Part 2

"Those gol-damned pills you been taking caused the crash!" he roared. "One of them broke and shorted out the control board." He scowled at the incredulous Splinter. "By the three tails of a Martian sand-pup, I ought to cram the rest of them down your throat, boxes and all!"

Splinter flushed, seemed to be fumbling for words. After a bit, Kerry Blane grinned.

"Forget it, lad," he said more kindly, "those things happen. Now, if you'll bind a splint about my arm, we'll see what we can do about righting the ship."

Splinter nodded, opened the medical locker, worked with tape and splints for minutes. Great beads of perspiration stood out in high relief on Kerry Blane's forehead, but he made no sound. At last, Splinter finished, tucked the supplies away.

"Now what?" he asked subduedly.

"Let's take a look outside, maybe set up the Zelta guns. Can't tell but what that protoplasmic nightmare might take a notion to pay us a visit in the near future!"

"Right!" Splinter unscrewed the port cogs, swung the portal back.

He swung lithely from the portal, reached down a hand to help the older man. After much puffing and grunting, Kerry Blane managed to clamber through the port. They stood for a moment in silent wonder, staring at the long lazy rollers of milky fluorescence that rolled endlessly toward the beach, then turned to gaze at the great fern-like trees that towered two hundred feet into the air.

"How big do you feel now?" Kerry Blane asked quietly.

Splinter Wood was silent, awed by the beauty and the tremendous size of the growths on the water world.

Kerry Blane walked the length of the cruiser, examining the slight damage done by the crash, evaluating the situation with a practiced gaze. He nodded slowly, retraced his steps, and stood looking at the furrow plowed in the sand.

"Won't be any trouble at all to lift the ship," he called. "After rewiring the board, we'll turn the ship with an underjet, swing it about, and head her toward the sea."

Splinter nodded, dropped into the open port. A moment later, he flipped a rope ladder outside, where it dangled to the ground, then climbed out himself, carrying the two Zelta guns.

"We'd better test these," he said. "We don't want any slip-ups when we do go into action."

He climbed down the ladder, laid the guns aside, then reached up a hand to aid Kerry Blane's descent. Kerry Blane came down slowly and awkwardly, jumped the last few feet. He felt surprisingly light and strong in the lesser gravity.

He stood, leaning against the ship, watching as Splinter picked up the first gun and leveled it at a gigantic tree. Splinter sighted carefully, winked at the older man, then pressed the firing stud.

Nothing happened; there was no hissing crackle of released energy.

Kerry Blane strode forward, puzzlement on his lined face, his hand out-stretched toward the defective weapon. Splinter gaped at the gun in his hands, held it out wordlessly.

"The crash must have broken something," Kerry Blane said slowly.

Splinter shook his head. "There's only one moving part," he said, "and that's the force gate on the firing stud."

"Try the other," Kerry Blane said slowly.

"Okay!"

Splinter lifted the second gun, pressed the stud, gazed white-faced at his companion.

"It won't work, either," he said stupidly. "I don't get it? The source of power is limitless. Solar rays never--"

Old Kerry Blane dropped the first gun to his side, swore harshly.

"Damn it," he said. "They didn't think of it; you didn't think of it; and I most certainly forgot! Solar rays can't penetrate the miles of clouds on Venus. Those guns are utterly useless as weapons!"

* * * * *

Neither of them moved for a long moment, then their eyes swung automatically toward the restless ocean. Kerry Blane jerked his head toward the ship.

"Get in there," he ordered, "and start that rewiring job. I'll stand guard out here, and, if anything shows up, use the hand guns we've got."

"But--" Splinter began.

"Damn it!" Command was in the old man's tone. "If we're attacked, we won't stand a chance without the big guns. There are animals on this world that have digestive juices more corrosive than hydrofluoric acid--they could wreck the cruiser in ten minutes."

Splinter darted to the rope ladder, swarmed upward. He paused at the port, his youthful face concerned.

"I'm sorry about causing the short," he said. "I didn't--"

"Get that job done," Kerry Blane snapped. "You're not to blame for anything that has happened."

He watched the younger man disappear within the port, then shook his head slowly, peered about the long stretch of silver beach. He swore bitterly for a moment, realizing the full import of the stupid line of reasoning that had equipped them with the wrong style of weapons on their expedition. Should they be attacked by the monster of insatiable protoplasm, their chances of survival were almost none.

