The space projectile was moving with stupendous speed, winging out of the mighty gulf of space towards the planet Venus, drawn by that planet’s attraction. It was the close of an ill-starred but immensely courageous journey. Within the hurtling flyer a young man and woman lay prone on the floor, unconscious, their air supply regulators blocked. They had covered 60-million miles of space to meet destruction.
Venus swept nearer, sunlight blazing back from her eternal clouds. Venus, world of mystery, forever defying the telescopes of Earthlings. Venus, demurely shrouded, her surface always covered by the dense atmospheric blanket.
When Peter Carton and his wife Ada had left Earth they had known full well they were taking their lives in their hands. But there was no other way in which to prove that space travel was possible. Between them, both being scientists, they had conceived this rocket-flyer and, with all the exuberance of true pioneers, had made Venus—not the Moon—their target. They had stayed conscious long enough to see that Venus was ahead of them as a shining star—then the air-supply system had gone back on them. Now they lay, their goal whirling up to meet them.
The projectile was flashing down towards the brilliant world. With a screaming roar it struck the atmosphere and began to glow with the tremendous heat. Faster—screaming—— Down—down—down—— A titanic concussion and a spout of water which soared half a mile in the steaming air. Red-hot plates cracked in the abrupt immersion. Water gushed through the fissures. The journey to Venus was ended—in a vast ocean in the midst of a temperature soaring to 180 degrees Fahrenheit.
Peter and Ada were not conscious of any of these happenings. But they were not dead. Their limp bodies had absorbed the shock of arrival; the ocean had cushioned the blow. No, they were not dead but, by normal standards, they were severely injured. Their bones were broken, their nervous systems wrenched out of position. On Earth they would have been beyond all hope of recovery.
The Venusian ocean only poured into the vessel’s interior whilst it plunged downwards, then as it bobbed to the surface and lay rocking the water ceased to enter. The man and woman lay sprawled in a corner, blood-streaked and smashed. They knew nothing of the strange wingless projectiles which presently came out of the northern Venusian sky. They did not see the soft, furry beings who brought their machine down to the ocean surface and then investigated the queer fallen projectile.
With infinite care the Venusians transported their charges back whence they had come, to an almost fabulous looking city of green stone to the north of the planet, a city in the midst of mighty forests and sweltering in Venus’s terrific day temperature.
There came a time when Peter Carton opened his eyes slowly and looked directly at a creature who reminded him of a large upright bee. He was covered in fine, delicate fur, had antennae jutting from his smooth head, and two very human-looking eyes. He was not alone. Other similar creatures were grouped about him, and in the background there loomed a wilderness of scientific instruments.
Peter Carton realised gradually that he was lying flat on his back on the most comfortable bed he had ever known. He felt luxurious, inexplicably exhilarated, at peace with the Universe. Then came memories—of failing air, of choking lungs, of watching Ada crumple and smother before his eyes. He began to speak.
“Where—where am I? Where is my wife?”
The answer did not come in words; it came by telepathy, and it seemed a reasonable assumption to Peter that the transmission was made by means of the queer antennae on the foremost being’s head.
“You are on Atrima, my friend. And so is the female who was with you. Wife? Wife? That would seem to be interpreted as mate.”
“Correct,” Peter whispered. “Atrima? Where’s Atrima?”
There was a momentary hesitation in the response; then:
“This world, friend, is second from the central luminary.”
“Venus!” Peter began to sit up quickly. “Venus! We—we actually got here! You are Venusians? I—I mean, this place——”
“We are inhabitants of this planet,” the furry one assented. “You, if your mind is being correctly read, have come from the third planet from the central luminary—the world of Bilaz.”
“We call it Earth,” Peter answered. He was looking about him anxiously, across the great warm spaces of the gigantic room with its queerly designed furniture and scientific instruments. Then he looked back sharply to the furry one.
“Where is my wife?”
In response the being turned and apparently made some kind of communication to one of his colleagues. The creature hurried away and vanished through an adjoining doorway. Before long he returned and Peter gave a cry of joy as he saw Ada walking beside the creature. She moved swiftly, unaccustomedly, as though not quite sure whether or not her legs would support her.
