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A sudden gust of wind rocked the airship Limerick Rake. Archie Britton shifted his stance without conscious thought to keep the dinosaur's head centered in his crosshairs. He squeezed the trigger and a blue bolt of energy punched through tough, scaly hide and the thick bone beneath. The massive beast dropped to the marshy ground with a final death spasm. The dead monster was a forty foot long duck-billed Trachodon with a green and yellow mottled coloring. Britton had seen a herd of them to the north only minutes earlier.
The pack of small, fast raptors that had been harrying the much larger herbivore rushed in and ripped at the flesh of the dead giant. The pack's leader, tall as a man and with an odd, lightning-shaped orange flash between its eyes, paused and looked up at the airship that drifted silently above. For a moment, its cold black eye locked onto the human and Britton felt a shiver run down his spine. Then the raptor turned back to its feast and the grisly scene slid away, lost under the dense canopy of the Venusian jungle.
Britton safed his rifle and placed it into its rack on the aft bulkhead of the cramped cabin. The gondola of his dirigible airship provided several amenities but space wasn't one of them. Twenty six years of service in the British Army had inured him to uncomfortable living quarters. Besides, he had designed the airship; he could hardly complain about its short comings.
Britton had come to Venus specifically to shoot dinosaurs. He had just shot a dinosaur but he felt no satisfaction or enjoyment from the experience. Britton didn't hunt for sport but this hadn't even been that. It was a mercy kill, plain and simple. He had spotted the Trachodon under attack by at least twenty raptors. It was immediately obvious that the big herbivore had no chance. In short order, the quick little carnivores would drag their prey down and devour it alive. It had been a mercy to blow out its brains before that happened.
He just wished he felt better about it, and he wished he could shake off the unsettled feeling left by the sight of the raptors. He had hunted lions in Africa and tigers in India and both were tame house cats compared to the cold viciousness of the raptors.
Britton switched on the magneto of the Maybach diesel engine and gave a sharp twist to the crank. The engine coughed once then settled into its normal “chug chug chug.” He engaged the clutch and the wooden airscrews on each side of the gondola spun up, driving the airship forward at a speed of at least ten knots. He settled back at the airship's helm and savored the slight breeze produced by the motion through the air. He craved any relief from the oppressive heat and humidity of the Venusian lowlands. Years of living in the equatorial jungles of Earth made him better fitted than most Europeans to endure the climate of Venus, but it was no place for humans. The wet, overheated air clung to every square inch of his body like a smothering blanket. Sweat flowed from every pore of his skin in rivers but could not evaporate so it soaked his khakis. Even sitting quietly took effort and the heat clouded his mind so that his thoughts felt muffled in cotton wool.
Add to that the sickening miasma that rose from the decaying swamps, marshes and peat bogs; the constant and continuous cloud cover that produced an ever present feeling of claustrophobia while doing little to attenuate the intense radiation from a sun twice the size of that seen from Earth; and the unrelenting violent and ruthless warfare waged among the plant and animal kingdoms. He could not imagine a more hellish place outside of Hell itself.
It had been like this since he left the cooler, high mountain plateaus where humans could live in some degree of comfort. Fort Collingwood, the main British settlement on Venus, was a thousand miles away to the north east. At least, he hoped it was that direction. The magnetic field of Venus was peculiar. It caused liftwood to deteriorate rapidly, that's what had stranded the first two British expeditions to the planet, and it made magnetic compasses completely unreliable. So, Britton was using Captain Krebs' experimental electric gyrocompass for navigation. It was one of several things his expedition was testing.
The constant overcast made celestial navigation impossible so he charted his position by dead reckoning, keeping a meticulous log of his course and speed. Still, verifying his position with a landmark would do no harm. Landmarks were hard to come by on Venus since much of the planet was unmapped and a large percentage of its surface was covered with water to some degree, but there were occasional rises that were dry enough and free of vegetation enough to pass for a mountain and be noted on his charts. According to his dead reckoning, he ought to be near such a landmark, now. He looked ahead and, sure enough, spotted a rocky hill to starboard of his present course. He turned the wheel to aim the airship for the rocks. Nothing happened immediately since quickness was not a characteristic of airships but, eventually, the Rake did come about. He pulled out his binoculars for a closer look at the potential landing site.
