Menace of the Mists
By RICHARD STOREY
A nameless horror poured from the sea-bottoms of
Venus, driven by a soulless intelligence that
could not be beaten. Four Earthmen stood in the
way of the voracious horde, knowing they could not
escape—but swearing they would not admit defeat.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories May 1943.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
MacAloon rose in the stirrups of his saddle-lizard. His guide, aVenusian fishman, trembled nervously at the mount's side and pointedstraight ahead. MacAloon followed the direction of the quiveringfour-jointed, scaly arm.
"See, bossmac?" the reptilian native hissed in fright. "Bosslimpyspeak truth. Cen'pedes ready to march. Soon they attack us. Then is allover."
On the other lizard, little Al Birchall tried to peer through thebright white fog of Venus. It was like attempting to gaze through abedsheet.
MacAloon lifted a pair of infra-red binoculars to his eyes. Instantly,the glasses dispelled the blinding mist.
"See anything, Mac?" Birchall asked.
Mac stared ahead without answering. Before him lay the black,motionless ocean which covered all the planet except a few hundredlarge islands. At the shore he saw movement, an enormous inky wave thatflowed ponderously up over the land and steadily inched forward.
Countless thousands of foot-long creatures were swarming out of thewater and falling into dense marching ranks. The beasts, like hugecentipedes, each had dozens of swift legs. The front half was legless,though, and looked like the human part of a centaur. It wasn't only theposture that made the resemblance. They had round heads, shaped likeskulls, with deadly mandibles; and clever arms and hands grew out oftheir shoulders.
Centaurpedes—even more than the heat, the mud and the fog, they wereman's most murderous enemy on Venus.
Silently, Mac handed the binoculars to Al Birchall.
"Bossmac," the fishman pleaded, "we go 'way, not fight cen'pedes? Theykill and eat us; nothing we can do."
Mac watched Al lower the glasses from his eyes. He did it very slowlyat first, then grinned when he caught Mac's gaze, and flipped thebinoculars across.
"They sure look dangerous," he said.
"They are," Mac answered quietly. "They can strip the flesh off ourbones in three minutes flat."
Below them, between the tall bulk of the two mounts, the fishman'slong, flat head turned from Mac's face to Al's.
"Bossal, tell bossmac we not able fight cen'pedes," he beggedsibilantly. "They come—" The thin, scaled hands waved excitedly, "likebiggest army you ever see, make war on mine. You kill and kill, morecome. Please, we go to man city!"
MacAloon jerked his lizard's reins around in the direction of the mine.Al's mount came alongside. The fishman groaned, then began trottingbefore them on swift webbed feet. They splashed over the eternal mud,through the ever-present white fog.
Should they give up the fight against the shrewd, heartbreakinglypersistent vermin? If they did, they would have to abandon the minewhich had become their lifework. They would have to blow up the placebefore retreating.
For all life on Venus was amphibious, but centaurpedes weredeliberately trying to quit the water, knowing their semi-civilizationcould reach its mechanistic goal only on land.
Unable to prop the porous native rock with the brittle, primitiveplastics they used instead of metal