The tall man had white skin, white hair, red eyes. He said: “Mr. Warren?”
Jim Warren tried to peer past his midnight visitor. Beyond the tall man, fog swirled, making the starless night even blacker than normal. He stared at the Venusian.
“What do you want?”
“May I enter?”
“I suppose so,” Jim stood aside, letting the man pass him, then slammed shut the rough timber door. He stood, back pressed against the panel, watching.
The Venusian smiled thinly, glanced once about the mean room, seated himself at the rickety table.
“Won’t you join me?” He spoke Terran without a trace of accent. Jim flushed at the condescending tone, dropped into the remaining chair.
“This isn’t a social visit,” he snapped. “For the second time, what do you want?”
“Later,” the Venusian gestured vaguely. “It is the custom to offer refreshments to the visiting guest,” he reminded.
“On Venus,” Jim agreed. “I am a Terran.”
“We are on Venus,” smiled the man. “And I am a native.”
Jim hesitated, then reaching within a locker produced a squat bottle and a couple of chipped glasses. He slammed them down upon the table. “My apologies,” he said. “I have no reason to love your race.”
“Nor your own either?”
“That’s my affair.”
“It could be mine, Mr. Warren.”
Jim poured a thick green wine from the bottle, filling the glasses to the brim. He emptied his own at a swallow, refilled it.
“You do not drink?”
“No.”
“I didn’t get your name. What is it?”
“I didn’t give it,” answered the tall native calmly. “You may refer to me as Fleetan.”
“Fleetan,” murmured Jim. “Fleetan? Where have I heard that name before?”
“I have no idea.” The visitor delicately touched the chipped glass. “Perhaps it would be as well if you didn’t strain your memory. Some things are best forgotten,” he laughed. “As you say on Earth, ‘let sleeping dogs lie’.”
“Is that what you came to tell me?”
“No. I do not pay midnight visits to hovels on the edge of the settlement to exchange old sayings.”
“What is it then?” Jim snapped impatiently. “Get to the point, or get out.”
Fleetan inhaled sharply, the breath hissing between pointed teeth. A tinge of colour wavered in the alabaster whiteness of his cheeks.
“It is not wise to use such language to one of the pure blood,” he warned. “I am not one of your whining half-breeds, neither Terran or Venusian. They are worthy only of contempt. A curse upon them!”
Jim shrugged. “The night grows old,” he said soothingly. “You must be weary. It is not good for a host to weary his guest. Wine?”
Fleetan looked his pleasure at the ceremonious form of language. He glanced shrewdly at the Earthman.
“You have the ancient usages of speech. Strange in one of your world. Do you speak Venusian?”
“A word or two, no more,” lied Jim. “Once it interested me. Now …” he shrugged, gesturing towards the ruinous hovel of his living quarters.
“I understand,” Fleetan nodded. “It was touching upon this matter that I came. Tell me, would you accept employment?”
“Would I what?” Jim stared at his guest. “Of course I would, you know that, everyone knows it, but what’s the use? They all know me. Jim Warren, renegade, sot, coward.” His voice held bitterness. “Spare your anger, I know what they call me. I’m a useless failure. I can thank you and yours for it.”
“Can you?” Fleetan’s voice held contempt. “You were an idealist. A man who was going to right a great wrong. You were going to prove that Terrans and Venusians were related, that we had sprung from the same racial stock.” His hand clenched around the glass. “Did you ever pause to think that we didn’t want your proof? Did you really believe that we would be proud of such a relationship?”
“Why not? Do you always want to be regarded as alien?”
“Are we? Is it not rather you who are alien? We are a proud race, our records trace our descent from gods who arrived on wings of flame. Twenty thousand of your years ago. Tell me, for how long do the records of Earth extend?”
“Does it matter?” Jim asked dully. “What else could your gods be than men? Men arriving on wings of flame. Tell me Fleetan, have you never seen a rocket ship? Isn’t that what you would call wings of flame?”
“Blasphemous dog!” The Venusian sprang to his feet, one slender hand darting to within the robe of fine spun silk he wore. Jim grinned at him without humour.
“Going to kill me, Fleetan? Is that your way of conversion? Why not just deride me? Deny me access to your secret records. Complain about me to the Terran authorities. Accuse me of peddling drugs, agitating the half-breeds to revolt. You did it before. Why not do it again?”