Britton rocked back, astonished at what he saw. There was a figure, a clearly human figure, standing on the rocks waving at him. He focused the binoculars and examined the figure more closely. It was even more unbelievable than he'd first thought. It wasn't just a human out here in the middle of nowhere, it was a woman.
As the Rake approached the low hill, Britton switched the engine from driving the airscrews to powering a compressor. The compressor pumped air into bladders inside the lift cells of the airship's envelope, compressing the hydrogen and reducing its lift. Gradually, the airship lost way and sank toward the ground. As the skids touched, Britton switched off the engine, leapt through the gondola door, grabbed the anchor grapnel from its rack, and ran at top speed to the nearest pile of large rocks, not daring to spare even a second to glance around. He twisted the grapnel into the rocks and tugged on the cable till he was sure the anchor was set. Then he turned to face the woman.
She had blonde hair and blue eyes. She was dressed in an odd mixture of clothing, a white Chinese silk jacket decorated with embroidery and beadwork, dark red silk pantaloons from India or the Middle East and a long shear scarf made of some material he did not recognize. It was not an outfit one would see in London or Paris, but the pantaloons probably made more sense in this environment than would skirts and bustles, and he supposed the other parts might have been chosen for similar reasons. She certainly appeared cooler and more comfortable than he felt. She was a mature woman, though obviously a good deal younger than himself, and handsome, no, beautiful, in an uncommon way.
“Your pardon, madam, for not introducing myself immediately. It was necessary to insure the ship was secure, first. I am Colonel Archibald Britton, late of the Royal Engineers.”
“There is no need to apologize, Colonel, I quite understand. I am Desiree Roberts, late of Syracuse, New York, I suppose.” She smiled and Britton could not help smiling back. “If I may ask, Miss Roberts, why you are here in this forsaken place, a thousand miles from the nearest human settlement?”
“That is just like an Englishman,” Desiree Roberts' expression soured and Britton instantly regretted offending her. “Really, sir, you are as bad as the Germans. You think that your colonies in the polar highlands are the only places on Venus where humans live. I will have you know that we Americans may not go in for colonizing other peoples countries but we have trading posts all over this planet. There is one less than ten miles from this very spot.”
“I meant no offense, Miss. I am sincerely surprised to find any human here, let alone a woman. Are you from the trading post, then?”
“No, I live nearby with a tribe of Venusians.”
“Venusians? The lizard-men, you mean?” Britton asked, even more confused than before.
“Please do not use that language around me, Colonel Britton. 'Lizard-man' is a racial epithet. You might as well call them niggers or wogs. You wouldn't call the Martians by such names, would you? No, they look human so we call them Martians. Well, the people you call 'lizard-men' are the natives of Venus, so they should be called Venusians.”
Britton knew plenty of British soldiers who did call the Martians 'wogs', and much worse, but he didn't say that. He did not want to do anything else that would upset Desiree Roberts. He was not sure why, but he strongly wished to be in her good favor.
“I apologize, Miss. I will be more careful in my choice of words. It would help, though, if I had some idea of the situation.”
Her look of indignant righteousness changed instantly to one of dismay. “I am the one who should be sorry, Colonel. I should not be snapping at you, it is poor hospitality. Please, may I start over?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you. As I said, I live with a local clan of Venusians. I am a sociologist sponsored by the Humanist Society of Syracuse, studying the customs and mores of the natives. I'm also helping them develop an alphabet so we can translate books into their language and record their history and knowledge in a written form. Writing is all they lack to develop a real civilization.
“Anyway, this morning some of the clans-people went to the trading post. They returned with terrible news. There has been a massacre; everyone at the trading post is dead, slaughtered. I didn't know what to do and then I heard your engine. I thought you might be an authority of some sort, but you aren't, are you?”
