Menace of the Mists By RICHARD STOREY A nameless horror poured from the sea-bottoms of Venus, driven by a soulless intelligence that could not be beaten. Four Earthmen stood in the way of the voracious horde, knowing they could not escape--but swearing they would not admit defeat. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories May 1943. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] MacAloon rose in the stirrups of his saddle-lizard. His guide, a Venusian fishman, trembled nervously at the mount's side and pointed straight ahead. MacAloon followed the direction of the quivering four-jointed, scaly arm. "See, bossmac?" the reptilian native hissed in fright. "Bosslimpy speak truth. Cen'pedes ready to march. Soon they attack us. Then is all over." On the other lizard, little Al Birchall tried to peer through the bright white fog of Venus. It was like attempting to gaze through a bedsheet. MacAloon lifted a pair of infra-red binoculars to his eyes. Instantly, the glasses dispelled the blinding mist. "See anything, Mac?" Birchall asked. Mac stared ahead without answering. Before him lay the black, motionless ocean which covered all the planet except a few hundred large islands. At the shore he saw movement, an enormous inky wave that flowed ponderously up over the land and steadily inched forward. Countless thousands of foot-long creatures were swarming out of the water and falling into dense marching ranks. The beasts, like huge centipedes, each had dozens of swift legs. The front half was legless, though, and looked like the human part of a centaur. It wasn't only the posture that made the resemblance. They had round heads, shaped like skulls, with deadly mandibles; and clever arms and hands grew out of their shoulders. Centaurpedes--even more than the heat, the mud and the fog, they were man's most murderous enemy on Venus. Silently, Mac handed the binoculars to Al Birchall. "Bossmac," the fishman pleaded, "we go 'way, not fight cen'pedes? They kill and eat us; nothing we can do." Mac watched Al lower the glasses from his eyes. He did it very slowly at first, then grinned when he caught Mac's gaze, and flipped the binoculars across. "They sure look dangerous," he said. "They are," Mac answered quietly. "They can strip the flesh off our bones in three minutes flat." Below them, between the tall bulk of the two mounts, the fishman's long, flat head turned from Mac's face to Al's. "Bossal, tell bossmac we not able fight cen'pedes," he begged sibilantly. "They come--" The thin, scaled hands waved excitedly, "like biggest army you ever see, make war on mine. You kill and kill, more come. Please, we go to man city!"