiction

The Project Gutenberg eBook of Spawn of the Venus Sea

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

Title: Spawn of the Venus Sea

Author: Harry Walton

Illustrator: Leo Morey

Release date: April 27, 2020 [eBook #61952]
Most recently updated: October 17, 2024

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/61952

Credits: Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SPAWN OF THE VENUS SEA ***

SPAWN OF THE VENUS SEA

By HARRY WALTON

What was this ghastly inhabitant of Venus'
Dead Sea—this multiple-life monstrosity.

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Fall 1941.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

With a tremendous snap, the taut steel cable humming in over the stern sheaves suddenly leaped high. The winch screamed briefly as the cable skipped its guides. Before power could be shut off it had snarled badly, and the frayed end of it had thrashed a splintery dent into the Mermaid's deck.

By this time, Second Mate Stanley Kort reflected grimly, the net itself had probably bottomed on the floor of Venus's largest ocean—the Molo Ivrum, or Deadly Sea, thus named for the paradoxical reason that it teemed with life, most of it decidedly unpleasant.

Hands clenched, Kort stared from the plaskon windows of the wheelhouse. Through the thin haze blanketing the deck he could see net tenders and seamen stolidly staring forward. The cable lay in a vicious tangle between winch house and stern. Nobody looked at it.

They were waiting for orders, as they always waited when Kort held deck command. Were Hodge up here, or even Pratt, the third mate, the net tenders would have laid hold of the snarled steel by now. With Kort it was different.

Or was it he who was different, he who hadn't been trained in the hard school of this sort of seamanship? A man who'd won his papers in passenger service wasn't wanted aboard a floating cannery. Kort wished he had known a month ago how it would be. He should have left Venus after being discharged from the Corinthia, instead of trying to start anew in the cannery service.

His clenched fist opened.

"Break out a magnetic!" The deck speakers amplified his voice to stentorian volume, galvanized the crew into sullen action. Men untangled the steel, spliced a new length to it, and swung the magnetic grapple over the side.

With the grapple magnets drawing two hundred amps, the ship swung in a clumsy circle. Half an hour passed, marked only by the screech of cannery boilers popping off every five minutes. From forward came the stench of cleaning platforms, the "clop-plop" of trimming machinery.

Then the rain, pelting down in drops big as grapes. They splashed roaringly upon the deck, drummed upon the wheelhouse windows like furious fingers. The Mermaid seemed to squat lower in the water under the weight of the storm.

Abruptly a red lamp flashed. Kort was out of the pilot house almost before the engine room, answering his signal, had reversed the turbines. In helmet and plaskon overalls he fought his way aft.

At the stern rail Kort watched the cable come in, dripping steel curl itself over the drums. Finally the grapple broke the frothy surface of the sea. To it clung the lost net, and Kort felt a moment of amazed gratitude for that bit of luck. For once the Mermaid had been fortunate. Ships sometimes spent hours in futile grappling.

Tenders seized the net, spread it as the winch hauled in. It was nine tenths up when Kort, watching for anything that might jam the rollers, signaled the winch-man to stop.

The thing might have been a giant slug. Thick as a man's arm, it was so entangled in the net that any estimate of its length was sheer guesswork. One end tapered to a featureless snout, the other flattened to a broad, finned tail. Its color was a dingy, bloodless white. Kort had never seen anything like it before.

"Get a trident, Simms!" he bawled over the fury of the storm, and the man obediently lifted one of the implements from its rack. Simultaneously a net tender climbed over the rail and, clinging to the mesh, lowered himself hand over hand. The man with the trident looked gravely on. Kort felt himself flush, yet hesitated to order the other man back. Possibly the thing in the net was familiar to the others, its disposal a simple matter which his interference might make difficult.

The tender leaned down, chopped at the white monstrosity with a heavy knife. There was a solid thunk of metal as the edge bit chain mesh. Kort would almost have sworn that the thing moved. It was incredible that the man could have missed it otherwise.

Suddenly uneasy, Kort drew his electro-gun. With a grimace the tender leaned farther over, raised his knife again.