“No, I'm just a private citizen, now. But I will go with you to investigate, if you wish.”
“Yes, I would like that.” She brightened and Britton's heart lifted in response.
“Let me get some things.” Britton returned to the Rake's gondola and hastily collected a canteen filled with purified water; some extra power cylinders for his rifle and extra cartridges for his revolver; and his radium ray rifle. He exited the gondola, locked the door and slung the rifle over his shoulder.
“All right, miss, if you'll lead the way.” They started down the hill and Britton showed no surprise when two dozen lizard-men, or Venusians as he'd have to start thinking of them, appeared from the fringes of the jungle. It was easy to see how the natives got the name, however. They stood only five feet tall, but their long, powerful tails made their overall length almost double that. They used the tail as a support when they stood and that, with their broad bellies and narrow chests, gave them a slight resemblance to an Australian kangaroo, but the similarity ended there. Their feet were broad and flat and thick webbing stretched between three toes. Their arms were thin and spindly and ended in hands that were human-like but for missing a digit, what a human would call the little finger. Their scaly skin was a dark green on the back, fading to pale green on the belly which was patterned with light yellow or yellow- green.
Their heads were their most reptilian feature, looking something like a terrestrial monitor lizard. Their eyes were large and batrachian and equipped with two nictitating membranes, a thin one used for swimming in clear water and a thicker one used for burrowing through the muck of the mires and bogs of the Venusian lowlands. Most of them had a small horn projecting from their nose, right above the two large nostrils. They wore no clothes but had harnesses of woven fibers that carried tools and weapons. A few had rubberized canvas bags slung over their shoulders, obvious trade items acquired from the Americans, as were the many bronze knives and spear points he saw. Bronze was preferred by the aboriginals since it did not corrode as fast in the humid climate as did steel.
The tallest lizard-man stepped forward and spoke to Desiree Roberts in a speech that consisted mostly of clicks and hisses. She replied in the same tongue, then turned to Britton. “This is Hrisstick, the clan's war chief. He and his warriors will escort us to the trading post.”
The Venusian turned and walked off into the marshes that surrounded the rocky hill. The other natives silently disappeared into the twenty foot tall forest of reeds and marsh grass. The Venusians were equally at home on land or in the water, but Hrisstick knew humans well enough to pick a path that kept them on as much dry ground as existed. After a few miles, the marsh gave way to a rain forest of hundred foot trees whose dense canopy left them in a twilight. It reminded Britton of tiger country in India and he unslung his rifle and flicked the safety off. The blue glow of the radium power cell drew Robert's notice.
“Pardon my curiosity, Colonel, but what is that blue light on your gun? I've never seen anything like it.”
“That's because it's the only one of its kind,” Britton said. “I invented it. The blue light is a byproduct of a process that generates very large amounts of energy from the excited decay of radium. The energy feeds into an optical cell that converts it to a pulse of collimated and coherent light waves. A single bolt of that special light has more destructive power than fifty regular rifle rounds. I tried to sell it to the Army but they are not convinced of it's worth, so I came to Venus to do field tests. This rifle can knock down a dinosaur as easily as a Gatling gun, but without the noise, smoke and recoil. Once I've demonstrated its effectiveness, I believe I'll find a ready market.”
“So, this is a business trip for you?” she asked.
“Of a sort,” he said. “I'm testing several inventions for friends, but I also wanted to see Venus. I've spent a career traversing the continents of Earth and I've seen enough that it no longer interests me. But now we have whole new worlds to explore. It's a great time to be alive.”
With little warning, they came out of the forest into a vast clearing that centered on a dry hill. A log stockade occupied the top of the hill. It would have been a very secure fortification except the gates were wide open and there was no sign of a guard or sentry. They climbed the hill and entered through the deserted gates. The stockade wall was constructed of logs solidly planted in the ground, cut into sharp points at their tops, and woven together with heavy, local vines. The wall stood twelve feet high and a shooting platform ran all the way around the inside. The wall encompassed a circle roughly a hundred yards in diameter. A large, sturdy, log blockhouse stood in the center of the circle.
