World Without Chance: Classic Pulp Science Fiction Stories in the Vein of Stanley G. Weinbaum. John Russell Fearn
prepared to risk Jupiter drag in the spaceship. That is, if it’s still spaceworthy.”
“It’ll probably mean death,” he said.
But she only shrugged inside her huge suit. “Supposing it does? Better than Jupiter. In fact, I—”
She stopped short and gave a little cry, made a clumsy movement backward into Cardew’s protecting right arm.
“What—what is it?” she gasped in alarm, pointing. “Look!”
He tugged out his gun again. “Take it easy,” he murmured. “A joherc, or I miss my guess!”
They stood motionless, watching the fantastic creature that had suddenly appeared in the clearing, plainly visible in the now combined lights of unclouded Europa and Ganymede. It moved cautiously, with a certain oddly childlike nervousness quite incongruous for such a tremendously powerful body.
“A joherc, all right,” Cardew affirmed. “Heard of ’em many a time, and heard their description, but never saw one. They’re pretty good scientists in their way—maybe a bit dangerous, though.”
Still they watched as the joherc came into complete view—a biped, only two feet tall, with two legs nearly as thick as a man’s body and almost fantastically muscled. Further support was provided by the broad, kangaroo-like tail. on which it sat ever and again. Its remaining anatomy was made up of a pear-shaped body, stumpy arms, enormous pectoral muscles and chest—in which, according to description and reconstruction at the settlement bureau, there beat three powerful hearts to create a normal circulation in the eternal drag. On the mighty shoulders was the strange, triple-jointed neck, semi-human face with wide, half-grinning mouth and scaly head.
A pure product of ammonia, living in a climate ideally suited to it—a living, thinking creature of superhuman strength and swiftness, mentally active, yet humanly childlike in manner—a veritable cosmic paradox.
The two remained motionless as the creature advanced. His broad nostrils were quivering oddly, scenting something. The deeply-set, many-layered eyes stared penetratingly round the coldly lighted clearing—then suddenly espied Cardew’s smelling-salt container! That was enough! The joherc dived like a flash of gray and seized the container in a powerful hand, picking out the already half-pressure-crushed crystals with the blunt fingers of the other, tossing them into his huge mouth,
Cardew came to life at that and let out a yell. “Hey, you! That belongs to my kit! Get out of it! Get going!”
He flung himself forward strainedly and snatched up the container with a gloved hand, slammed the cap back on top of it. The joherc sat on its broad tail, licking its lips complacently. Obviously, with its usual phenomenal sense of smell, it had detected the crystals from a distance. Such a treasure trove, though sheer poison to an Earthling, was evidently too much to resist.
“On your way, joherc!” Cardew snapped, returning the container to the hook on his belt. “No crystals going free!”
The joherc made no move, but his keen eyes followed Cardew’s every move as he returned to the relieved girl, replacing his pistol in its holster.
“Obviously not hostile,” was her comment.
He grinned behind his face glass, “Not while I have these crystals, anyhow.” He chuckled. “Try to imagine a guy wandering around with a bag of priceless gems, not caring much whether he had them or not. If you were naturally decent, would you be hostile? No, sir! You’d just stick around on the chance of getting some—”
He stopped and looked about him. “What do we do?” he asked. “Stop for the night or carry on?”
She surveyed the jungle’s menacing depths. “Might as well carry on, since every moment counts. We’ve got to find our way through this tangle somehow and reach the Seven Peaks. Let’s be going.”
“Suits me!” He fell into clumsy step beside her as they began their laborious struggle forward into the Europa-and Ganymede-lighted madness of the Jovian forest—
And behind them, sniffing the ammoniated breeze, shooting against the enormous gravity with the ease of an Earthly kangaroo, came the joherc, odd face almost like that of an anxious child, as its unmoving gaze watched the bobbing smelling-salt container on Cardew’s waist belt—
The forest became sparser as the two progressed, but its life teemed as furiously as of yore. Here and there a deadly lance-stem, fastest growing thing in the wilderness, stabbed outward with an unbearably cold, dagger-like frond, able at close quarters to penetrate the thick armor of the spacesuits.
Somehow the two avoided the horrors, only to find themselves constantly dodging whizzing feather-spheres and jabbering ostriloaths. Ever and again they found themselves hurled to the ground as the cannon-ball hardness and speed of the feather-spheres knocked their legs from under them. Nor were their feelings improved at finding the joherc not far behind in the moonlight.
“I wish you’d go away, Jo!” Cardew snorted in discomfiture, and his voice boomed through his microphone on the creature’s tiny ears. “Go play tag with the cannon balls! In plain words, scram!”
Jo sat on his tail and waited, cast a thoughtful pair of eyes toward the now vaguely dawn-lighted sky.
“No go,” Cardew growled to the girl, shrugging. “I guess he’ll follow until we reach the spaceship.”
They struggled on again. Then, in the increasing light, they suddenly saw ahead that lance-stems and Fishnets were smashing and splintering violently under the force of enormous feet. Exactly as they had expected, a huge specimen of the sican genus came blundering into view.
Cardew’s fingers tensed on his oxygen pistol; but long before he could take aim, something shot past him in a blur of motion, stumpy arms and hands flung wide, block-like legs tensing into bulgings of muscle at each terrific spring.
“Jo!” the girl cried in amazement. “Of all the foolhardy things—”
“Don’t be too sure!” Cardew interrupted her tensely. “These Jovian blighters, especially the bipeds, have got strength beyond imagination. Look!”
He pointed quickly. The joherc had already seized the powerful sican by the throat, was crushing, with every scrap of his enormous, concentrated, tight-packed strength, into that leathery neck, performing his actions at such a terrific rate it was hardly possible to follow him. Working against a gravity two and a half times more powerful than Earth’s, his actions correspondingly increased in like ratio.
He was obviously lighter than his antagonist, and by far the more intelligent. The sican finally retreated, thin, aqueous humor freezing solid on its thick neck as fast as it appeared.
“Bet the air smells even more pungent than usual outside,” Claire said reflectively as she watched the brute retreat in the now full daylight. “Imagine bursting a bladder of pure ammonia in an atmosphere already thick with it!”
“I can imagine!” Cardew murmured. Then he turned quickly as Jo came springing back, grinning hugely. “Nice going, Jo!” he exclaimed in gratitude, swinging round his smelling-salt container. “Here are some crystals for services rendered!”
The Jovian’s powerful tail sent him thumping to Cardew’s side. The greedy, scaled fingers scooped out a dozen of the crystals before the pressure had a chance to crush them, transferring them to his wide mouth with astonishing avidity.
“Ammonia, so you say,” he said suddenly in a hoarse voice—and the two stared at him blankly. “Your poison. Good to me. Block salt extra good. Cliffs of it—way there!” He swung his blocky arm vaguely.
“That covers a lot of territory,” Claire murmured.
“Yeah, about two hundred and sixty-five thousand miles of it,” Cardew agreed dryly. Then he looked at the Jovian in puzzlement. “So you talk, eh?”
“Read mind,” Jo explained briefly. “Not very clear—only damn smatterings. Not sure of position of