Piersen lashed out. His fist caught the bird full in the throat, knocking it over.
He scrambled into the thorn bush on all fours. The bird circled, shrilling, trying to find a way in. Piersen moved deeper into the thicket toward safety.
Then he heard a low moan beside him.
He had waited too long. The jungle had marked him for death and would never let him go. Beside him was a long, blue-black, shark-shaped creature, slightly smaller than the first he had encountered, creeping quickly and easily toward him through the thorn thicket.
Caught between a shrieking death in the air and a moaning death on the ground, Piersen came to his feet. He shouted his fear, anger, and defiance. And without hesitation, he flung himself at the blue-black beast.
The great jaws slashed. Piersen lay motionless. With his last vestige of consciousness, he saw the jaw widen for the death stroke.
Can it be real, Piersen wondered, in sudden fear, just before he blanked out.
When he recovered consciousness, he was lying on a white cot, in a white, softly lighted room. Slowly his head cleared and he remembered—his death.
Quite an adventure, he thought. Must tell the boys. But first a drink. Maybe ten drinks and a little entertainment.
He turned his head. A girl in white, who had been sitting in a chair beside his bed, rose and bent over him.
“How do you feel, Mr. Piersen?” she asked.
“Fair,” Piersen said. “Where’s Jones?”
“Jones?”
“Srinagar Jones. He runs this place.”
“You must be mistaken, sir,” the girl told him. “Dr. Baintree runs our colony.”
“Your what?” Piersen shouted.
A man came into the room. “That will be all, Nurse,” he said. He turned to Piersen. “Welcome to Venus, Mr. Piersen. I’m Dr. Baintree, Director of Camp Five.”
Piersen stared unbelievingly at the tall, bearded man. He struggled out of bed and would have fallen if Baintree hadn’t steadied him.
He was amazed to find most of his body wrapped in bandages.
“It was real?” he asked.
Baintree helped him to the window. Piersen looked out on cleared land, fences, and the distant green edge of the jungle.
“One out of ten thousand!” Piersen said bitterly. “Of all the damned luck! I could have been killed!”
“You nearly were,” said Baintree. “But your coming here wasn’t a matter of luck or statistics.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mr. Piersen, let me put it this way. Life is easy on Earth. The problems of human existence have been solved—but solved, I fear, to the detriment of the race. Earth stagnates. The birth rate continues to fall, the suicide rate goes up. New frontiers are opening in space, but hardly anyone is interested in going to them. Still, the frontiers must be manned, if the race is to survive.”
“I have heard that exact speech,” Piersen said, “in the newsreels, on the solido, in the papers—”
“It didn’t seem to impress you.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“It’s true,” Baintree assured him, “whether you believe it or not.”
“You’re a fanatic,” Piersen said. “I’m not going to argue with you. Suppose it is true—where do I fit in?”
“We are desperately undermanned,” said Baintree. “We’ve offered every inducement, tried every possible method of recruitment. But no one wants to leave Earth.”
“Naturally. So?”
“This is the only method that works. Adventures Unlimited is run by us. Likely candidates are transported here and left in the jungle. We watch to see how they make out. It provides an excellent testing ground—for the individual as well as for us.”
“What would have happened,” Piersen asked, “if I hadn’t fought back against the shrubs?”
Baintree shrugged his shoulders.
“And so you recruited me,” Piersen said. “You ran me through your obstacle course, and I fought like a good little man, and you saved me just in the nick of time. Now I’m supposed to be flattered that you picked me, huh? Now I’m supposed to suddenly realize I’m a rough, tough outdoor man? Now I’m supposed to be filled with a courageous, farsighted pioneering spirit?”
Baintree watched him steadily.
“And now I’m supposed to sign up as a pioneer? Baintree, you must think I’m nuts or something. Do you honestly think I’m going to give up a very pleasant existence on Earth so I can grub around on a farm or hack through a jungle on Venus? To hell with you, Baintree, and to hell with your whole salvation program.”
“I quite understand how you feel,” Baintree answered. “Our methods are somewhat arbitrary, but the situation requires it. When you’ve calmed down—”
“I’m perfectly calm now!” Piersen screamed. “Don’t give me any more sermons about saving the world! I want to go home to a nice comfortable pleasure palace.”
“You can leave on this evening’s flight,” Baintree said.
“What? Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“I don’t get it,” said Piersen. “Are you trying psychology on me? It won’t work—I’m going home. I don’t see why any of your kidnap victims stay here.”
“They don’t,” Baintree said.
“What?”
“Occasionally, one decides to stay. But for the most part, they react like you. They do not discover a sudden deep love for the soil, an overwhelming urge to conquer a new planet. That’s storybook stuff. They want to go home. But they often agree to help us on Earth.”
“How?”
“By becoming recruiters,” Baintree said. “It’s fun, really. You eat and drink and enjoy yourself, the same as ever. And when you find a likely looking candidate, you talk him into taking a dream adventure with Adventures Unlimited—exactly as Benz did with you.”
Piersen looked startled. “Benz? That worthless bum is a recruiter?”
“Certainly. Did you think recruiters were starry-eyed idealists? They’re people like you, Piersen, who enjoy having a good time, enjoy being on the inside of things, and perhaps even enjoy doing some good for the human race, as long as it’s no trouble to them. I think you’d like the work.”
“I might try it for a while,” Piersen said. “For a kick.”
“That’s all we ask,” said Baintree.
“But how do you get new colonists?”
“Well, that’s a funny thing. After a few years, many of our recruiters get curious about what’s happening here. And they return.”
“Well,” Piersen said, “I’ll try this recruiting kick for a while. But only for a while, as long as I feel like it.”
“Of course,” said Baintree. “Come, you’d better get packed.”
“And don’t count on me coming back. I’m a city boy. I like my comfort. The salvation racket is strictly for the eager types.”
“Of course. By the way, you did very well in the jungle.”
“I did?”
Baintree nodded gravely.
Piersen stayed at the window, staring at the fields, the buildings, the fences, and the distant edge of the jungle which he had fought and nearly overcome.
“We’d better leave,” said Baintree.
“Eh? All right, I’m coming,” Piersen said.
He turned slowly from the window with a faint trace of irritation that he tried to and couldn’t identify.
IF THE RED SLAYER
I WON’T even try to describe the pain. I’ll just say that it was unbearable even with anesthetics, and that I bore it because I didn’t have any choice. Then it faded away and I opened my eyes and looked into the faces of the brahmins standing over me. There were three of them, dressed in the usual white operating gowns and white gauze masks. They say they wear those masks to keep germs out of us. But every soldier knows they wear them so we can’t recognize them.
I was still doped up to the ears on anesthetics, and only chunks and bits of my memory were functioning. I asked, “How long was I dead?”