Britton estimated twenty bodies inside the stockade wall, though he could not be certain of the count since many of the corpses were in pieces or so devoured as to make identification doubtful. Most of the bodies were native Venusians but he found two Earthmen near the doors of the blockhouse. Blood and gore painted the ground and walls a sickly pink. He heard a choked gasp and turned to see a look of utter horror in Desiree's eyes. What a fool he was. Of course she had never been exposed to a battlefield. A killing ground like this must be the most awful thing she'd ever seen.
“I'm sorry, Miss Roberts, I should not have brought you into this. It is not something to which a woman should be exposed. Perhaps it would be best if you waited outside the compound. Some of Hrisstick's warriors can guard you.”
“No, Colonel, I'm all right, now. I admit the sight shocked me and it is appalling, still, but I am not one of the weak women you are used to in the parlors back home. I have been on my own in the wildernesses of Earth and here on Venus for much of my adult life. I can handle this.”
And Britton could see the truth of her statement. He sensed in her a resolve and strength of will he'd seldom found in men of his acquaintance, let alone women. He could not help but admire it. No one could view what they saw now without abhorrence and still call himself human. But the revulsion they felt could not be allowed to keep them from doing their duty.
“Yes,” he said, “I believe you can. Well, then, please ask Hrisstick to have his men clean up this mess. They can carry the remains outside the wall so we can close the gate. He can perform whatever ceremonies are required for his people. You or I can say a few words for the Earthmen.”
He paused for a moment as he realized he might be assuming too much, “are these his people, the Venusians, I mean?”
“A few,” she said, “but most are from a neighboring clan to the West. The two clans are not at war right now but there is no love lost between them. I doubt Hrisstick and his people will feel too much sadness over their losses. They live in a savage world, Colonel. They lose people all the time.”
She spoke to the native chief, who in turn gave orders to his men. They seemed to find nothing strange in the direction and immediately began hauling remains out the gate. She returned to him and asked, “Colonel, what do you think happened here?”
Britton didn't feel much like a Colonel anymore, and he especially didn't want to be a Colonel to Desiree. “Miss Roberts,” he said, “my friends call me 'Archie.' It would please me if you called me that, too.”
She smiled and in their present circumstances it was like a ray of the sunshine that was so seldom seen on Venus. “Well, Archie, does that mean I am to be your friend, too.”
“Yes, it does,” he said.
“If we are friends, then you must call me 'Desiree'”.
“It would be my honor to do so, Desiree.” Britton savored the name on his tongue for a moment and wondered at how it made him feel. But duty pulled him back to their unpleasant situation.
He knelt and pointed to tracks that covered the muddy ground in all directions. The tracks were large and narrow with two long toes that ended in claws. A depression to the side of the heel was all the track showed of what Britton knew was a curved, razor sharp ripping claw a bit higher on the back of the creature's foot.
“Raptor tracks,” he said, “a great many by the look of it. The tracks indicate a full pack of raptors inside the stockade. I can't imagine that the traders were insane enough to leave the gates unlocked so I don't see how it could happen. But it did.”
A shrill scream tore the air and Britton bolted upright. He ran for the gate and reached it just as the Venusians came pouring through. The aborigines grabbed the gates and pushed them closed. Britton heaved up the massive wooden bar and dropped it into the cast iron brackets mounted to the gates with thumb thick bolts. Just in time as something heavy struck the other side of the gates with a loud boom. A chorus of hissing screeches sounded from outside the wall. Britton leaped up the stairs to the gun platform and looked over the wall. The pack of raptors had returned. They were surrounded.
