Barry strained his eyes, but the mist had settled down thickly. Only the vaguest hints of heaving, convulsive movement were discernible beneath the water. The air-masked crews of the machine guns and mortars and flame throwers set up to supplement the stun barrier were tense and jittery as they waited.
The radio handpiece crackled with static that drowned all communication, so Captain Stanley sent a runner to summon the others.
Anger and despair contended in Barry's mind. They would be too late. The heavy cables sprawled into the black water like great snakes, lifeless in appearance, but he knew the torturing forces with which they were filling the slough. And he alone of all the colony knew the full horror of the torvaks.
Through the mist he could just see the building where Nick had set up the switchboard, and he hoped he would be watching for orders. Otherwise—
With deceptive calm he walked to one of the flame throwers, snapped the latch releasing the bulky mechanism from its tripod, picked it up in both arms.
"What are you doing?" Captain Stanley demanded.
"I'm going in," Barry declared.
The watching men were too dumfounded to stop him as he ran downstream.
Through the mist he saw something move just below the surface. A Venusian woman, her muscles twitching in spastic convulsions as the electric current ripped at her nerves. And then a few yards away a shadow, misshapen and unbelievably huge.
Barry stopped, cradling the heavy flame thrower in his arms.
"Turn off that current!" he pleaded once again.
Without waiting for an answer he leaped.
The weight of the weapon took him instantly to the bottom. He sprawled in the ooze. He had miscalculated. A million fiends were stabbing with red-hot knives, and his muscles twitched and squirmed in insane convulsions. His chest was clamped in a gigantic vise that kept him from filling his lungs with the water that meant life.
But he was still conscious, still able to see the screaming forms of Venusians who, in their flight from the monsters, had ventured too deep into the charged area.
An ugly creature came toward Barry. It was shaking its huge body, but it was coming on nonetheless. Its scaly hide and low-grade nervous system made it at least partially immune to the electrical charge; its killer instincts forced it to disregard the discomfort. Through the reek of decaying vegetation Barry got a whiff of the acrid odor he had learned to identify as fresh blood.
He struggled to raise his flame thrower, but he was unable to coordinate his movements.
And then at the last possible moment the twitchings of his body ceased. Someone, Captain Stanley or Nick, had pulled the main switch.
He brought the nozzle of the flame thrower around. Flame blossomed and ricocheted through the water in burning globules. Concussion and shock wave threw him face down in the mud, dazzled and deafened.
He picked himself up, gagging and retching at the taint of charred flesh. The creature was still twitching in its death throes, stirring the water to opacity. Through the silt Barry could see several Venusian survivors moving feebly.
"Follow me!" he yelled, fearful that at any instant the current would be turned on again.
Then he went down the slough in great leaping bounds while a howling lust to kill mounted within him. The flame thrower, designed to be used from a fixed mount, made a clumsy burden in his arms. Monsters, dozens of them of all sizes and shapes, had come to kill. They remained to be killed instead.
Time after time the flame thrower sent its blazing cone licking forth. The water grew thick and uncomfortably hot, but little by little he cleared a path to the sea.
Once he looked back. The Venusians were following, and on each face was a look of adoration. Barry knew then he had made himself the new leader of Tana. They crowded close, anxious to get away from the bewitched waters. He motioned them to keep a safe distance.
And then suddenly he reached open water and the last of the monsters died in fire. Barry looked down at the pressure gauges. The tanks were empty.
The Venusians gathered around but kept a respectful distance from his person.
"Get back to Tana, all of you!" he commanded. "Remain there until either Xintel or I tell you otherwise!"
Without further questioning they obeyed.
He would have missed the half submerged tree entirely except for something white on the bottom, something from which small carrion-eaters scuttled at his approach. Hind's skeleton, already half buried in the ooze. Gunshot or drowning? Dorothy or Xintel? What matter?
The two women were still watching each other warily on the bank. But, he saw with relief, they had laid their weapons aside.
Together, each in her own language, they bombarded him with questions.
He managed a faint smile although the skin of his face felt stiff and scorched from the flame thrower's heat.
"No war," he said.
That should have finished it, and all he wanted now was rest.
But again they spoke at once. Their languages were different but their meanings were the same.
"Barry, I want to talk to her."
Wearily he slumped down, nodding.
But as the conversation progressed he fidgeted uneasily. With the amazing frankness of two strong-willed females, they were settling his future while he translated. It was like a distorted dream.
They finally reached an agreement. Neither liked it entirely, but both were unselfish enough to consider Barry's welfare. And both were realists.
Barry blinked and blushed as he translated, but could not suppress a feeling of relief.
"I really don't mind—too much," Dorothy addressed him directly. "But if you ever tell anyone up here you're still carrying on with this bare breasted fish-girl I swear you'll be sorry."
Xintel spoke. "I understand. She is of your own people. But please, Barry, those of Tana do not need to know."
Dorothy and Xintel were watching him, waiting for his answer.
Two women in his life, both determined to remain. Either they would resent each other, and through jealousy, make his life hell, or they would become firm friends. He could easily become the most henpecked man on all Venus. But to choose between them—
Well, boredom was one thing he need never fear.
He nodded.
[Transcriber's Note: No Section VII heading in original text.]