EXILE FROM VENUS
By E. HOFFMAN PRICE
Earth was a world of murdering savages; bleak
and desolate; contaminated by deadly radioactivity.
Only Craig Verrill's atavistic stubbornness—and
a rash promise, made in fury—could have brought
him back to that perilous birthplace of Man....
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories May 1951.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The solicitude of Linda's voice, the seductiveness of her perfume,her very presence as they sat in the artificial twilight of the Domesof Venus, tempted him to abandon his plan to sail at once for Terra,venture among the savage Terrestrians, and get possession of thatenormous ruby they called the Fire of Skanderbek.
Linda was long legged and supple waisted, with dark eyes andgold-bronze hair, and very white skin. Her cheek bones were justsufficiently prominent to keep her face from being too regular; andthere was a perceptible dusting of tiny freckles which accented theirregularity, adding a piquant touch. These were natural, and ararity that had existed only in fable for the past six-hundred years,for the glow-lamps and the occlusive Venusian atmosphere seemed tocombine to make the freckle almost impossible. However, though thecosmeticians had driven the Board of Science frantic until they haddevised a process for artificially imitating Linda's unique flaw, thisdistinction had not spoiled her.
"Never mind what I said, last night," Linda pleaded. "We were allangry, you and Gil and I. No sense at all!"
"But I promised," Verrill said stubbornly. Which helped—a little—tosustain himself against backing down from the rash venture for which hehad not a bit of taste.
He had an angular face, narrowish, with the bony structure wellaccented. His nose was prominent; his hazel eyes were intent andimpatient. He was lean, muscular, and all in all, just the sort ofVenusian to go on such a crazy venture—yet he didn't like the idea atall, now that he had had time to consider.
"Let's forget it all, Craig! Rubies aren't important enough. The oneGil brought me from that trading-post of Terra isn't—wasn't—"
Verrill said sourly: "That's what makes me feel so foolish about it. Hebrought you a souvenir, and I grabbed it from you, flung it into thelake, and pasted him. What for?"
"Oh, Craig, who cares! Gil was lording it over you. I was too smugand pleased with the gift to realize how far he was going. Oh, allright, of course you were wrong! But what of it?"
Verrill shook his head. "I fairly shouted myself into it."
"I don't want you to go."
"I know you don't. But too many of our friends were within sight andhearing of the whole mess. Sooner or later their attitude would makeyou unhappy about a man who talked big, and then backed down."
His insistence widened Linda's eyes. The civilized Venusians werealways ready to take the sensible, the expedient way. Had they beenotherwise, had they not been the descendants of sensible Terrestrianancestors, they would have been included in the devastation which hadleft all but small and widely scattered patches of Terra uninhabitablefor the past seven-hundred years. Rather, those who today wereVenusians would have been struggling savages, scraping out a living insome uncontaminated area.
Verrill's was an almost Terrestrian stubbornness; something primitiveand atavistic, very much like that queer quirk which made someVenusians return to their native Earth to set up trading-posts, wherethey bartered with the barbarian tribesmen for tobacco and wines,spices and jewels and perfumes, all ma