LITMIR.BIZ

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looking dazed, like a man just hit in the stomach. Then he threw it down and shook the box. It was empty. In a black fury he turned on the larger box and ripped the cover back, and there was nothing under it but thick transparent bottles with heavy caps, holding a tiny bit of matter in oily liquid.

      There was silence in the room, thick with the breathing of stunned and angry men.

      "Power," said Samel. "Power, and gold! Nothing! Nothing to make even a spear-head!"

      He picked up the empty box and the bundle and hurled them out through the riven wall into the gorge. Then he caught up the larger box and threw it after.

      Kirk had time to see tears running out of Samel’s eyes. After that there was an agony of light and sound and motion, and then nothing.

      The first thing he knew about was heat. More heat than he’d ever felt in his life, pouring over him. He opened his eyes.

      Men were piled against the walls, beginning to struggle back to life. The Ship had changed position. Samel was crouched with his arms around his knees, motionless, staring at nothing. The yellow girl was helping her father out of a mound of Piruts. And it was hot.

      There was light beating in through the broken wall. Kirk crawled over and peered out, his pupils contracted to little points.

      The bottom of the gorge was split open, and it was burning. The father of the Captain’s great-grandfather had remembered vaguely something about radioactivity and crystalline rocks that harnessed it and made heat. The father of his great-grandfather had had great hopes for the unique form of radiation and what it could be made to do. But all his time was taken hunting meat and heat-stones, and growing moss.

      The heavy heart of the little world was burning up through the crack, and for the first time, Kirk was really warm.

      Kirk put his hand on Samel’s shoulder. "You got heat," he said. "That’s better than power and gold, whatever they are."

      Samel shivered and closed his eyes. His hands went with blind speed to Kirk’s throat and closed, hard. His mouth was twisted, like a child crying with pain.

      *

      Kirk clawed at his thumbs. "Don’t be a fool!" he croaked. "There’s heat now. Heat for everybody. The kids won’t cry any more. Samel, bring your people in out of the gullies!"

      "Heat," repeated Samel. "Yeah." He took his hands away slowly. "There’s that, isn’t there? Heat."

      The Captain echoed, "Heat." He went to the broken wall and blinked at the light. "The heat-stones were almost gone. I thought we were going to die. And now...." He shook his shoulders, like a man freed of a burden. "Now there’s no more need to guard the Ship. Perhaps that’s what we’ve been guarding it for, to save us in time of need."

      Kirk said humbly, "I’m sorry."

      "You were honest. You believed you were right. But taking my daughter...."

      "I deserve the sucking-plant."

      "What’s done is done, and it’s turned out right."

      People were clamoring outside the Ship. Kirk was sweating. He tasted it, and laughed, pulling in his belly and spreading his chest.

      "Heat," he said. "And no more fighting with the Piruts. Maybe there’s some way we can roof the gorge and bring the heat up into the fields so the moss will grow better. And there’s a lot of this world out beyond the gullies. We’ve never been able to explore it because of the Piruts. Samel, do you know what lies beyond you?"

      Samel shook his head. "We had to eat and hunt for heat-stones, too."

      "A whole world," said Kirk, "just waiting for us. Maybe we’ll find other gorges like this one. Maybe places with better soil. The kids can grow up warm and fat, and have kids of their own...."

      He turned around and looked at the Captain’s yellow daughter.

      He said, "Do you still hate me?"

      Her yellow shoulders twitched. She turned her back on him, and she was so beautiful he hurt with it. He went up behind her.

      "I said I was sorry."

      She didn’t answer. A close-mouthed piece.

      "I lied."

      Her head jerked a little and her earcups moved.

      "I’m not sorry I took you with me. I’m not sorry I kissed you on the rock. Are you sorry you saved my life?"

      She tossed her head. "I didn’t."

      "You did so. You twisted that shag’s nose half off. Why?"

      She turned around, hot-eyed, and slapped him. He laughed. He took her in his arms and waited till she quit clawing and struggling. Then he kissed her. Presently she kissed him back.

      "You don’t talk much," he said. "But who wants talk?"

      War-Gods of the Void

      By Henry Kuttner

       Jerry Vanning trailed the fugitive Callahan into the swampy wastes of Venus, Hell-Kingdom of the fabled War-Gods. He reached his goal—walking with the robot-strides of a North-fever slave.

      I

      Earth Consul, Goodenow, tossed a packet of microfilms to Vanning, and said, "You’re crazy. The man you’re after isn’t here. Only damn fools ever come to Venus—and don’t ask me why I’m here. You’re crazy to think you’ll find a fugitive hiding on this planet."

      Jerry Vanning, earth state investigator, moved his stocky body uneasily. He had a headache. He had had it ever since the precarious landing through the tremendous wind-maelstroms of the pea-soup Venusian atmosphere. With an effort he focused his vision on the micro-projector Goodenow handed him, and turned the tiny key. Inside the box, a face sprang into view. He sighed and slid another of the passport-films into place. He had never seen the man before.

      "Routine check-up," he said patiently. "I got a tip Callahan was heading here, and we can’t afford to take chances."

      The consul mopped his sweating, beefy face and cursed Venusian air-conditioning units. "Who is this guy Callahan, anyway?" he asked. "I’ve heard a little—but we don’t get much news on the frontier."

      "Political refugee," Vanning said, busy with the projector. "Potentially, one of the most dangerous men in the System. Callahan started his career as a diplomat, but there wasn’t enough excitement for him."

      The consul fumbled with a cigar. "Can you tell me any more?"

      "Well—Callahan got hold of a certain secret treaty that must be destroyed. If he shows it in the right places, he might start a revolution, particularly on Callisto. My idea is that he’s hiding out till the excitement dies down—and then he’ll head for Callisto."

      Goodenow pursed his lips. "I see. But you won’t find him here."

      Vanning jerked his thumb toward a window. "The jungle—"

      "Hell, no!" the consul said decidedly. "Venus, Mr. Vanning, is not Earth. We’ve got about two hundred settlements scattered here and there; the rest is swamp and mountains. When a man gets lost, we wait a few days and then write out a death certificate. Because once an Earthman leaves a settlement, his number’s up."

      "So?"

      "So Callahan isn’t here. Nobody comes here," Goodenow said bitterly.

      "Settlers do," Vanning remarked.

      "Bloody fools. They raise herbs and mola. If they didn’t come, Venus would be uninhabited except by natives in a few years. The North-Fever ... You’d better watch out for that, by the way. If you start feeling rocky, see a doctor. Not that it’ll help. But you can be put under restraint till the fever passes."

      Vanning looked up. "I’ve heard of that. Just what—"

      "Nobody knows," Goodenow

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