Red Venus Read online

  "We should be nearing the anomaly," Lev said, as the jungle grew close. "Try the radar."

  Nadezhda activated the Dnieper's scope. "I'm showing a strong contact, five kilometers to the northwest."

  "Can you approach beneath the canopy?" Schmidt said. "I don't want to miss anything."

  "I'll try." She had a vision of some serpentine horror dropping out of a branch and draping itself across the boat's prow, but shook her head to clear it. The Dnieper headed in low.

  Bush-like trees, with scaled trunks and sword-shaped fronds made up the bulk of the jungle, along with giant horsetail ferns, hanging vines, and purple cycads. Nadezhda could've sworn some of the trees moved, in absence of wind. She momentarily killed the throttle when a bristling black shape shot past the viewport. A dragonfly, and this time she glimpsed the weapon that had taken Marina's head; a sickle-claw, some fifteen centimeters of serrated chitin, dangled from either foreleg.

  Lev pointed in the opposite direction. "Over there. I can't tell if those are vines or snakes."

  "They could be both," Schmidt said.

  Nadezhda had to angle down for several meters to avoid low-hanging branches. She kept the jets slow as she weaved between trees. The twilight world of the jungle did have a surreal beauty, she had to admit, though it was one best observed behind thick windows. The idea of trying to slog through that on foot …

  "Anomaly, half a kilometer ahead," Lev said.

  Nadezhda kept an eye on the radar while she maneuvered. "Do you think we can even spot it in this mess?"

  But the scaled trees were petering out. The Dnieper nosed into a clearing of stunted ferns and wire-brush. Some forty meters ahead overcast light glinted off a spherical shape, almost completely covered with vines.

  "It's a ship," Nadezhda said. "A lander. It looks familiar."

  Schmidt's features tightened. "Kapitan, we're going to have to put down and investigate."

  "Do you recognize it?"

  "I have my suspicions."

  Curiosity trumped Nadezhda's sense of caution. She circled the wreck, looking for a good place to land. The Dnieper's atomic jets scorched a rough circle as the boat touched down.

  "I want guns out at all times," she said. "And someone's always watching the sky. You got that, doctor?"

  "Of course."

  Nadezhda unstrapped and opened the cockpit's hatch. A wave of hot air engulfed her, thick as bathwater, prompting the suit's cooling unit to kick on. She drew her Topchev and climbed out.

  Her booted foot sank a centimeter into soft loam. Nothing came snaking through the brush. No silhouettes of dragonflies passed over, either. Behind her, Lev and Schmidt climbed down. They moved as a three-man squad, turning, keeping all points covered. Halfway to the wreck a shuffling noise echoed from the tree line. Nadezhda glimpsed olive-furred shapes moving through the upper branches, the black gleam of multifaceted eyes. She aimed and fired. Crimson light spattered among the tree limbs, searing wood and setting foliage on fire. The olive figures scattered.

  After a tense minute silence returned, and the trio continued on. Creeper vine draped the wreck, obscuring detail. But it was a lander, no question; Nadezhda could see the outline of retro rockets below the frame. An older style hull, built big like the Sokol, with at least two decks inside. Her sense of recognition turned to certainty. She had seen this ship before, somewhere. Several paces carried her close enough to brush the thick vines aside. Flaking Cyrillic characters covered the exposed metal.

  "It's one of ours," she said. "The Venera Three."

  "Body," Lev called out.

  She hurried over. Lev had just dragged a pale, shriveled form from beneath a welter of brush. It wore a Cosmonaut suit but no helmet, with the pitted straps of a respirator still attached. A man, judging by the short dark hair. Some chunks had been taken out of his thigh, revealing yellowed bone.

  "Why is he so intact?" she wondered aloud. "In this climate he should've decomposed by now."

  Schmidt stooped to examine the corpse. "Alien biota. The bacteria here can't break down our proteins, apparently." He gestured at the bite-sized gouge. "Something tried to eat him, but didn't like the taste."

  "Wonderful," Lev said. "They can kill us, but not digest us."

  Nadezhda returned her attention to the metal hulk. "Alright, Schmidt. You know something about this we don't. The Venera Three was supposed to have returned safely to Mother Russia. I saw pictures of the crew after her return, heard the official interviews."

