Killer Planet
Bob Shaw
Prologue
The year is 2194 AD and it is now more than two centuries since men and women took their first hesitant steps into the vastness of space.
At first there were the tiny hops to the Moon, accomplished in ridiculously flimsy metal shells; then with advancing technology came the manned flights to Mars. Soon afterwards the invention of the Gemmell drive enabled the great spaceships from Earth to leap instantaneously from star to star. And now, suddenly, human beings are embarking on the ultimate adventure—the exploration of the galaxy.
Inevitably, there are awesome dangers.
In addition to the risks of space flight itself, there are myriads of deadly alien life forms to contest the ownership of each newly discovered world. It is as though Nature has set out to test her ingenuity at devising strange and terrible ways for brave men and women to die; as though this is the price they have to pay for daring to pit themselves against the immensities of the universe.
And, of all the implacable foes that space travellers have encountered thus far, the most mysterious—the most deadly—is undoubtedly the Killer Planet.
Discovered in 2191 AD and officially named Verdia, the Killer Planet prowls its elliptical path around a yellow G-type sun. Its entire surface is shrouded by dense vapours which cannot be penetrated by orbiting cameras. Those vapours preserve the mystery of how hundreds of brave men and women met their deaths on Verdia within hours of landing. Although no surface features are visible from space, the shield of cloud glows intermittently as electrical storms rage from pole to pole, evidence of the incredible bolts of energy being unleashed in the tortured atmosphere.
More than two years have passed since the Killer Planet claimed its last victims—and now it is hungry again.
Hungry, watchful, waiting…
Chapter One
It was a fine summer morning and the air above the concrete expanse of the Jacksonville Commercial Spacefield was already beginning to shimmer in the growing heat. The hangars, workshops and office buildings of the various transport companies which used the field as their headquarters gleamed in the strong Florida sunlight. A faint breeze wafting in from the Atlantic sent swirls of dust dancing across the flat ground, but failed to bring any coolness to the interiors of the big warp-drive freighters whose towering hulls dominated the scene. Mechanical handling vehicles bustled continuously among the starships, loading or unloading interstellar cargoes, their drivers occasionally dabbing sweat from their faces and thinking wistfully about the next refreshment break.
In contrast to the noise and activity outside, the scene inside the office of the Hazard Line was quiet and almost religiously solemn. Donn Hazard, owner of the shipping line, had just opened a bottle of champagne and was pouring the sparkling liquid into four plastic cups. Donn was a tall man with friendly but commanding features, and although he was nearing fifty his black hair was only slightly flecked with grey. He smiled as he finished pouring the champagne and handed a cup to each of the three much younger people who were standing by his desk.
“This is my last bottle of bubbly—it’s just too expensive these days—but it’s the most fitting drink for a celebration,” he said. “I want to show my appreciation for all the hard work you’ve done in the last year. Without your help the Seeker would never have been finished—so here’s to the successful conclusion of the most important project of my life!”
He turned and raised his cup towards the sleek crimson shape of the Seeker, which was visible through the office window. The specially designed rocket ship was only fifteen metres from needle prow to tail, a symphony of streamlined curvatures, and was sitting vertically upright on a multi-wheeled transporter at the edge of the spacefield.
Jan Hazard, Donn’s son, echoed the toast and sipped dutifully from his cup, hiding the fact that the dry wine was unpleasantly bitter to his taste. Already as tall as his father, Jan had thick black hair and the muscular frame of a natural athlete. His features were pleasantly unremarkable, but at times his face bore a look of seriousness which made him seem older than his sixteen years. He and his two best friends—Petra Moir and Ozburt Groom—had been devoting every minute they could spare from their education schedules to the Seeker project and were justifiably proud of the outcome. Jan felt a great sense of personal achievement on seeing the little ship completed, but his pleasure was tempered by deep concern about what was supposed to happen next.
His father was absolutely determined to fly the Seeker single-handedly down through the eternal cloud cover of the planet Verdia. It was bad enough that nobody who had landed on Verdia had ever come back, but Jan had an even greater cause to worry about his father’s safety.
So intense were his fears that he had recently come to the most momentous decision of his life, one which had to be kept secret at all costs.
“My nose!” Ozburt snorted, choking over his drink. “It’s hurting my nose! Do people actually enjoy drinking this stuff?” He was a chubby-faced redhead who had great difficulty in controlling his outsized hands and feet, but behind his clumsiness was a rare talent for all forms of electronic engineering. It was his seemingly instinctive skill in maintaining the flight simulator which had made it possible for Donn to practise ‘flying’ the Seeker, even though the unique ship had never left the ground.
“We grown-ups enjoy champagne,” Petra told him coolly. “You should stick to your cherry sodas.” She was tall and athletic looking, with fair hair and tanned skin which had earned her the apt nickname of the Golden Girl of the school sports squad. Her favourite sport was archery, in which she had won several junior championships. Jan often thought it ironic that it was prowess in such an ancient sport which had enabled her to play an important role in his father’s preparations for the mission to Verdia. In the strange conditions of that planet modern weapons were worse than useless, and for self-defence his father planned to rely largely on a bow and arrows. Petra had devoted a lot of time to teaching him to shoot accurately.
“Grown-ups! Listen to old Granny Moir!” Ozburt replied. “You’re only five months older than I am.”
“That’s going by the calendar, but if you consider mental age I’m…”
“That’s enough of that, you two,” Donn put in. “Remember we’re all part of a team. Isn’t that right, Jan?”
“I agree,” Jan said, meeting his father’s gaze squarely.
“And that’s why I think I should be going to Verdia with you—as part of a team.”
“We’ve already been through all that, and my decision is final.” Donn set his cup down, signalling that the impromptu celebration was over. “This is a job for me alone.”
“But…”
“For me alone, Jan.” For a moment the expression in Bonn’s eyes was troubled as he gazed at his son, then he produced a smile for the benefit of all three young people. “Now, if the gang will kindly get out of here I’ll be able to get on with some urgent work. There are quite a lot of last-minute details to take care of if I’m going to take off tomorrow morning.”
“We have things to do as well,” Petra said tactfully. “We’ll see you later.” She set her cup aside, gestured for Jan and Ozburt to do likewise, and ushered the two out of the office.
“Don’t shove!” Ozburt’s round face looked indignant as they emerged to the fierce sunlight of the spacefield. “What’s the mother hen routine for? Huh?”