THE VENUS EVIL
By Chester S. Geier
In the sweet Venusian spring, when iridescent
butterflies swarmed and deer-things scampered,
it was both necessary and good for
Richard Farris to kill George Pearce.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Summer 1947.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
In my mind the memory is still painful and raw, like a wound that hasrefused to heal. I have only to close my eyes to see Pearce leapingtoward me, his face a twisted mask of fear and rage. And I can feelthe machine-pistol jerking in my hand as a stream of tungsten-steelpellets stopped his maddened rush, washing away all motion andexpression in the utter quiescence of death.
Yes, I killed George Pearce, whom the world will remember as one ofits greatest chemical scientists and one of the three members of theill-fated first expedition to Venus. I had to kill him.
To explain the circumstances which led to it requires that I startat the beginning. Police authorities have ordered me to make thisstatement as clear and detailed as possible.
Everyone recalls the furor created by the privately sponsored launchingof the first rocket to Mars, which beat by several months a governmentproject aimed at the same goal. The government rocket blew up a shortdistance beyond the Heaviside Layer, but a little over a year anda half later the privately-owned space vessel returned. And a newfuror was aroused, not so much by the fact that the expedition hadsuccessfully returned as that it brought back a large fortune in gold,platinum, and gems. The explorers as well as their backers were eachmade financially independent for the rest of their lives.
Man's natural cupidity was excited to fever pitch. The planets were nolonger regarded as milestones on the road to scientific knowledge, butas store houses brimming with fabulous treasures. More rockets werehastily launched by various groups in different countries, but theattempts were defeated by the very impatience which inspired them. Therockets, too quickly and inefficiently constructed, exploded soon afterleaving Earth, or, if they reached outer space at all, were never heardfrom again.
It was this state of affairs that prevailed when Anson Durwent finishedthe construction of the Solarian. A scientific genius made wealthy byvarious patents, he built the vessel entirely out of his own funds. Norwere his motives those of amassing further wealth, for the conditionswhich he set were that the Solarian was to conduct a true voyageof exploration, and that any profits arising from the discovery ofprecious metals or minerals were to be divided equally among everyoneinvolved in the expedition.
The crew of the Solarian consisted of George Pearce, Barton Sandley,and myself, Richard Farris. Three or less was the usual number on theseearly rockets, due to the demands upon space made by fuel, food,and equipment. Pearce was the chemist and captain of the expedition,Sandley the biologist and photographer, and I the physicist and pilot.
None of the excitement produced by interplanetary ventures wasattendant upon our takeoff. Only a few newscasters whom Durwent hadnotified at the very last minute were present. And these were bored bysomething which had become mere routine, and were plainly skeptical ofour chances for success.
Our objective was the mysterious, cloud-covered planet Venus. It wasan obvious choice, since it was the nearest planet to Earth other thanMars, and as far as we knew had not yet been reached.
I shall not detail the long flight through space, monotonous a