  Schmidt nodded. "You saw pictures and heard recorded voices. But they weren't from the Venera Three or her crew."

  "What're you saying?" Lev said.

  "It's been a Party secret, but you may as well know the truth. None of the manned Venera missions returned. They're still here, scattered across the planet."

  "What happened to them?"

  "What do you think? The life here got them, as soon as they left their ships. We didn't arm our crews well in those days. I've heard the taped radio transmissions. The Venera Two sunk into the ocean, but with the others it was all the same."

  "Then Zarubin …"

  "Dead. He managed to last a little longer by being careful. Everything we know is from radio or robot probes."

  "It would've been nice," Nadezhda said, feeling her mouth tighten, "if the Party had opted to brief us on these matters before we left."

  "The concept of 'nice' has no place in governing the State. And you were briefed about the dangers of this planet. If you're feeling guilty over Marina's death—"

  "You're saying it's my fault?"

  "It's not the Party's, if that's what you're implying."

  Lev stepped between them. "We can argue inside the Dnieper or this old tub. But not out here."

  Schmidt smoothed the front of his vacc suit, an unnecessary gesture as it wasn't wrinkled. "A good point. Kapitan, there might be useful data aboard the Venera Three."

  "Lev, what's the Geiger say?"

  He checked the rad counter strapped to his wrist. "Normal. I don't think her reactor's leaking."

  "Let's find a way in."

  It took several minutes of pulling vines and brushing away ivy to uncover the main hatch. Nadezhda spun the wheel. To her surprise, the airlock beyond glowed with dim light. "She still has power."

  "That's an old Smolin Breeder in there," Lev said. "With minimal draw, it should be good for another fifty years."

  They climbed inside. Compressors hissed, pumping the air clean after Nadezhda sealed the outer hatch. She opened the inner valve onto a large habitation area, cluttered with storage containers.

  "Looks like someone's picked it over," Lev said.

  Schmidt took an atmosphere reading on his spectrometer. "Scrubber and re-breather are still functioning."

  Lev started to unlatch his helmet, but Schmidt put a hand on his shoulder. "Remember the precautions. We don't know what kind of exposure this ship's had."

  A ladder led to the command deck. There, another mummy held vigil atop a flight couch. His wizened face, eerily intact down to the sideburns, still registered pain. Someone had wrapped his torso in blood-mottled bandages. The stitching on his uniform's breast was visible: VASILY K.

  "Kapitan Kravets," Nadezhda whispered. "He graduated from Donetsk."

  Lev nudged her shoulder. "Something's wrong with Schmidt."

  The science officer was leaning against a stanchion, stooped over. He had both hands clamped to the sides of his helmet.

  "Is your head still hurting?" Nadezhda said.

  "I'm—I'm alright. Just a momentary flash. I had some sort of … vision."

  "Maybe something's happened to Gregor."

  Schmidt shook his head. "No, this was something else."

  Nadezhda glanced around the command pod. Exploring the derelict had an intrusive feeling, like they were disturbing a gravesite. Could there be ghosts? She dispelled the thought. There were plenty of real dangers on Venus; no point in inventing supernatural ones. "Dr. Schmidt, rest here while Lev
and I finish the search."

  He nodded, still cradling his helmet.

  A check of ship's Stores and Navigation yielded no further bodies, but plenty of evidence someone had already gone through the wreck. Containers had been opened; key pieces of equipment were missing. Nadezhda stepped out of Navigation and saw Schmidt drifting past, helmetless. He was headed for the Venera Three's small laboratory.

  "Dr. Schmidt," she called. "The protocol …"

  He continued on as if he hadn't heard her. His movements seemed awkward. Stiff. She followed behind as he entered the laboratory. Unlike the other rooms, this one seemed untouched; the workbench held a microscope and a rack of test tubes. But Schmidt ignored these, reaching instead for a cabinet marked SPECIMENS. His fingers trembled as he worked the latch.

  She switched on her suit's external speakers. "Dr. Schmidt—"

  The cabinet door sprang open. There was a loud pop, like a cork leaving a champagne bottle, and a cascade of yellow powder poured onto Schmidt's face. He collapsed, coughing. The powder hung in a cloud around his bare head. Nadezhda rushed forward, hauled him up. His eyes were coated with the stuff. Wisps of yellow powder jetted from his nose. She looked into the cabinet and saw an ochre husk, still pulsing with faint life. Some kind of puffball mushroom, but flattened. The 'powder' must have been its spores.