He swung in a slow circle, studying the forest edge, seeking any sign that would indicate the presence of an alien danger. Tree fronds moved gently in the soft breeze, giving an uncanny life to the vines and creepers whose tips lay on the silvery sand. He had the weird prescience that he was being watched, but could not detect the watcher.

He turned to face the ocean, sat on the dry sand, a dis-gun clutched within the curl of the fingers of his good hand. His broken arm throbbed unmercifully, a slow streak of pain traveling into his shoulder. He sighed unconsciously, lit a cigarette, then gripped his weapon again, the slim cigarette canted upward in his firm mouth.

Sand rustled a bit a dozen feet away. The old space-pilot watched the sand bulging slightly, then sliding softly to one side as a blunt, scaly head poked through into the atmosphere. He lifted the gun a bit, felt the skin crawl on his back, as a scaly lid peeled back from a single eye which stared at him with unwinking malevolence.

The head emerged from the sand, was followed by the sinuous length of a snakelike body. Eight tiny legs made little scraping sounds in the sand. Feelers, like thick antennae, unfolded from cavities in the head, flicked slowly back and forth. The creature hissed suddenly, moved slowly toward the seated pilot.

Kerry Blane blasted it into nothingness with full power of the dis-gun. A few flakes of smoking ashes drifted lazily in the breeze for a moment, and the odor of charred flesh was a dank miasma.

"Holy Hell!" Kerry Blane ejaculated, wiped quick perspiration from his face.

He felt the slight tap on his shoulder then, turned with a quick shake of his head. "Listen, Splinter--" he began, felt a terrifying horror draining all strength from his compact body.

He tried to swing the dis-gun up, felt the double band of rubbery-like creeper flip about his shoulders, pinning his arms to his chest. Terror constricted his throat, as his gaze followed the line of creeper to its parent plant that waited with blossom agape like some bloody, sucking mouth.

He whirled to one side in a diving plunge, surged with a desperate strength against the coil of creeping vine that was coiled so tightly about his body, was brought to a bone-shaking halt with a suddenness that jarred his injured arm with a force that cramped him with nausea. His gun went flying to the sand, lay there, out of reach of his straining fingertips.

And now the creeper contracted with a deadly purpose and inevitability. Kerry Blane fought with braced feet to pull away, felt himself dragged toward the avid blossom.

He screamed then, called with every bit of power in his body, hoped that Splinter would hear him within the dungeon of the ship. He strained, tried to whirl, fought again and again against the uncanny strength of the creeper.

A dis-gun sang briefly; the creeper tightened as though in pain, then dropped to the sand where it writhed like the severed body of a boa-constrictor. Splinter, white faced, leaned out of the cruiser's port, blasted the parent flower out of existence with a hissing discharge of dis-rays.

"What the devil happened?" he asked. "What was that thing?"

Kerry Blane came shakily to his feet, retrieved his gun, kicked moodily at the now-silent length of creeper.

"Some aggravated form of the Earth's Venus-fly-trap plant," he explained. "I was plenty lucky it didn't get me by the throat, for then I couldn't have made a sound."

"Yeah, sure!" Splinter's freckles were dark against the sickly white of his skin.

Kerry Blane grinned reassuringly. "Better get back on the job," he said. "I'll make damned certain that nothing sneaks up on me this time!"

Splinter shook his head. "We might as well eat something," he said, some of the color stealing back into his features. "I've got some wire-plastic cooking; it'll be another ten minutes before it's ready."

"Bring the stuff out here, where we can eat and watch at the same time."

"Right!" Splinter disappeared into the port, reappeared a moment later with several cans and boxes in the crook of his left arm.

* * * * *

He dropped down the ladder, squatted at Kerry Blane's side, opened the cans with twists of their keys. More composed now, he handed several boxes to Kerry Blane, grinned at the old pilot.

"Take several of those capsules, first," he ordered.

Kerry Blane grunted disagreeably, took a gelatin capsule from each of the boxes, then dropped the containers into his pockets. He popped the vitamin pills into his mouth, swallowed convulsively.

"Satisfied?" he snapped.

Splinter laughed aloud, followed the other's example. Then he handed a can of food and another of water to Kerry Blane, found cans for himself.

