Battle on Venus

“A game! For Pete’s sake, you call it a game?”

“ ‘It’s all a pointless game…’” Mara quoted.

George remembered the men who were killed, and controlled his anger with difficulty. “A game you used to play? Seems to me the game’s still in full swing.”

“Oh, yes, it’ll run on for a century or two, I suppose, until the last of the things have smashed themselves,” said Senilde. “I became tired of them, and just let them run on. They’re purely automatic, you know.”

“You mean, all of those tanks and planes and things are unmanned?”

“Naturally.”

George thought of Freiburg basing his faith on his white circle “allies.” He recalled his own moment of emotion when the wheeled HQ seemingly rushed off to defend them. It was dismaying to have it confirmed that they’d been kidding themselves. He felt he’d been played a dirty trick. He said, truculently: “Why the hell do you let them go on smashing up everything?”

Senilde shrugged. “Why not? None of it means anything.”

“Well, it does to me. You nearly killed me. You did, in fact, cause the death of some of my companions—and for all I know, the rest of them may have been killed by now. Can you stop it?”

“Yes, if I want to.”

“Then stop it right now, damn you.”

Senilde said, petulantly: “Why should I stop my game just because of you?”

George snatched Mara’s knife. “Because I’ll stick this through you if you don’t.”

“My dear fellow, that wouldn’t embarrass me in the least. I’m a good healer. In fact, I heal instantly. You can’t hurt me and you can’t kill me: I happen to be immortal.”

“We’ll see about that,” said George, grimly, and started for him with the knife.

Mara grabbed his arm, held him back. “No, George, violence won’t help. There’s always a way to get what you want without making trouble. Brutality is no substitute for brains.”

Senilde looked at her with some approval. “You’re sensible besides being beautiful, young girl. George (what a queer name!)—let me have your girl, and I’ll switch off the war.”

George let him have a hay-maker instead. It hit the solar plexus more by luck than judgment. Senilde rebounded like a rubber man. His pale eyes lit up, and he smiled slobberingly.

“Oh, a new game! What do you call it? What do I do now?”

George groaned. “Okay, Mara, he’s all yours to use your brains on.”

She said: “Would you like to show us around your house, Senilde? Do you have any more gags like that fountain?”

“Yes, lots of them. Such fun when I used to have visitors. Of course, I can’t show you all of them—that would spoil it. I’d like you to discover some for yourselves—that’s much the best way to do it. You’ll be so amused. Come on.”

Mara began to follow him back to the house. George shrugged, then followed her. He watched carefully where Senilde trod—then as carefully trod in his footprints. He wanted to avoid any more gooey patches. The doorstep behaved perfectly normally for Senilde and Mara. But it swung down like a trapdoor under George’s feet. He found himself sliding down a chute into darkness, with the echo of laughter following him. There was more sticky stuff awaiting him at the bottom. He reclined, helpless, in the dark, struck like an insect on fly-paper, thinking: There must be some way to kill that old maniac. He began wondering if Freiburg were still alive. If the skipper was still hopefully awaiting his return, maybe with some friendly and intelligent Venusians, willing to help. Thank heavens Freiburg didn’t know what was going on, that the intrepid explorer, George Starkey, was actually falling and fooling about like a slapstick comedian, getting no place at all in a crazy Lewis Carroll world.

A light went on. He was in a cellar which was bare save for some benches over by the wall. Presumably they accommodated an invited audience in Senilde’s halycon days—to watch the fate of unfortunate fellow-guests. Senilde entered, with his foolish grin. Then Mara, who again went into peals of laughter.

George frowned at her. “Mara, you disappoint me. I thought you had an adult sense of humor. There’s nothing remotely funny in this childish clowning.”