“It isn’t necessary,” Fleetan smiled with thin colourless lips. “You are a broken man. No one in authority would listen to you, no matter what you had to tell them. That is why you can be of service to us.”
“Service to you,” Jim laughed. “Now I know that you are mad.”
“Am I? Tell me Warren, would you like to return home?”
“Home!” Jim breathed. “Earth! The Sun and Moon again instead of eternal clouds. Fresh clean air, instead of the spore laden muck. To see real men and women. To feel the wind, swim in the sea. Home! You may hate me, Fleetan, but I didn’t know your race was sadistic.”
“You misjudge us, Warren. I offer you a chance of returning to your planet. There is one condition.”
“Yes?”
“You do as I say, implicitly, without question. You must remember that your loyalties are with me, and act accordingly.”
Jim frowned. “You are asking a lot. What do you want me to do?”
Fleetan toyed with the glass of heavy green wine. He appeared to be listening, his free hand hidden by a fold of his robe.
“What is it?” Jim snapped suspiciously.
“I may have been followed here,” admitted the Venusian calmly. “My attendants should have scoured the area by now, and reported to me. They are late.”
“Who would want to listen to our conversation? I haven’t to Veni or Terran for months. Why should they follow you?”
“That is my affair. You are merely an instrument that may be of value to me. Obey, and ask no questions.”
“Now get this Fleetan. I may be ostracised by every Earthman on this hell planet. I may be cursed by them, denied passage home, an outcast from my own people, but I’m still a Terran, and I’ll do what I want to do, when I want to it.” He rose, strode to the door. “Now get out!”
“What! You dare?” Fleetan sprang to his feet in a smooth ripple of effortless motion, his eyes blazing red. “Scum! Dog of a Terran! Filth!”
Jim smiled, walked stiff-legged towards the snarling native. He clenched big hands, his dark eyes mirroring hate. Desperately the Venusian tugged at what was hidden beneath his robe. Metal shone dully in the weak light thrown by the primitive lamp, swung, centred on the menacing Terran.
“Back!” snarled Fleetan. “Back or I’ll shoot!”
“Go ahead,” invited Jim. “What have I got to live for?”
Suddenly he lunged, twisting his body to one side. The weapon whispered, the Venusian swinging the slender barrel to bear upon the elusive form of the Terran. He screamed as he felt hard hands grip him, the weapon dropping from nerveless fingers. Deliberately Jim drove his fist into the delicate features.
“Fool!” he spat. “As I thought, a needle gun.” Carefully he picked the tiny darts from the thick leather of his jacket. “Did you forget I’m not one of your naked savages?” He laughed as he picked up the weapon. “A toy. Deadly against bare skin or thinly clad flesh, but you forgot that, didn’t you Fleetan? You forgot that all Terrans wear clothes!”
Cautiously he collected the venom-tipped darts, ground them into the soft loam with his boot heel. The weapon he slipped into a pocket, deliberately he advanced towards the prostrate native.
“Get up.”
Fleetan scrambled to his feet, his red eyes glaring murderous rage. “What do you intend?”
“Intend? Nothing. You came here with a proposition. I am interested in it. Continue.”
Fleetan stared at him, rubbing the darkening spot where he had been struck. His flickering eyes alighted on the untouched glass of wine. Greedily he drank it.
“I fail to understand,” he said, “I tried to kill you.”
Jim gestured the objection aside. “I told you that I am a Terran, Fleetan. We are a logical race. We have found over the course of time that it does not pay to harbour grudges. You tried to kill me, yes. I stopped you with a blow. We are both alive. I suggest that we get down to the business on hand” He squinted at the native. “Or are your personal feelings of greater importance?”
“I see; a strange race,” Fleetan shook his head and sat down. “I must give you formal warning,” he said stiffly. “I have been insulted, you have laid violent hands on one of the Elder Race. For that you must die. Of that there can be no question.”
“Do you kill me now, or after I have finished the job?”
“Do not mock,” rapped Fleetan sharply. “You know enough of our customs to know that I speak of what must be.”
“I understand,” Jim said quietly. “Between us this debt of blood must be washed away. I know your custom, and I respect it.” He smiled. “Strange when you come . . .
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