Earth owed the Wronged Ones a world, and
Gene Drummond alone could repay that debt.
Only he knew that payment would save two
races from extinction—and he was a helpless
prisoner of the ones he wanted to aid.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Winter 1945.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Gene Drummond felt a tingle of anticipation course through his beingas he stepped through the open airlock of his small scout ship andfor the first time in more than a year felt the soft soil of MotherEarth under his booted feet. He stood for a moment, hungrily drinkingin the noise and clamor of New York Spaceport. Around and about himthe shouts and curses of bustling, grease-soaked mechanics and huskystevedores acted as a balm to his taut nerves. To return to this, afterfourteen grueling months of biological research on Venus, was littleshort of heaven itself. The fact that he had been forced, because ofthe fatally-poisoned atmosphere of the young world, to conduct hisinvestigation in brief sallies from the stuffy confines of his shipserved only to heighten this ecstatic conception of his return. Theprofoundness of the moment passing, he breathed deeply of the warm,sweet air and turned to face the fat little mechanic hurrying acrossthe field.
Puffing noisily for breath, the man skidded to a halt and bent a toothygrin upon the wiry biologist-explorer. "Bin gone a spell, ain'tcha, Mr.Drummond?" the fellow wheezed good-naturedly. "Have a nice trip?"
Gene winced at the mechanic's naïvete, then smiled in spite of himself."You might call it that," he said thoughtfully. "But I wouldn't!Venus isn't exactly paradise, Fatboy; take it from me, I know. All themoons of Saturn couldn't persuade me to go through another year ofprivation on that forsaken hunk of cosmic dust. It's a beautiful world,yes, but one whiff of its poison air and you pretty damn quick loseinterest in landscapes and natural wonders."
"Just the same, I sure wouldn't miss a chance to take it in," Fatboyopined dreamily. "'Tain't every guy that gets to plant his feet on arestricted planet. You're pretty dang lucky, if you ask me."
Gene shrugged wearily. "Maybe so. Every man is entitled to his ownopinion, they tell me. Personally, I'll stick by the motto, 'See TerraFirma first.'"
Gene's tall form suddenly went slack and his eyelids drooped heavily."Look, Fatboy, I'm practically asleep on my feet. My next stop is home,where I won't lose any time in renewing an acquaintance with a realbed. Take care of the buggy, will you? Give it a complete overhaulingand when you're done with that, put her in storage and forget abouther. Yours truly is taking a long vacation from strange worlds andstuffy rocket cabins."
Fatboy nodded absently and turned to enter the ship. Snapping hisfingers, as if suddenly remembering something, he wheeled about andcalled after Gene, who was striding off across the field: "Hey, Mr.Drummond! Wait up a minute and lemme tell you what's happened herewhile you was gone. It'll make your hair stand straight up and do ajig!"
"Sorry, Fatboy," Gene shouted back. "I'll shoot the bull with you someother time. Right now I have important business with the Sandman!"The tired explorer hurried off before Fatboy could collar him andregale him with the latest thriller of the multitude of endless,blood-curdling yarns that constantly made the rounds of a spaceport. Heneeded sleep, and that was what he meant to get.
Pausing briefly at a mail-tube, he sent the thick envelope containing acomplete report of his findings on Venus speeding on its way to ScienceCente