Before it fell, before anyone could move or shout warning, the white trunk flashed out, magically freed itself from the net, coiled about the man, and in one convulsive movement vanished with him beneath the sea. There was a single sharp splash, muted by the drumming rain.

Kort had not dared to fire. Incredulously he stared at the spot where the thing had been enmeshed an instant before. The undamaged net, slimy with the detritus of the sea, hung empty under the ship's stern.

It was still raining, but, as though some oceanic deity had accepted a living sacrifice, the Mermaid's luck had changed. Nets came up laden with the Molo Ivrum's rampant life. Sorters tossed the edible, bulbous gwai upon conveyor belts for the cannery machines to clean and pack. The remainder of the catch was thrown back into the sea. The finless, two-mouthed gwai alone was wanted for its incredible nutritive value, twice that of the finest synthetic foodstuffs, which had made this tiny denizen of Venusian seas a staple article of diet wherever supplies had to be taken in concentrated form.

Kort watched the work somberly, feeling himself responsible for the tender's death. Even Pratt would have ordered the man back. The men were right; he was a gold brick, not worth his salt aboard the Mermaid. He'd have to get off. Not that there could be any going back to the passenger runs for him, after the tragedy of the Corinthia. They allowed a man only one mistake there. He had made his by failing to report a brother officer unfit for duty.

A steward brought his lunch—fried gwai, native tapioca, and strong synthetic coffee. While he was eating Hodge entered. The first mate poured himself a cup of the brew and dismissed the idle helmsman with a nod. The Mermaid lay becalmed in the downpour.

Kort felt the mate's eyes upon him. Hodge was a grizzled giant of a man, at least thirty years older than he.

"Taking it a bit hard, aren't you, son?"

"I should have ordered him back," said Kort tightly.

"Maybe," retorted Hodge, stuffing a biscuit between his teeth. "And maybe he shouldn't have played the fool. Never give the sea bigger odds than you can help. They do say the critter was all tangled up with the net to the last second—and then it wasn't."

"That's true."

"Reminds me of them native magicians you can see in Dana T'resa. But the sea's full of surprises. We'll never outguess her—well, D'loo?"

The pilot house door had been flung open as by a tempest. One of the stokers, a squat green-skinned Venusian, stood breathless and wild eyed before the two officers.

"Steady, boy," rumbled Hodge. "What's up?"

The native's broad ears twitched. "Twahna ekeh-il! Twahna is dead!" He lapsed into chattering dialect, his eyes almost idiotic with fright.

"He says Twahna was killed by the ghost-snake," muttered Hodge. "Sounds like a lie to cover up some liquor stealing, but we'd better go see. Have Pratt take over; it's almost his watch anyway."

The third officer, flushed of face and glaring resentfully, answered Kort's telephoned summons by appearing on the bridge. He slouched on the leather bench behind the wheel, pulled a bottle from his hip even before the others left.

The chattering Venusian led them to the second forecastle reserved for native seamen. Half a dozen other natives, all off duty for the present, were huddled in the passageway outside. The low room was deserted. A single fluorescent bulb glowed bluishly between the tiers of bunks. Almost directly beneath sprawled Twahna.

His face was cupped in both hands as though to shut out the sight of death. Kort rolled him over and got the shock of his life. The Venusian was dead white, his flesh drained of color. His hands stayed up before his face and Kort tried to put them down.

"He's frozen!" Kort marveled. "Frozen stiff. Feel him."

Hodge touched the man. "It wasn't liquor," he rumbled. "Alcohol will kill a native quick enough, but it won't do that. D'loo says a snake came through the bulkhead while they were getting dressed for their watch, and wrapped itself around Twahna. It was between D'loo and the door, so he had to stay until the thing went back through the bulkhead. And he's too scared to be lying."

There was a clatter of footsteps on the ladder. Kort looked up into the flushed face of Pratt, and knew there was more trouble. Nothing less could have induced him to leave the comfort of the wheelhouse.

"Well, mister?" asked Hodge.

"A—a net tender's been killed," the third mate stuttered. "They say—they say he's the second."

