Free Trapped on Venus by Carl Conrad

we
had some kind of color spectrogram. That seemed to be the most distinctive
thing about them; their color, and the way it changed when they moved. But, we
aren’t equipped for anything like that. Can any of your men come up with
something else, maybe something we can convert? I know it sounds crazy, but I’m
almost certain we can make contact with them – that is, if we even see them
again.”
      “I can’t think of
anything off-hand, Marty, but I’ll get some people on it right away. If you can
communicate with them, this landing will be more significant than anything we
ever dreamed possible.”
      Marty moved to his own
chair and pushed it back, thinking more deeply about the creatures and their
possible importance to science. It would be a tremendous achievement, he
thought.
      “Scott,” Stimson
continued. “Scott, why don’t you two take your rest period now. We’ll get back to
you in a few hours after we’ve had time to go over the recordings we have of
your walk. There’s a lot there. We’ll need some time. So, get some rest if you
can. We’ll give you a few hours of sleep before your second excursion. Do you
think you can still make it?”
      The thought of going
out again was almost frightening. A chill raced through the men as they
rehashed the events which had already taken place. What else could happen? they
wondered. What other dangers awaited them on this desolate globe of dust and
powder? Would the creatures reappear, possibly keeping them from ever returning
to the ship?
      These questions
plagued the most excited desires of the astronauts. Yet, it was their duty,
their obligation, to offer even their lives in this quest for more knowledge,
for more information if necessary. Scott tried to relax as he answered.
      “Affirmative, John.
Give us a few hours and we’ll be ready.”
      “Roger, Probe. We’ll
begin looking over the information right now and see what we can make of it.
See if you can get a little rest in the meantime.
      Stimson finished the
conversation and turned from his desk, eager to see if his men had come up with
anything yet. He stalked across the room to the data banks where several
engineers and chemists were conferring.
      “... I’m sure of it,
Dr. Phillips,” said one of the researchers boldly. “It can’t be anything else.
With the test data Fisk collected and our own readings, I’m certain it’s a
strain of amino acids of some kind.”
      “But, if it were, why
would it be so unstable?” he replied. “It can’t be. It’s more likely to be a
result of the heat. Some foreign combination of chemicals bonded together for
efficiency’s sake. You’re wrong, Dr. Andrews. You’re way off the mark.”
      Stimson stopped at the
fringe of the debate, listening as he turned to an associate beside him.
      “What is it, Frank?
What are they arguing about?”
      “Oh, they’ve been
going at it for the last thirty-five minutes. Nothing serious, John. Just a
difference of opinion. Blair’s convinced that the creatures – the things Fisk
and Jennings saw – are intelligent life forms of some kind; still in the
primitive stages of development, of course, but none-the-less alive. And,
Andrews disagrees. I don’t think you can convince either of them one way or the
other. They’re both bull-headed.”
      “What do you make of
it? Have you formed an opinion yet?” Stimson asked.
      “Well, they’ve both
got a point. I agree, in part, with both of them. It’s still too early to tell,
though. I don’t think we have enough information to pass judgment, yet.”
      “But, what about the
colors and the heat? Do you think it’s at least possible to communicate with
them?”
      “I’m certainly not
going to rule it out, John. Sure, there’s a possibility that we can communicate
with them, but I doubt it. Circumstances aren’t right for the kind of
development we’re accustomed to. If they are alive, they’re certainly in the
infant stages of