The Third Little Green Man

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He was unnecessary. The first two had already convinced Shoemaker there was only one cure for his condition-and that was to get the hell away from space-ships and onto a nice red wagon.

Shoemaker sat in the open sallyport of the ship and looked gloomily at a pale blue-green seascape, parted down the middle by a ghostly shoreline. The sea was a little greener, and the land was a little bluer; otherwise there was no difference to the eye. Once in a while a tiny breeze came in from the sea, and then the stink changed from sulphur to fish.

Venus, he decided, was a pest-hole. If he’d known it would be like this, he would have socked old Davies in the eye when he came to him with his damned plans.

And then he’d have got roaring drunk to celebrate his escape.

Drunk … Boy, he’d been squiffed last night! And every night, except one horrible period when they’d found his cache and it had been three days before he could shut off the engines and make more. Thinking of that, he shuddered. Better get started early tonight; no telling when the others would be back.

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