"The third, mister," said Hodge harshly. "Anything queer about the net tender?"

"Yes—yes, he was frozen. Frozen blue. I thought I'd better call you."

They went up together, leaving behind them a sorely frightened group of Venusians. The moment they reached the deck Kort knew that something else had happened since Pratt had left. It had stopped raining, although the last of the water was still sluicing from the scuppers. But not a man was in sight. Winch house, stern deck, and sorting platforms were deserted.

Yet not utterly, for just forward of the main net locker swayed the creature from the depths, a sinuous tapering trunk, its snout uplifted like a hound's nose scenting game.

"Two of them!" gasped Pratt, pointing to a second one atop the pilot house.

"And one makes three!" muttered Hodge, for still another had appeared magically beside the first. Pratt pulled his electro-gun from its holster. Its heavy bullet splintered a hatch cover just behind the thing, but the creature showed no harm. Kort drew his own weapon and joined Pratt in pumping bullets. Wood splintered and metal clanged where the projectiles struck, but the sea slugs remained unharmed.

It seemed to Kort that the things flickered, faded from view, at the very instant he fired, only to reappear so quickly as to make him doubt his senses. Pratt was reloading furiously. He went down on all fours, crawled along one of the conveyor belts until he was no more than twelve feet from one of the things. Prone on the deck, he fired at point blank range. The soft nosed bullet smashed into planking directly behind the swaying trunk. Kort saw splinters fly at the impact, but again the sea slug had seemed to vanish for an instant, like a candle flame almost blown out by a sudden draft.

In drunken anger, Pratt seized a trident from the rail, sprang to his feet, leaped at the thing. Kort shouted a warning to which the man paid no heed. Spear-like he hurled the trident; the prongs sank a full inch into the wooden deck. The swaying trunk reared, became ominously still. Kort cried out again as Pratt, howling drunken defiance, emptied his gun at it.

Like the pounce of lightning the creature struck. One instant it was upreared before Pratt, the next its fatal helix enclosed the man. He staggered, screamed once, a howl of sheer animal pain that struck Kort like a whip across the face. It was Hodge who restrained him from tackling the thing with fists and knife.

"Too late!" the older man said grimly. "No use throwing yourself after him."

There was no sound from Pratt now. In ghastly silence the sea creature had settled down with him, his body rigid in its coiled grip, protruding eyes mirroring agony, yet already glazed with approaching death, his face slowly turning the purple of asphyxiation. Once more the gun blasted before it fell from twitching fingers. To the watchers it seemed an age before the tortured body at last went limp.

"Time the captain heard about this!" growled Hodge, "Although it ain't likely to do any good." His iron grip aroused Kort from the stupefaction of horror into which the sight of Pratt's death had plunged him. Together they went forward, giving the monsters a wide berth, past the cannery deck where most of the deck crew were gathered, to the captain's cabin.

One glimpse of the master told Kort no help might be expected from him. Spale's huge body overflowed the bunk; he was more stupefied than asleep. The cabin reeked of liquor. Hodge slammed the door on it.

"Might've known it," he grumbled. "He won't be good for thirty hours, like that. We're putting back to port, catch or no catch."

They reached the forward wheelhouse from below deck, leaving the one aft in possession of the sea monsters. Hodge pushed over the engine room telegraph. At the wheel, Kort awaited the first throb of propellers to drive the ship ahead.

For a moment there was no movement but the slow roll of the Mermaid in the trough of the waves. Then the interphone crackled.

"Wellson, engine room. We have no pressure on the boilers down here. Chief Starr has gone aft to see about it. I can give you quarter speed for a few minutes."

"Quarter speed!" barked Hodge. The vessel trembled to the surge of the screws, forged slowly ahead. That moment too came the first of the wind. Kort found his hands full keeping the ship on course in the face of it.

Once he looked aft, just in time to see the last trunk vanish from atop the aft pilot house. It did not plunge overboard, but faded from sight as abruptly as a projected image when the light is snapped off.