  "What the hell?" Lev said, behind her.

  "We've got to get him back to the Sokol," she said, "and in some kind of quarantine. Find his helmet."

  She dragged him from the laboratory. Schmidt was muttering the whole time, shaking his head.

  "Doctor," she said, leaning close, "what happened? Why did you take off your helmet?"

  He spat out more powder. "It knew. It knew I was a sensitive …"

  Lev handed her the helmet. She got it over his head, closed the neck seals. "Can you carry him down the ladder?"

  Lev snatched up the doctor's limp form and folded him over his shoulder. With one hand securing the back of Schmidt's legs, he climbed down the rungs into the habitation area. Nadezhda followed. The airlock started hissing before they reached it.

  The interior valve opened.

  A figure in an armored vacc suit stepped through, followed by two more. They leveled the blunt snouts of submachine guns. Nadezhda saw a red, white, and blue patch on the leadmost's suit, beneath a heavy breastplate.

  "Ma'am," the man said, speaking English in some thick regional drawl, "I'm Captain James Macready of the Freedom's Burden, and I'm placing you under protective custody. This area is sovereign territory of the United States of America."

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Macready's sandy blonde eyebrows showed through his faceplate. He held the gun with the casual readiness of someone who's pulled a trigger countless times. Nadezhda was aware of her atomic pistol, jutting from the holster at her hip. It might as well be a hundred kilometers away.

  External speakers still on, she spoke in halting English: "Kapitan Nadezhda Gura, of the Krasnyy Sokol. I have injured personnel. I need to return to my ship."

  Macready shook his head. "Can't allow that, ma'am. I'm afraid you all are coming with me."

  "You have no authority—"

  "I've got three guns to your two, plus three more outside, and that's all the authority I need," he said, sounding more tired than angry. "This is Venus, missy. The usual protocols don't apply."

  Atop Lev's shoulders, Schmidt groaned.

  "What's wrong with him?" Macready said, gesturing with the gun's barrel.

  Nadezhda folded her arms. "Captain, my ship was struck in orbit by mines and nearly destroyed. That's an outright provocation for war."

  "How do you know those were our mines? Did you see Old Glory painted on the sides?"

  "Please, Captain."

  "Anyways, it's standard precaution to lay mines prior to landing, in order to deter space pirates—"

  "Pirates?" Nadezhda couldn't keep the scorn from her voice. "Every time you Americans want to do something aggressive you justify it by citing 'space pirates.' Where are these 'pirates'? What country do they come from, and how do they get rockets—"

  "Ma'am, you want to argue foreign policy I suppose that's your call. But we've got a first-class sick bay not ten klicks from here, and we can treat that crewman of yours. Now tell me: what's wrong with him?"

  Lev's voice cut in on her internal communicator. "If they have a ship so close by, then why didn't our radar pick it up?"

  "Huh-uh," Macready said. "No private conferences. Use the speakers, and stick to English, please."

  Nadezhda looked at Schmidt's wan face. If the Americans intended to simply gun them down they could've done so already. Likely, they wanted information about the Soviet presence on Venus. Well, she could try to get information, too. But foremost, she didn't want to lose another crewmember. "My science officer breathed in some type of spores."

  "Kind of brownish-yellow? Came out of a puffball?"

  "That's it."

  Macready nodded. "He's got the mustard mold, then. We're familiar with it. We'll put him in quarantine while Doc Hubb takes a look at him." He turned to one of the gunmen. "Corporal Lutz, relieve our friends of their fancy hand-rays. We wouldn't want one of them going off on the march back."

  "Aye, sir."

  Lev started to object, but Nadezhda shook her head. The Topchevs were collected and placed in a knapsack. "Those are property of the Soviet Union," she said. "We'll be expecting them back."

  "Of course. Now come with me, please."

  Macready led them out through the Venera's airlock. He hadn't been bluffing about the additional men; a trio stood at wary attention alongside the Dnieper. Like the others they wore armor, the metal plates showing the scratches and tooth-shaped gouges of hostile attention. One of the Americans bore a bulky flame rifle.

