Stephen Marlowe

“ Kramer said, lowering himself through the hatch. In a moment the swamp-buggy shuddered and made growling noises and shook itself clear of the mud. Out of habit, Harry and I waved as the buggy churned across a hundred feet of thick mud and moved ponderously toward the stockade gate. We stood there and watched the buggy fade into the green twilight swamps of Venus. It was very hot out there in the open and Harry and I were drenched with sweat before the sound of the buggy's motor faded entirely.
"A hunter's paradise," Harry said. ”

“ It was a sound that only a hunter or a killer knows—the whonk of lead into flesh at close range. It is a horrible sound when what you're shooting at is a man.
Was a man.
Or looked like a man.
Because, as he fell, Jason Woods Stevenson changed. The features melted, became indistinct. The limbs fell in on themselves. The body grew big and round—bloated and somehow obscene. In seconds what had been a man was a shapeless, quivering, dying mass of protoplasm. A Wompan.
Then Harry Conger screamed. ”

“ Harry shook his head. "Good for the bill collectors. Good for the native bearers, who we've been feeding ever since we opened this joint. Good for the washed up big-game hunter living off what little fat there is in our land, but not good for us. If we only had one customer—just one...."
"Look out the window," I said, trying to be cheerful. "Venus. Raw. Primitive. Wild. Thirty million miles from civilization. A hunter's paradise. And we're the guys who can serve Venus up to our customers on the half shell. Hunting. Nature-watching. ”

“ Mr. Stevenson, though, grew desperate. Not about Ginger and Harry—he didn't seem to mind. About the Wompan. He wanted one. If you have ever known a sportsman after particular game, you will understand. He had to get a Wompan. I knew how he felt: we had to stay in business. No other animal would do and—although it wasn't our fault—I knew that if Mr. Stevenson didn't get himself a Wompan, Venus on the Half Shell would not be saved by a big, many-paged spread in Spaceman's magazine. ”

“ What's a Wompan?"
"I quit too," Talbot Kramer said suddenly. "You can't expect a hunter to hang around when the bearers have quit on you. Not anyways, with a Wompan around camp."
"Will somebody please tell me," Harry begged, "what a Wompan is?"
"I'll take the swamp-buggy," Kramer said, getting ready to go outside.
"The hell you will," Harry and I both said together.
"Listen. You guys owe me some wages. I know you don't have the cash, but I'm not complaining. I'll take the swamp-buggy. Hell, its the only way out of here anyways."
"Some friend," said Harry. "We won't have any way out ourselves. ”

“ I looked at Harry. I placed the flat of my hand against the small of his back and pushed. He went stumbling across the mud toward the sportster spaceship. When he got there he managed to say, "I'll take your bags, sir."
"I'll set up your tent, sir," I said.
"Tent?" the man in the sportster repeated. "Your classified ad in Spaceman's didn't say anything about a tent."
"That's Venus on the Half Shell," I said. "Outdoor living. Venus as Venus is to the natives. But it's perfectly safe, sir.
"We have a stockade, as you can see."
"I don't know about any tent or roughing it," the sportsman boomed. ”

“ It isn't much, but it tells everything anybody knows about a Wompan. What they do. How they kill people. How to capture them, if they can be captured. Harry, we're no hunters. Since Wompan is the solar system's most dangerous game, wouldn't you say that puts us at a slight disadvantage? Wouldn't you, Harry old boy?"
"She's really got a sense of humor too, Gil. For a rich kid, she's simple and unaffected and—"
"Let's go inside and look at that Wompan book."
"I'll be along in a while." He waved at air. He wasn't looking at me. He wasn't thinking about Wompans or even Venus on the Half Shell. ”

“ Stevenson said. "Only three men ever have."
"That's right," I said.
"If I could write it up for Spaceman's magazine—assuming I catch one—we'd increase our circulation half a million copies."
"You'll catch one," I promised.
Jason Woods Stevenson beamed on me. "Oh, to hell with Spaceman's. I want to catch one because I never have. I've caught everything on Earth that the law lets you catch, boys. I was up at Venus Joe's last year and took the legal limit of everything but Wompan. Never even saw a Wompan. Boys," he said, "you've got yourself a customer." ”

“ Jason Woods Stevenson stood there in the fern-brake. He looked gigantic. He lifted the big Marlin Magnum .375 over his head and brought it down, butt-first. I rolled over and away and the big rifle struck half a foot from my head. Several inches of the rifle were buried in the mud and I had time to stagger to my feet while Mr. Stevenson pulled it clear.
"What's the matter with you?" I roared. "What's the—"
He stood five feet from me. He swung the rifle around and pointed it at my chest. ”

“ It was also hot and humid as it always is in the Venusian swamps. My khakis clung to me with sweat.
"I still can't see a thing," I said. He pointed a third time. I stared and saw nothing and was about to say so when something struck the side of my head just above the ear. ”