Briefly grateful that the things had gone, he bent all efforts to keeping the Mermaid on course in the face of freshening wind. Through the deck he could feel the whine of turbines inexorably slowing down.

"No steerageway, sir," he said finally, as the ship yawed.

Hodge rang the interphone savagely, without result.

"Better see what's wrong," he told Kort. "Wait—take this."

He thrust an electro-gun renewal clip into Kort's hand. With the weapon in hand Kort descended ladder after ladder to the engine deck. Amid disquieting silence something within him grew coldly alert.

The engine room was empty. Giant mercury turbines spun lazily under a pressure head far too low to drive them at normal speed. A chill swept him at the sight of the pressure gauges. In the dim glow of failing fluorescents he headed for the stokehole.

A nameless sense of menace cautioned him. He passed the great bunkers full of kwahna wood, the rich, oily fuel that drove the Mermaid and her kind across the planet's five oceans. In the last bulkhead the stokehole door stood wide, somehow sounding a chill note of warning.

Without entering he called Wellson and Starr. The names echoed hollowly from the dim reaches of the ship, but in response came only the faint roar of a blower left at half speed.

The thought that Wellson and Starr must have gone through that same door determined him against doing so. Instead he climbed to the deck above, coming out on a catwalk above the boilers, from which he could see into the stokehole.

Five men sprawled on the deck plates in the contorted postures of those dead by violence, knees drawn high, arms outflung, fingers bent into claws. By the light of his pocket flash Kort recognized the distorted features of Starr. A reddish glow from an open firebox illumined those of Wellson. The other men were native stokers. When Kort moved the flash beam horror tightened its clutch upon him. The stokehole pit seemed full of sea slugs.

By actual count he found there were five of them, alert, weaving, posturing as though to sense new victims. Oddly enough the light brought no response from them, even when flashed directly upon their dingy white bodies.

Suddenly the electro-gun seemed to burn in Kort's hand. He lifted away a section of the catwalk grid to fire through the opening thus left. Bullets howled, ricocheting from deck plates and bulkheads below. Occasionally one of the creatures seemed to flicker before a shot.

When the gun was empty Kort got to his feet. His fire had been without effect. He felt a sick sense of futility as he climbed back to the wheelhouse, where Hodge soberly listened to the tale of death he had to tell.

"We've got to get them, son," said the first mate grimly. "It's them or us. Look aport."

The sky was aflame over the horizon. Twisted ribbons of light swirled between sea and heavens, shot through now and again with flashes of crimson. Across the waters came, faintly, the rumble of thunder.

"Kilwanni!" grunted Hodge. "From the looks of that borealis, it's headed this way. If we lie here much longer we'll be blown out of the water."

"With the anti-grids?" Kort protested.

"Without them," Hodge answered dryly. "What're you going to use for juice? The lightning generators have almost stopped, and you can't turn the anti-grid generators on flat boilers, nor use battery juice either."

He jerked his head significantly at the wheelhouse lamps, hardly more than aglow.

"Looks like we have to lick the things or else! No good wasting more bullets, either. The things dodge 'em. See how they flicker when you put a bullet close? No wonder D'loo calls them the ghost snakes."

Kort nodded, and yet it seemed to him that Hodge's appraisal was wrong, in some vague way he couldn't himself put a finger on.

"If they dodge the bullets," the first mate went on, "then they must see 'em coming. Maybe we need something faster than bullets—a bolt blaster, maybe."

"And Spale's got one!" finished Kort.

"Only one aboard," finished Hodge. "He had a mutiny once, and a blaster saved his fat neck for him. Since then he won't let anybody else keep one aboard, curse him. I reckon we'll have to find his."

Five minutes later the two men trod softly away from Spale's cabin, the precious blaster, clumsy with its huge capacitor drum, ridged barrel, and pointed electrode, in Hodge's hands. Yet Kort was haunted by an unreasonable premonition of failure. Perhaps, he told himself, repeated failure had sold him on the belief that the sea slugs were invulnerable. Certainly the blaster was no common weapon. It shot a bolt of non-oscillating high amperage current, a single shattering projectile of pure energy, with the speed of light itself. What living thing could sense the approach of that flashing death?