Britton climbed the stairs next to the gate to reach the shooting platform that circled the inside of the palisade. He leaned over just in time to see a raptor leaping for the top of the wall. It did not quite reach it and fell back with a loud thud. Britton aimed his rifle, flipped off the safety, and squeezed the trigger. A brilliant bolt of blue light lit the gloom and slammed through the skull of the fallen raptor. It let out a terrible screech and spasmed once before falling still. Britton looked up and saw the cleared area before the gate filled with at least two dozen raptors. He fired at the closest one but this time his aim was off a trifle and the blue bolt only seared a trough in the tough hide of the reptile. The wounded raptor screamed and scrabbled back from the wall. A loud hoot sounded and, as one, the pack turned and raced for the tree line. Britton saw that the raptor that had given the commanding hoot was a tall beast with a lightning-shaped orange flash between its eyes. It was the same one that had led the attack on the Trachodon he'd shot that morning.
The raptors disappeared into the trees but they weren't gone. Britton saw snouts sticking out and yellow, slitted eyes peering at him from the foliage. The carnisaurs were waiting out there. It seemed very strange. But it meant he and Desiree were trapped in the stockade. They could probably fight off the reptiles from behind the wall but, out in the jungle, they would stand little chance against a pack of the beasts.
He turned at sounds on the stairs. Desiree and Hrisstick climbed up to stand beside him. The Venusian looked out at the treeline and hissed. Desiree looked over the wall, saw the dead raptor and then her eyes caught motion in the jungle beyond the clearing.
“They are still out there,” she said.
“Yes,” Britton said, “and it puzzles me. Reptiles on Earth don't behave like this. These raptors are acting more like a pride of lions or a wolf pack. But we seem safe enough for now. Please ask Hrisstick to post some of his warriors around the wall as sentries. I'd like to take a look at the blockhouse.”
The inside of the blockhouse was a mess. Somehow, the raptors had gotten inside and rampaged through the open area of the trading post. They found the remains of another American at the back of the store where he'd taken shelter behind a counter. Britton looked around, hoping to find something useful and was surprised and pleased to discover a case of Winchester Model 1873 lever-action repeating rifles and another case with ammunition for the rifles. The Model 1873 was an older design, which was probably why the Americans were selling them to the natives, and it fired a round that was a bit light for dinosaurs, but it was better than a spear. He wondered if he could train some of Hrisstick's warriors to use the rifles. It was worth a try.
Britton began loading one of the Winchesters when he heard a noise. He cocked the lever of the rifle, loading a brass cased round into the chamber. The sound had come from a pile of dried vegetable leaves in the corner. He poked the pile with the barrel of the rifle, keeping his finger on the trigger. He knocked some leaves aside, revealing a lizard-man's head.
“No shoot! No shoot!” the native said. “Me friend.”
The native stood, holding its hands up in surrender. It was the first Venusian Britton had heard speak English. That was the only thing that distinquished it in Britton's eyes. So far, all the lizard-men looked alike to him.
“Who are you?” he asked. “What are you doing here?”
“Me Jarpek. Me work for traders. Me speakee English good. Speakee to other lizard-men for traders.”
“A native translator, I see,” said Britton. “So, what happened here?”
“Jarpek not know. Me in back of store when eaters come. Me hide. Hear much screams and shooting, then all quiet.”
“Why are you still hiding? The fights been over for day.”
“Jarpek scared. Not want get eaten. Then hear other sounds. Think maybe eaters come back.”
Desiree came into the blockhouse and Britton introduced her to Jarpek. “He speaks English of a sort,” he said. But she didn't bother with English. She spoke to the Venusian in rapid clicks and chirps and the native answered in kind. Then she pointed to the door and the lizard-man scuttled out.
“He says he was a translator for the traders,” Britton said.
“Yes, that's what he told me, too,” Desiree said, “but I'm not sure I believe him. There is something about him I don't trust. He's not from any of the local tribes. He must be from up North around the human colonies. But if that's true, why is he here?”
“It is odd that he survived when no one else did,” Britton agreed. “We'll keep an eye on him.”