  "A nice bird, that," Macready said, nodding at the Dnieper. "And a good idea, bringing auxiliary craft along. All we've got is a rover, and it can't handle the jungle. Or the swamps. Or the mudflats …"

  Nadezhda eyed the abundant weaponry. "Were you sent here on a military mission, Captain?"

  "Strictly commercial. You?"

  "Strictly scientific."

  "Three people are not much of a crew. I assume you have more, back at your ship."

  Nadezhda saw no need to mention Gregor. Or Marina. "A small crew is sufficient for our needs."

  "Not on this planet. Everything's out to get you. The dragonflies are the worst; they swoop down from nowhere and lop off body parts for sheer enjoyment."

  Nadezhda ignored the pang in her gut. "I appreciate the warning."

  "Alright," Macready called to his men, "our Russkie friends here are unarmed and compliant, so let's all be civil. We've got a long hike back to base. Crenshaw, you speak some Russian. Think you can dope out enough Cyrillic to fly that bird there?" He nodded to the Dnieper.

  "I can try, sir," responded a feminine voice.

  "Good. You'll take point. Now—"

  "Captain," Nadezhda said, "am I to understand that we'll be walking back to your ship? Through jungle?"

  "Well, I told you our rover's no good, didn't I? And we can't all fit in that pretty boat of yours."

  "But the wildlife …"

  Macready hefted his submachine gun. "We trotted all the way out here on patrol, with no casualties. Not as of this morning, anyway. We can trot all the way back."

  "Perhaps my crew and I can follow in the Dnieper."

  "Huh-uh. What's to stop you from taking off? No, you and the big buck will stay alongside me. Your egghead can ride, though. He won't be up for much."

  "Do you know the prognosis for his condition?"

  "Doc Hubb will have to explain all that, when we get back." He turned to his crew. "Form up! I want a branch-spotter at all times. Nelson and Foss take front rank—and Foss, keep the flamer's pilot lit. Nelson, what's your W.P. status?"

  "Four grenades left, sir."

  "Good. No spray-and-prays now, you hear me? Our ammo's got to la
st."

  "Aye, sir," the crew answered in unison.

  To Nadezhda, he said: "We've had a tribe of spiders following us this whole trip. So don't be surprised if we have to smoke a couple of the hairy bastards along the way."

  "Spiders?" Nadezhda said.

  But Macready was already helping Lev deposit their science officer in the cockpit, followed by a wary Crenshaw. Everyone backed away as the Dnieper's engines roared to life, re-scorching the brush. The boat rose like a colt on shaky legs and wobbled in a circle twenty meters off the ground. Nadezhda winced as it plunged towards a tree, but Crenshaw managed to pull up in time. After several more minutes of painful trial and error, she had the Dnieper cruising at a steady altitude, though it listed to one side.

  "That's got it," Macready said. "Move out!"

  The little column followed the sagging craft into the tree line. Nadezhda's earlier fears of traversing the jungle on foot were now realized. Her hand kept creeping towards her empty holster. Frustrating, having to depend on these Americans and their inferior technology for protection.

  Macready must've noticed her uneasiness, because he puffed out his chest. "Don't you worry, ma'am. My men—"

  To their left, a serpentine shape she'd thought was a tree root detached itself from the shadows and lunged towards them. It shambled on six pairs of insect-thin legs; a giant saffron snake with the forward-staring eyes of a mammal. Foss whirled and loosed a brilliant orange plume. The snake turned to flee, but not before automatic fire chopped its slender body to bits.

  "See?" Macready said, grinning. "You're perfectly safe."

  * * *

  The march turned into an hours-long slog under oppressive canopy. Every rustling fern, every cycad or low-hanging branch seemed to hide disaster. The tension sapped at Nadezhda's will. Her suit's cooling unit kept up a constant flow of air, but it couldn't prevent her from swimming in recirculated sweat. She soon appreciated the Americans' muttered nickname for Venus: 'Green Hell.'

  At some point the fronds overhead began to make pattering sounds. She peered upwards, expecting another nightmare to come leaping down. Lev, too, hunched his shoulders and flexed empty hands.