They entered upon the catwalk after Kort's light had shown it clear of the creatures. The stokehole fluorescents were mere luminous streaks against encroaching darkness. Only dying embers glowed behind the open fire door. But the flash beam revealed four white trunks grouped before the boilers, as though attracted by the warmth. Purple faces of the dead glared up in the pallid light of the torch.

Hodge swore feelingly, leveled the blaster. The weapon spat a lurid, creamy-white bolt that pierced the nearest trunk. Kort held his breath. The flash seared his sight, seeming of longer duration than it really was, and limned the sea thing starkly against the blackness of the stokehole. The light of his torch seemed feeble after it.

But in that light the creature swayed, unhurt, untouched. Hodge cursed it furiously, fired again and again. The crash of bolts was thunderous in that confined space. Fringes of electrical fire leaped from metal at their touch. Ozone stung Kort's nostrils.

But when the blaster clicked emptily not four, but five trunks swayed languidly before the boilers, curving their supple bodies in undulating motion that at times gave them the shape of huge, animated question marks.

"Drum's empty," said Hodge quietly. "Let's go topside."

Kort felt his calmness in strange contrast to the fury raging within himself—fury that mindless things from the sea should set at nought the intelligence and courage of some fifty men. What price intelligence? An ameoba, incapable of sensing the approach of death, was better off than they who could foresee, and fear, and do nothing at all to escape, extinction. What was the kilwanni—the coming storm—but a conglomeration of ions, dead and unintelligent, possessed of no will either benevolent or malevolent, yet destined for all that to shatter the Mermaid and commit them to death in the freezing sea—those who escaped a fiery but swifter death from the storm itself.

He followed Hodge silently back to the pilot house. Two seamen waited there, grim faced.

"Three of them by the cannery boilers," one man said. "They got Sanderson before he could clear out."

That was all. They stared at Hodge, waiting for him to speak. The grizzled first mate shook his head.

"I know," said Kort suddenly, and all eyes turned to him. "The bullets were too slow—but the blaster was too fast. A bolt lasts only a few micro-seconds."

"How d'you mean?"

"You remember when D'loo first talked about a ghost snake? He hadn't seen the one on the net, but only the one that killed Twahna, and nobody had fired a shot at it."

"But he saw it come through the bulkhead," Hodge pointed out.

"That's what threw us off the track, but that wasn't the only reason D'loo called it the 'ghost snake.' Nor was it because they flicker before bullets. Have you ever known a native who cared to see ordinary cinema films?"

"Nope," grunted Hodge, plainly mystified. "Nor one who'd let a newsreel man photograph him. They call 'em the ghost pictures. Say—!"

"There you are. They fight shy of the films because they don't get the illusion of motion, as we do. All they see is a quick-fading succession of stills, because the natives don't have persistence of vision, as we have. The films don't fool them as they do us. Nor do those things out there. To us they look solid. To D'loo they flicker constantly—ninety-nine percent of the time they literally aren't there. They have a vibratory existence, like the image we seem to see on the cinema screen. Back in the twentieth century it was shown that the probability wave representing an electron extended, theoretically, to infinity. In these things free will—the life force—enters to control that mathematical probability. They can literally be two places at once—on the bottom, three miles down, and on our deck—at the same time.

"They're here only at intervals, and persistence of vision bridges the time gap between those intervals. The blaster bolts last only a few micro-seconds, a far shorter time than their natural period. A bolt comes and goes while the thing you fire at actually isn't there. It would be sheer luck if the bolt should coincide to hit it at the instant it's actually materialized—sheer luck, because our eyes can't help us. Even a Venusian wouldn't be able to synchronize a bolt—there isn't that quick co-ordination between brain and muscle. The odds would always be against us."

The seamen looked blank. Hodge drummed the chart table with a huge fist. "If you're right, we need a faster bullet or a slower bolt."