Britton set about preparing for a siege. He had Hrisstick assign some of his people to move bags of grain to build a redoubt wall around the front of the blockhouse. He put Jarpek to the task, too, over his protests. He asked Hrisstick to pick the best of his warriors and put them through a quick training course in the use of the Winchesters. Fortunately, the lever action made the American-made repeaters easy to use. With the diffuse sunlight fading from the sky, Britton and Hrisstick set up a rotation of sentries, distributed an evening meal from the trading post's supplies, and ordered everyone not on watch to get some rest.
With order established, Britton sat down with his back against the grain-filled bags of the redoubt wall and checked over his personal weapons. He broke open his old service issue Webley revolver and checked the seating of the cartridges. He ran the edges of his hunting knife over a sharpening stone a few times and lightly oiled the blade. He replaced the radium cell in his rifle with a fresh one, even though the one he took out still had a three quarter charge. Foot steps sounded nearby and he automatically shifted his hands on the rifle to firing positions, but then relaxed when he saw it was Desiree approaching with two plates in her hands.
“You made sure everyone else had supper but you've had none yourself,” she said. “May I sit with you?”
“Of course,” Britton said. He took the plates from her and she sat down beside him. The plates were filled with a meat stew that smelled quite delicious and Britton realized that he was famished. He'd had nothing to eat since breakfast, which now seemed a lifetime ago. He ate in silence at first but as his initial hunger was sated his spoon slowed down and he became more aware of the woman sitting next to him.
“Thank you,” he said. “I needed that.”
“You're welcome,” she said. There was a quiet pause, then she continued, “you were checking your weapons when I came up. Are you expecting more trouble?”
“Yes, I am,” Britton answered, “and I'm not sure why. Any wild animals would normally lose interest after awhile and just go away to look for easier prey. But this pack of raptors isn't acting like any normal animals I've seen. I can't put my finger on it but there's something different about them.” He shrugged. “Maybe I'm wrong, I hope I am. I'd be happy to discover in the morning that the raptors have gone and we can get on without worrying.”
Desiree moved closer until their thighs touched. “Do you mind?” she said.
“Of course, not,” he said, and put his arm around her shoulders to pull her closer so her head could rest on his chest. Nothing more was said and they drifted off into exhausted slumber.#
Britton woke, but from long habit, remained perfectly still. Something had brought him awake. A sound . . . a sound that didn't belong wafted over the compound. Music, of a sort, though it did not sound particularly musical to Britton. The moonless night of Venus without even starlight visible through the ever present clouds ought to be pitch black, but it wasn't. Countless fluorescing species of fungi and plants provided a dim glow that reflected off the clouds to create a disturbing twilight.
Against that glow, Britton saw a figure in silhouette on the shooting platform by the gate. Its hands lifted a long, slender tube to its mouth and Britton realized it must be a flute of some sort. That was the source of the music. Then he noticed something else, something that sent cold shooting down his spine. The gate was ajar and something was poking a toothy snout through the opening.
Instantly, he jumped up, aimed his rifle, squeezed the trigger and a blue bolt of blinding light streaked across the compound and through the figure with the flute. The brilliant flash of light lit up the compound, revealing the raptors coming in the gate. He shouted an alarm as he waited for the rifle to recharge. The local Venusians came running with their weapons even as Britton lifted Desiree over the redoubt wall. “Take cover,” he said. He turned, aimed, and dropped the first raptor in its tracks. Popping sounds rang through the night. The lizard-men fired their Winchesters as fast as they could work the levers. But the .44 caliber bullets were not heavy enough to stop even a small dinosaur unless they got a lucky hit. They hurt though, even if they didn't kill, and that confused and startled the reptiles enough to halt their charge.
Britton's radium ray rifle could stop a raptor dead but it took two seconds to recharge between shots and that seemed like forever in the heat of the fight. He killed another, and another, but their always seemed to be more. Some of the Venusians were getting better with their rifles and killing some, too. But a loud series of hoots from the rear of the pack spurred the carnisaurs to move again and when they got within reach of a lizard-man the six-inch long ripping claws on their feet flashed through the night with deadly effect.
