Steel Giants Of Chaos By JAMES R. ADAMS Earth owed the Wronged Ones a world, and Gene Drummond alone could repay that debt. Only he knew that payment would save two races from extinction--and he was a helpless prisoner of the ones he wanted to aid. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Winter 1945. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Gene Drummond felt a tingle of anticipation course through his being as he stepped through the open airlock of his small scout ship and for the first time in more than a year felt the soft soil of Mother Earth under his booted feet. He stood for a moment, hungrily drinking in the noise and clamor of New York Spaceport. Around and about him the shouts and curses of bustling, grease-soaked mechanics and husky stevedores acted as a balm to his taut nerves. To return to this, after fourteen grueling months of biological research on Venus, was little short of heaven itself. The fact that he had been forced, because of the fatally-poisoned atmosphere of the young world, to conduct his investigation in brief sallies from the stuffy confines of his ship served only to heighten this ecstatic conception of his return. The profoundness of the moment passing, he breathed deeply of the warm, sweet air and turned to face the fat little mechanic hurrying across the field. Puffing noisily for breath, the man skidded to a halt and bent a toothy grin upon the wiry biologist-explorer. "Bin gone a spell, ain'tcha, Mr. Drummond?" the fellow wheezed good-naturedly. "Have a nice trip?" Gene winced at the mechanic's naïvete, then smiled in spite of himself. "You might call it that," he said thoughtfully. "But _I_ wouldn't! Venus isn't exactly paradise, Fatboy; take it from me, I know. All the moons of Saturn couldn't persuade me to go through another year of privation on that forsaken hunk of cosmic dust. It's a beautiful world, yes, but one whiff of its poison air and you pretty damn quick lose interest in landscapes and natural wonders." "Just the same, I sure wouldn't miss a chance to take it in," Fatboy opined dreamily. "'Tain't every guy that gets to plant his feet on a restricted planet. You're pretty dang lucky, if you ask me." Gene shrugged wearily. "Maybe so. Every man is entitled to his own opinion, they tell me. Personally, I'll stick by the motto, 'See Terra Firma first.'"