"Or timing!" finished Kort. "Have Sparks rig a stroboscope out of spare parts. You know how moving parts can be made to look as if they're standing still, in an intermittent light that flashes only when they are at one point in their movement. With all other lights off, a stroboscope wouldn't show us the things at all, except when we have it exactly synchronized with their vibratory period. Rig the blaster in series with the light circuit, and it would have to fire at exactly the right time. That'll get them."

One of the seamen cleared his throat. "Maybe it would—or maybe not. This is no time for theories. We're speaking for all the men now. We don't mean to stay aboard to be blasted by the Kilwanni or strangled by these damned snakes. We want to take the launches."

"Supposin' you did," Hodge countered. "You'd last just till the Mermaid's hit. Then the potential would flatten out, with the launches stickin' up in it like sore thumbs. There ain't no anti-grids on them, and you couldn't get away quick enough."

"We'd rather take our chances than go down with this tub," snarled the other man. "You ain't going to stop us!"

Hodge shrugged, then stared in amazement at Kort, who stood by the door with a leveled electro-gun.

"I'm stopping you. Listen—you won't last five minutes out there in the launches, without anti-grids. Give Sparks an hour to rig a stroboscope and we can get back into the stokehole. With pressure on the boilers we can charge the anti-grids and the storm won't touch us."

The men looked black rage at him, but made no move. Hodge's right hand hovered over his own gun.

"Don't draw!" snapped Kort. "I don't want to hurt you, Hodge, but this means the life of all of us, not just one or two."

"Forgettin' something, ain't you?" asked Hodge dryly. "I'd be all for you, if we had an hour to spare. Take a look at the grids."

Kort risked a glance aloft, through the wheelhouse windows. Against a dark, sultry sky the spiral network of the anti-grids already glowed with faint pricklings of St. Elmo's light—harmless prologue to the storm to come. Any weather-wise sailor could read the menace in those flaming curtains to port, swirling in fiery splendor, very tapestries of hell.

"Won't take them but forty minutes, maybe, to get here," continued Hodge inexorably. "And after you've got your stroboscope, and killed the critters, it'll take thirty minutes to get pressure on the boilers. Not a chance your way. Better stow the gun and go along in the launches."

It was like a pit opening before Kort's feet. Bitterly he realized his mistake—he had forgotten those all-important thirty minutes needed to get enough pressure for the anti-grid generators. Actually there remained perhaps ten minutes to defeat the sea monsters and regain the stokehole. He'd been making a fool of himself, delaying the men's last forlorn dash for life.

Sheepishly he holstered his gun while the seamen stalked out. Seconds later came the groan of pulleys as the first launch swung out from the davits.

Hodge slouched over the chart table, stared out at the activity on deck. The third launch splashed noisily into the sea. Men scrambled down the davit lines. Far in the bow swayed, unheeded, one of the blind, deadly creatures from the depths.

"Few hours ago," Hodge rumbled, "all we worried about was getting a catch aboard. But the sea changes things before you know it. Take this ship—ought to be fit to ride out any kilwanni. Now she ain't, all on account of the sea. Kilwanni's part of the sea too—never get 'em over the land. Bolts fat as the mainmast and red hot, lastin' ten seconds, some of 'em. Melt the chocks right off the deck—"

"Damn!" exclaimed Kort. "Why didn't I—"

"Steady, son. Too late now. The last launch's gone."

"Why didn't I think of it before?" asked Kort wildly. "How many drums has the captain got for that blaster?"

Hodge chuckled. "If I know Spale, he's got twenty or thirty. Spale! Holy cheroot, we forgot all about him!"

Without a word they rushed together to the captain's cabin. Hodge flung the door wide. Spale lay as they had left him, motionless in his bunk. But at sight of his face Kort turned cold within. The normally flushed features were a dull purple.

"Critters got him too," Hodge said calmly. "Probably never felt a thing, the shape he was in." He stooped over the desk in the far corner, tossed a jumble of bottles, pipes, pencils and other miscellany out of one drawer after another, at last uttered a triumphant grunt.

"Here!" Kort snatched the squat black cylinder Hodge tossed to him. The first mate delved further. "Plenty more in here—sure you want 'em, son?"