Peter, as he got to his feet, thought he understood why she walked so strangely. He, too, now he had risen, felt oddly different. His arms and legs had the sensation of not belonging to him. They obeyed his will, but with noticeable effort. He moved clumsily, catching Ada in his arms as she came to him.
Their delight at being re-united was the only thing that counted for the moment, then gradually they became conscious of other things. They looked at each other intently, puzzling over the fact that in each case their features had changed. Their noses and mouths were a different shape, and even their eyes had altered colour. Ada had had blue eyes: now they were grey, and larger than before. Her hair was black where formerly it had been auburn. She, too, was remarking the fact that Peter had grey eyes also instead of brown ones, and his hair, though it was no different in colour, was much further back on his forehead.
There were also other differences. Ada did not appear as rounded as she had been: there were crude angles on her hips and shoulders. Peter for his part was mysteriously taller by a couple of inches and his chest development was considerably greater than it had been.
“What—what has happened to us?” Ada asked at last, in fearful wonder. “Why are we so different? Who are these people?”
“Venusians. Apparently they are friendly enough. We got here, and in one piece … I think.” Perplexity settled on Peter’s face. He turned and looked at the leading furry one.
“Your thoughts express your bewilderment,” the furry one said.
“Not to be wondered at, is it? We’re different, somehow!”
“Yes indeed. You lost your former bodies.”
Peter stared blankly and Ada gripped his arm.
“What does he mean—?” she asked, her voice low. “I remember I seemed to recover from unconsciousness in the next room there — but I had my body. I still have it!”
Then she became silent again, aware once more of those subtle differences in stature. Like Peter she knew in some way that she was not accustomed to the body she was using. It was as awkward as a new shoe.
“From all surgical standards you were both shattered,” the furry one explained. “The only advantage was that you still lived. Your hearts were functioning slowly and your circulation was still operating—but you were both blind and deaf. The central nervous system had been shattered and every one of your bones was smashed to jelly by the terrific force of your arrival on this world—which arrival we saw and mistook for a giant meteor. So, we brought you to our surgeries and removed the two organisms within you which still lived—the brain and the heart. Around those organisms we built fresh bodies of synthetic material, the nearest approach our world can offer to the flesh-and-bone you normally possessed. Every part of you is new, and synthetic, except brain and heart …”
“You mean we were re-modelled as easily as that?” Ada gasped.
Again the hesitation as thoughts were evidently co-ordinated by the strange being.
“Apparently,” came his telepathic response, “you come from a world where surgery is not yet a perfected art. With us, it achieved perfection many cycles ago. We gave you new bodies because we are anxious to exchange information with you. That could not have been done had you died. We, of course, understand space travel and have studied your world fairly closely—even to the extent of our machines being called ‘flying saucers’.”
“So you and your race were in the flying saucers?” Peter asked in surprise. “But that happened twenty years ago and you haven’t been seen in our skies since.”
“Only because our studies were complete and we withdrew. Please understand, we are friends, not conquerors. We seek only to pursue our own sciences and wish no ill to the denizens of any planet.”
The tension, unavoidable with two alien races meeting face to face, began to relax. It was dawning on Peter and Ada by stages that they had accomplished the incredible feat of crossing 60-million miles of space, had been nearly killed, and now were healthy and alive again in synthetic bodies. It gave them a rising admiration for the skill—and friendliness—of the beings amongst whom they now found themselves.
“You must stay as our guests whilst you become used to your new bodies,” the furry one decided. “During that period your space machine will be overhauled and the air-supply trouble corrected—since I gather that is what caused you to lose control … You must see our planet and our accomplishments, and we in turn will be glad to discuss with you any subject you can mention. We will withhold nothing. We are scientists, and so are you.”
Peter smiled, and then held out his hand. It was seized by the furry one’s queer appendage and in that moment friendship between Earth and Venus was assured.
In the main hall of the Scientific Institute in London a convention was in progress. It was probably one of the most important meetings of the century, specially mustered so that Dr. Adam Latham could demonstrate his latest offering to the onward march of science—the Electronic Brain.
The hall, holding five thousand people, was packed to the doors. Three quarters of the assembly was comprised of scientists from all countries. The remaining quarter was made up of the general public, reporters, television and movie engineers, and commercial giants anxious to discover if the Electronic Bra. . .
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