On Venus, if one rings a doorbell, or bangs
on a locked gate at night, it is adventure. You
never know who—or what—will answer your summons.
The door swings slowly open and you brace yourself
to look. Will it be maid—or monster—or both?
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories July 1953.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Wherever men gather and talk, someone is sure to mention Khaljean's,on Venus. Men will always be fascinated by tales of the strange andwonderful and fantastic, and Khaljean's—zoo, petshop, wild animalsupply house—is the stuff from which legends are made. One hears ofthe place on Mars or Earth, on Titan or Rhea, on Callisto or Ganymede,even in the subsurface mines of Pluto or the curious twilight outpostson Mercury, and some of the yarns will probably lessen the tediumof light-year watches when the first manned spacer pushes beyond thefrontiers of the solar system.
Most of the stories are 21st century versions of the tall tale, forboth establishment and owner stagger imagination and breed fabulousaccounts. A rumor that Khaljean will fabricate to order any nightmarishmonster from synthetic flesh and organic spare parts is obviousexaggeration. The claim that Khaljean can mate any curious life-formcaptured by far-roving hunters is also false—since he failed twice.Khaljean loves animals and collects them chiefly for pleasure. He willsell some for pets and for educational exhibitions, but for each onesold he keeps ten. Everyone knows that he has frequently risked deathrather than kill or injure a living creature.
Of all his zoo's wonders, none can compare with Khaljean—for man isthe most fantastic of animals, and Khaljean is the most extraordinaryof men. Khaljean is both public figure and man of mystery. Nobody knowshis race or origin, and nowadays nobody asks. With the epidemics ofmutation in the Earth-colonies of Venus, and the standard gene-tangentsaccepted among Venusian natives, such curiosity is bad form. Anddangerous.
So Khaljean's, and the stories about it, have grown steadily throughthe years. The strangest story of all concerning the zoo is one that,for good reason, no one tells. It happens to be true. One night, inCastarona, by the Yellow Sea—
But the trouble did not start in Khaljean's. There are some who say itdid not finish there....
Austerity had finally caught up with Venus. Pao Chung's subcellarfungweed hell in the native quarter of old Castarona was ordered toclose every night at midnight (Venus time)—or else. Being a Venusianbusiness man, a very rugged individualist, and a type Q mutant, PaoChung preferred to chance the "or else."
Among interesting people netted in the raid were:
Pao Chung, himself. Bland and over-civilized, he had grown rich fromtraffic in illegal drugs and the outlawed mechanical hypnotizers.Despite pointed ears and a gnome-like expression of detached malice,he appeared to be reasonably human, even in his devotion to viceas a means of livelihood. Anything illegal and profitable was hisvocation; his hobbies ranged from innocent blackmail to murder for fun.Recent extension of his operations from slave trading into politicalcorruption had incensed even the grafting officials of Castarona. Theywaited only an opportunity to catch him off-balance. Hence the raid.
Bat Ferris, spaceman, wanted on an open charge warrant sworn out bySolar Surveys, Inc.,—and wanted preferably alive and in condition toanswer questions. Ferris had learned long ago not to give his rightname, but an alias is poor disguise if one's brain w