They ate for minutes, finding themselves strangely hungry, their eyes drinking in the strange beauty of the phosphorescent ocean, feeling contentment softening the terror and action of the past hours.

"It's just like a picnic," Kerry Blane commented whimsically, tossed a can toward the water's edge.

And then they were on their feet, cans spilling from their laps, their dis-guns alert.

The Venusian creatures were like visions out of a drunkard's dreams. They scuttled from the water on great, jointed legs, their crab-like bodies glowing from the millions of phosphorescent sea-organisms captured in the stiff hair that covered them. They screamed in a pitch so high the sound was like a knife blade cutting into the terrestrials' minds.

"This is it!" Kerry Blane yelled, dropped one of the creatures with a blasting streak of energy to its single, pupilless eye.

Splinter grinned woodenly, handling his twin guns with an inherent skill, dropping crab after crab, dull horror mounting in his eyes, as the creatures surged nearer.

The attack seemed endless. The sand was slippery with a greenish blood; and the crabs fed on smoking carcasses. Kerry's and Splinter's disruptors roared in increasing fury, blasting ragged holes in the vanguard of the attackers. A crab leaped through, knocked Splinter to his knees, was blasted into a quivering heap by Kerry Blane's instant shot.

"Back to the ship," Kerry Blane grated.

They retreated, their guns hot in their hands, seeing the crabs erupting from the ocean in a never-ending stream. Their breath was hot in their straining chests, and the high-pitched scream of the savage monsters was like a physical pain when it struck their ears.

Splinter went up the ladder first, climbing with one hand, firing with the other. Kerry Blane hooked his good arm through the ladder, braced his feet on a bottom loop, was hauled instantly upward. At the port, both turned and fired with a desperate, accurate fire.

* * * * *

The entire world seemed to have come alive. Sinuous creepers flashed from the jungle, growing, uncurling with a fantastic speed, each capturing a dead crab, then pulling it back to the parent plant in the jungle. Scaly monsters bored up from within the sand, feasted on the shattered bodies of the sea beasts, pausing now and then to fight away the crabs that attacked them. From somewhere came a flying creature that appeared to be half fish, half animal, which swooped, then mounted sluggishly into the air, a crab's phosphorescent body dangling from its claws.

Kerry Blane shifted on his feet slightly, cleared four crabs from beneath the ladder, turned a sweating face toward his companion.

"How long will it take to fix the control panel?" he gasped.

"Thirty minutes, at least."

"Get in there and fix it."

"And leave you here, alone? To hell with you!"

Kerry Blane drew the ray of his single gun like a hose across a horde of attackers, grinned mirthlessly as they fell in convulsive heaps.

"I'm your superior," he grated. "Get in there!"

"This is no time for technicalities!"

A tiny smile etched itself around Kerry Blane's mouth, was instantly erased. He heard Splinter's gasp, felt terror driving him back a full step.

It came out of the water with a deceptive speed, great loops of itself flicking toward the crabs that scuttled wildly to escape. It had no definite shape, no arms, no features, yet it was alive! It surged up on the beach like a congealed mass of glowing syrup that rose a full hundred feet into the air. It had no eyes, yet seemed to see the entire scene with an uncanny intelligence.

"My God!" Splinter said wonderingly. "Is that the thing we were supposed to destroy?"

"That's it," Kerry Blane said tonelessly.

"And us with only four hand-guns!"

And even as he spoke, his gun went dead in his hand.

IV

The sea Thing was almost out of the water now, its pseudopods flicking to the bodies of the slain beasts, resting momentarily, then drawing back into the main bulk. Almost instantly, the bodies had been dissolved and assimilated; so fast, indeed, that there was no appreciable interval of time between the flicking of the pseudopod and the assimilation.

"Get in that ship," Kerry Blane barked. "Get the panel fixed the best you can. Fix up a jury-rig. But fix it so that this ship can move within seconds."

"But--" Startled knowledge came into Splinter's eyes.

Kerry Blane twisted at the gun in Splinter's right hand, tucked it into his belt, pulled at the second. His face was like chiseled stone, and he seemed strangely youthful again.

"No heroics!" he said coldly. "One of us has to get back. I've lived my life."

"Listen, Kerry--"

"Get going! If you fix things in time, I'll come aboard. If that creature ever reaches the ship, neither of us will escape."