"All of them," said Kort breathlessly, tearing the discharged drum from the blaster and fitting the new one in its place. While the mate's back was turned he ripped away a small black box affixed beneath the weapon's chunky barrel, and twisted together the raw ends of the wires thus exposed. Furtively he looked up to see whether Hodge had noticed, but the latter was still bent over the desk.

Suddenly the blaster seemed to turn ice cold in Kort's hand. For a moment, he doubted his ability to press the trigger. His nerves seemed frozen, incapable of action in the dread need of the moment.

As though a hand other than his own had loosed it, he saw the bolt stab white-hot across the cabin, its crash far louder than in the stokehole, the tang of ozone sharp instantly after.

Hodge leaped wildly, spun around in open mouthed astonishment. Silently Kort pointed to the bunk, behind which the painted bulkhead showed a sear of flame.

Sprawled across Spale's body lay the dingy white carcass of a sea slug, streaked and blackened by the bolt.

"It came through the bulkhead," said Kort tensely. "Maybe it was the one that got Spale. There wasn't time to warn you."

"Thanks, son. Dying by the kilwanni would be a pleasure compared to making a meal for that. But how come?"

"I took a chance," Kort said slowly. "I took the choke condenser off. That's what limits each bolt to a twentieth of the drum's capacity and damps out all oscillation. Without it the whole drum fired at once, and because the charge oscillated it lasted about a hundred times as long as before—long enough to bridge the thing's vibratory period. The bolt hit while it was there, and killed it."

Hodge snatched up the drums and stuffed them into his pockets. "Come on! We'll roast out the rest of 'em—what's wrong, son?"

Kort laid the blaster wearily upon the desk. "Look at it. The full drum charge burnt out the electrode tube." His voice was bitter. "I forgot that, too. We'd need a new blaster for each one!"

Hodge's ruddy, wind-roughened face paled to grayness. He threw the drums alongside the ruined weapon, cursing steadily.

Idly Kort prodded the dingy white carcass with the barrel of his electro gun. It was quite solid, indubitably dead. He pushed it off Spale, and it landed with a thunk on the floor.

"Hodge!" he said suddenly. "Come with me."

He ran from the cabin. His flashlight, lighting the pitch dark passages of the deserted ship, found the catwalk above the stokehole.

"Well, I'm blessed!" murmured Hodge a moment later.

Five bodies lay in the black pit below. There was still a faint glow of embers in the firebox. But although Kort flashed the light everywhere, there was no sign of the sea slugs.

"What are we waitin' for?" demanded Hodge fiercely.

It was he who led now. Seconds later, log after log of the furiously inflammable kwahna was disappearing into the fire-boxes. Blowers, powered by auxiliary batteries, shrieked at full speed. Mercury surged and simmered within the tubes. Behind the fire doors infernos raged.

Once Hodge vanished briefly to close the anti-grid switches and open the throttles of the high potential shield generators. Kort steadily kept on feeding the voracious boilers. There was as yet no pressure to turn the lighting dynamos. He worked by the gleam of flames alone.

"Run topside, son," gasped the older man at last. "See if you can signal the launches—we'll never make it by ourselves."

In two minutes Kort gained the deck. The first thing his eyes sought was the mainmast grid. It had struck an aurora, no longer the pale blue of ten minutes ago, by a hot, bright yellow signifying that the arresters were bypassing current to the sea. How long before they would break down under the rising potential?

He ran to the starboard rail at the sound of voices, the bump of a boat touching the ship's side, and almost collided with a grinning, brawny stoker. The launches were back!

Men slapped him jubilantly on the back, dignity, discipline and all else forgotten. Smoke from the Mermaid's funnel had announced to them the conquest of the creatures from the sea.

Ten minutes later the thin blue thread was a belching cloud. Below decks turbo-generators whined at speed, and aloft the anti-potential grids gleamed with the soft green halos of the protective repulsion fields.

Her sodium fog lights boring yellow tunnels through the night mist, the Mermaid scudded over the Molo Ivrum at her maximum of twenty knots. In the wheelhouse Hodge noisily sucked his pipe, staring the while at Kort, who had the wheel.