“Desiree,” Britton shouted over his shoulder, “tell them to fall back. Everyone into the redoubt.”
It was not the orderly retreat that well trained British infantrymen would have made, but somehow most of the natives made it over the wall of grain bags. The wall was not as high as he would have liked, but it protected them from the raptors' claws. The beasts could only reach over with their jaws filled with long, sharp teeth. The Venusians stabbed back with their spears or fired their Winchesters at close range, where they actually had a good chance of getting a kill. Britton fired his rifle as fast it recharged and almost every one of his shots dropped a raptor. At this range, he could hardly miss and the blue rays blasted through the tough hide of the reptiles as if it were tissue.
He lost track of time but he knew they were winning. The numbers of the raptors dropped steadily and they had lost only a handful of natives. Finally, the breaking point arrived and the pack turned and fled through the gate. The Venusians howled in triumph and scrambled over the wall to give chase.
“Stop! Come back, you fools!” But Britton's shouts would have been ignored even if the lizard-men had understood English. Their minds were overcome with the thrill of victory and relief at being alive. He'd seen it too many times, and felt it himself. But it was dangerous. They needed to maintain their defenses.
Something struck him from behind, knocking him to the ground and sending his rifle flying from his hands. He rolled instantly onto his back and saw a raptor standing over him. In the dim light, he could make out the yellow blaze on its head. It was the pack leader. Somehow, it had used the confusion of the rout to get into the redoubt. The head came down, the jaws open to reveal rows of ripping teeth. Britton's arm shot up and he seized the reptile's throat in a fierce grip. The raptor pushed down and he pushed back with a strength that seemed more than human. He held the jaws inches away while he felt with his other hand. He found the hilt of his hunting knife and jerked it free of its scabbard. With a lightning thrust, he sent the carbon steel blade up through the soft area between the jaw bones, punching through the thin bone of the bottom of the skull and into the creature's brain. It jerked once, and collapsed. He pushed it to the side so it wouldn't fall on him and stood slowly. The hilt of his knife still stuck out of the bottom of the raptor's head. He gripped it, heaved it free and wiped the ichor off on a grain bag.
He found Desiree bandaging wounds and tending to the wounded Venusians as best she could. Some would recover, no doubt, but in this climate infection would take most of them. He found some canteens and helped her give water to those that could drink. After a time, Hrisstick managed to round up his warriors and they came back through the gates, strutting if such were possible for the short bow- legs of the lizard-men. Britton helped them close the gate then went up the stairs to see who the flute player was that he'd shot in the first moments of the battle. Desiree and Hrisstick followed him.
The reed flute lay next to the body of Jarpek. “Well, Desiree,” Britton said, “it looks like your suspicions were justified. It seems apparent that Jarpek killed the sentry, opened the gates, and then called the raptors in with his flute. He must have been working with them for some time to have them trained to respond that way. Obviously, it was Jarpek who let the raptors in to kill the traders, too.”
“But why would he do such a thing?” Desiree asked.
Just then, Hrisstick used his trade knife to cut free a pouch from Jarpek's harness. The pouch jingled and he handed it to Britton. The Englishman opened the pouch and spilled a dozen coins into his palm. They were gold 20 mark pieces with the double-headed German eagle on one side and the profile of King Otto on the other. It would have been a small fortune for a human and was unaccountable wealth for a native.
“The proof is hardly conclusive, but I'd wager all this gold that Jarpek was working for the Germans. We still don't know why, but I intend to find out. Someone will pay for this.”
(Author's Note: This story is set in the universe of Space:1889, which is Frank Chadwick's trademark for his roleplaying game of Victorian-era spacefaring, and is used with his permission.)
Space:1889 is Frank Chadwick's registered trademark for his game of Victorian Era space-faring. He has granted permission for the use of the background of Space:1889 for the stories presented here. All text, illustrations, photographs and design are © 2000-2008 Dan Thompson, except where otherwise noted.
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