Splinter nodded, his eyes filled with tears of mingled bafflement and rage. He touched Kerry Blane gently on the arm, then dropped through the port. Kerry Blane watched him go, shivered slightly, then lifted the port and clanged it shut. His mouth was a thin gash, as he turned to face the Venusian monster.

He felt no regrets; it was a good way to go, with flaming guns and the surge of excitement deep in his heart. Far better than to die unsung and unwanted in some bed on Earth.

He fired directly into the slimy body of the gelatinous mass, laughed aloud as the flame of the shot pulsed redly deep with the monster's bulk. The gigantic blob of protoplasm seemed to draw back a bit, then flowed silently forward again.

Kerry Blane half-slid, half-climbed down the ladder, raced along the beach to the left of the monster. He dodged the great blob of protoplasm that was spat at his running figure, felt a sick faintness creeping into his mind, when he saw the mindless horror move unerringly toward the ruptured body of a crab.

He paused at a safe distance, blasted shot after shot of rending energy into the glowing bulk. A crab scuttled past him, plunged into the ocean, sank immediately to safety. The protoplasmic monster moved like glowing tar over the beach, seeking fresh food.

Kerry Blane emptied the charge of one gun, felt a sick futility beating at his mind when he saw how little damage had been done to the insatiable slime. He tossed the gun to one side, drew the second, knew its charge was already half gone.

The protoplasm flowed toward the ship, flicking loops of itself at the few remaining bodies, then stilled to motionlessness.

Kerry Blane approached its bulk slowly, knowing he had to attract the cohesive slime his way, if Splinter was to have enough time to finish his repairs and make his escape.

He flicked the dis-gun aside, fumbled for a cigarette, laughed in sudden ironic mirth when his fingers touched the boxes of vitamin capsules. He opened one box, flipped the amber balls straight into the protoplasm.

"A _balanced_ diet is the thing you need," he cried aloud, felt the first fingers of insanity plucking at his reason.

The monster surged forward, great loops of itself questing for Kerry Blane. He dodged one, felt a second touch his jacket lightly. He tore his jacket off instantly, hurled it savagely at the towering death.

"Let's get it over with!" he screamed.

And walked directly forward into the sea-Thing.

* * * * *

In the ship, Splinter finished his wiring of the panel, wiped his tear-streaked face with the back of a dirty hand. He tested the installments, found they were satisfactory, turned the ship on its belly with a brief roar of an underjet. Then he peered from the vision port.

He swore briefly, harshly, when he saw that, except for the gargantuan monster, the beach was empty. His hands were clenched until the muscle-ache traveled into his shoulders.

"Damn, oh damn!" he sobbed in futile rage and regret.

He knew now how much he had revered the old man, how much faith and reliance the years had given him in the other's judgment. He felt then that he had lost more than he could ever regain.

"That's the trouble with the service now," a voice said disagreeably. "Too damned many, wet-diapered squirts! Sitting around, bawling, when they should be tailing it toward home!"

Splinter turned incredulous eyes toward the side port, stared blankly at the grinning face of Kerry Blane.

"What the--"

Kerry Blane wriggled through the port, adjusted his broken arm into a comfortable position, then went directly to the medicine cabinet. He opened the door, ignored the other's amazement, proceeded to swallow half a box of vitamin capsules.

"Bellyache!" he said succinctly.

"I thought you were dead," Splinter whispered.

"Should be," Kerry Blane admitted. "But decided to live. Guns went back on me, I had to figure out something else." He frowned. "That's the trouble with you young squirts, you never figure out anything!" he finished accusingly.

"What happened?" Splinter asked slowly.

Kerry Blane jerked his head toward the vision port. "Gave that thing a bellyache," he explained. "It assimilated two hundred vitamin D capsules. And Vitamin D, which is _concentrated sunshine_, is as fatal to its sunshine-denied life as arsenic would be to yours."

Splinter gulped. "But why are you taking so many yourself?"

Kerry Blane grinned. "Just in case," he said succinctly, "that baby's got a brother who gets a bite at me. My pills and me will give it the damnedest bellyache this solar system ever saw."

They laughed then, laughed in relief and in quick, ironic amusement; and there was a mutual liking and understanding in their eyes that could never be quenched.

"Let's be getting home," Kerry Blane said. "Our assignment's finished."

Splinter nodded happily, reached for the controls.

End of Project Gutenberg's Planet of No-Return, by Wilbur S. Peacock