"Wouldn't figure on staying on this tub with me, would you?" Hodge asked suddenly. "I'm in line for the captain's berth, but damned if I can think of anybody to recommend for my first mate. Exceptin' you."

"I—I hadn't said I was leaving," Kort replied.

"You hadn't said—but you were thinkin' plain out," murmured Hodge. "Noticed in the last few hours how the men are acting?"

A grin touched his grizzled face as Kort made no answer. "Haven't noticed how they jump when you give an order now, son? You're a blinkin' hero, by Jerusalem. Weren't for you they'd be scrapin' ribs with the sharks by now, and they know it."

Kort flushed in silence but said nothing.

"Only thing I couldn't tell 'em," complained Hodge, "was how you knew the things would have left the ship after you killed just that one."

"That was a wild guess," admitted Kort, spinning the wheel briefly. "That one was no more solid than the others—until it was dead. I wondered where it was when it wasn't there. And suddenly the answer came—all over the ship, of course. During that part of its period when it wasn't in the cabin it was in the stokehole and on deck and maybe on the bottom, three miles down, besides. Because it wasn't several, but all one. Just one thing, with the power of being several places at once." He paused, then continued.

"You thought it fed on heat energy and oxygen. Well, there's precious little of both three miles down. It could absorb more of what there was by splitting itself up—probably had to, to survive. By projecting ten images of itself, all capable of feeding for the common benefit—it had ten chances for food instead of one. When I killed it in the cabin it materialized there and disappeared elsewhere, because its vibratory form depended on life, that is, on will or instinct."

Hodge rapped the pipe on the palm of his hand. "Wouldn't surprise me if you doped it right all the way through, son. And I can't say I don't believe it. Sea's so full of surprises she never quite does surprise me."

He moved to the door, paused. "You think over that first mate's berth. I think this is one crew that would be proud to have a gold brick mate. Because you don't want to forget, son, that a gold brick is a pretty fine thing to have—if it's genuine clean through."

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SPAWN OF THE VENUS SEA ***

Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed.

Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark license, especially commercial redistribution.

START: FULL LICENSE

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG™ LICENSE

PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK

To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work (or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project Gutenberg License available with this file or online at www.gutenberg.org/license.

Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg electronic works

1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property (trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg electronic works in your possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project Gutenberg electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.

1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg electronic works even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project Gutenberg electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.

1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project Gutenberg electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the United States and you are located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project Gutenberg mission of promoting free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg name associated with the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg License when you share it without charge with others.

1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project Gutenberg work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any country other than the United States.

1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:

1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg License must appear prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg work (any work on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, copied or distributed:

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg™ License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg electronic work is derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg electronic work is posted with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked to the Project Gutenberg License for all works posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.

1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg.

1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project Gutenberg License.

1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg work in a format other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version posted on the official Project Gutenberg website (www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.

1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg works unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing access to or distributing Project Gutenberg electronic works provided that:

- • You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from the use of Project Gutenberg works calculated using the method you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg trademark, but he has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.”

- • You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™ License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™ works.

- • You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of receipt of the work.

- • You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works.

1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.

1.F.

1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™ electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment.

1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGE.

1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further opportunities to fix the problem.

1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.

1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.

1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg work, and (c) any Defect you cause.

Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg

Project Gutenberg is synonymous with the free distribution of electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from people in all walks of life.

Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg’s goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg collection will remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure and permanent future for Project Gutenberg and future generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.

Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit 501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws.

The Foundation’s business office is located at 41 Watchung Plaza #516, Montclair NJ 07042, USA, +1 (862) 621-9288. Email contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact

Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation

Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations ($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt status with the IRS.

The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate.

While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who approach us with offers to donate.

International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.

Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate.

Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg electronic works

Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project Gutenberg eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.

Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.

Most people start at our website which has the main PG search facility: www.gutenberg.org.

This website includes information about Project Gutenberg, including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.

Table of Contents

- SPAWN OF THE VENUS SEA

- THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG™ LICENSE