4-1/2B, EROS
By MALCOLM JAMESON
"4-1/2B, Eros."... A strange code, but
grizzled space-trader Karns used it to
break the perilous Mercury-Venus Jinx.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Spring 1941.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
"Makee chop chop. Kwei! Kwei!"
The two Venusian coolies squatted down between the shafts and with onequick motion elevated the sedan chair to shoulder height. Then theystarted off in a lazy run through the torrential downpour, splashingmud right and left as their sturdy yellow legs struck into the waterylane of muck that passes for a road in Venusberg. Captain Hank Karns,the Lone Trader, sank back in his seat and watched idly with mild blueeyes as first one grass hut and then another appeared momentarilythrough rifts of rain. There would be time enough to worry about CappyWilkerson's plight when he reached the administration building andfound out more about the charges against him. No doubt it was justanother shakedown, the effort of some minor official to pry loose alittle more than the customary cumshaw.
Captain Karns had berthed his own old trading tub not an hour earlierand as he registered the arrival of his Swapper he noted that underthe date of three days before there was the entry: "Wanderer, CaptainWilkerson, en route Mercury to Luna." After it was the notation in red:"Detained by order Collector of the Port; captain in custody."
Hank Karns thoughtfully pawed his long white beard. Cappy Wilkerson wasa careful and upright man and a lifelong friend; what manner of chargecould they have trumped up against him? That they were trumped up hetook for granted, for the local government of autonomous Venus wasnotoriously corrupt and always had been. The Venusians themselves werethe descendants of coolies brought centuries before from tropical Asia.They took little or no interest in government. Politics had, therefore,fallen into the hands of white adventurers, most of whom lived on Venusfor the very good reason they were not wanted elsewhere. The CentralCouncil of the loose Interplanetary Federation seldom interfered withthem unless for acts so flagrant as to affect the Federation as a whole.
The old space merchant left his chair at the courtroom and squeezedthrough the crowd at the back just in time to hear the whack, whack,whack of the gavel marking the end of the trial. Standing defiantlyin the prisoner's box was Cappy Wilkerson, his eyes flashing and hisiron-gray mane thrown back. He looked like an indignant old lionbrought to bay by a pack of jackals. The judge, a young man with amonocle and a stiff black pompadour, was dressed in a smart militaryuniform which made him appear anything but judicial. He was biting outhis words as if what he was saying was inspired by personal venom.
"I have heard all you have had to say, including your filthyimputations as to the integrity of this court. Your guilt is soapparent that we need not trouble even to preserve the record of yoursilly and malicious allegations...."
Here the judge contemptuously tossed a sheaf of papers into awastebasket.
"Therefore, bearing in mind not only your guilt but your contumaciousconduct before me, I sentence you to five years at hard labor in such aone of our prison camps as the Director of Welfare and Beneficence mayselect.
"It is further directed that your ship, together with its illicitcontents, be confiscated and sold at public auction in ord