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.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Fall 42.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
I
Earth Consul, Goodenow, tossed a packet of microfilms to Vanning, andsaid, "You're crazy. The man you're after isn't here. Only damn foolsever come to Venus—and don't ask me why I'm here. You're crazy tothink you'll find a fugitive hiding on this planet."
Jerry Vanning, earth state investigator, moved his stocky bodyuneasily. He had a headache. He had had it ever since the precariouslanding through the tremendous wind-maelstroms of the pea-soup Venusianatmosphere. With an effort he focused his vision on the micro-projectorGoodenow handed him, and turned the tiny key. Inside the box, a facesprang into view. He sighed and slid another of the passport-films intoplace. He had never seen the man before.
"Routine check-up," he said patiently. "I got a tip Callahan washeading here, and we can't afford to take chances."
The consul mopped his sweating, beefy face and cursed Venusianair-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. Callahanstarted his career as a diplomat, but there wasn't enough excitementfor him."
The consul fumbled with a cigar. "Can you tell me any more?"
"Well—Callahan got hold of a certain secret treaty that must bedestroyed. If he shows it in the right places, he might start arevolution, particularly on Callisto. My idea is that he's hiding outtill 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 notEarth. We've got about two hundred settlements scattered here andthere; the rest is swamp and mountains. When a man gets lost, we waita few days and then write out a death certificate. Because once anEarthman 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, Venuswould 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 feelingrocky, see a doctor. Not that it'll help. But you can be put underrestraint till the fever passes."
Vanning looked up. "I've heard of that. Just what—"
"Nobody knows," Goodenow said, shrugging hopelessly. "A virus. Afilterable virus, presumably. Scientists have been working on it eversince Venus was colonized. It hits the natives, too. Some get it,some don't. It works the same way with Earthmen. You feel like you'recracking up—and then, suddenly—you go North. Into the swamp. Younever come back. That's the end of you."
"Funny!"
"Sure it is. But—ever heard of the lemmings? Little animals that usedto make mass pilgrimages, millions of them. They'd head west till theyreached the ocean, and then keep going. Nobody kne