The German Zeppelin Rheingold
Somewhere Over the Venusian Jungle South of Karlstadt
Joseph Lewis Sheridan was a sturdy man; his broad shoulders strained against the linen of his jacket, and his heavily muscled thighs were as big around as some men’s waists. His eyes were as dark brown as his hair, and his thick stubby fingers were permanently stained with ink. He leaned over and put his eye to the telescope mounted on the foredeck of the Rheingold. He wasn’t quite sure what he was looking at, as it seemed there was nothing below but endless miles of greenery. He had been on Venus for nearly two months, and he had still not got used to the climate, the creatures and the colonists.
Of the three, he considered the colonists by far the worst. He’d spent the first six weeks in the English colonies, touring, examining, questioning, writing up brief reports to heliograph back to his ostensible employers at the New York Tribune, taking more extensive and detailed notes for his actual employer: the Secret Service of the United States of America.
The United States had a couple of small colonies on Mars, and were branching out into a bit of mining in the Asteroid Belt; they also had cast what many citizens considered, and did not mind voicing concerns at the cost involved, a greedy eye towards Ganymede and Io in the Jovian system. But thus far, the United States had no colony on Venus, and the newly elected President Benjamin Harrison wanted that to change. Soon.
Thus, Sheridan’s trip to Venus, ostensibly as a newspaper reporter whose task was to send back descriptions to his countrymen, was in reality to see exactly how strong the three main colonial powers were, and precisely where the best places to set up potential American colonies might be. For, since the horrible business of the War Between the States, the northern part of the country had grown enormously. Industry, fuelled by the influx of immigrants from Europe and the East, was always looking for new ways to make money. Venus was not only an untapped market for American goods, but vast parts of it were undeveloped and unsettled.
So far, he had toured the major British forts on the Victoria plateau, a vast upland plain north of the equator. He had visited the thriving North Pole settlements set up by Italy; though small, they had the best climate he’d experienced thus far. While hardly cool, the temperature had actually been measured at a bracing seventy-five Fahrenheit on the occasional night. Now Sheridan was a guest of the German High Command on Venus. It was a pleasure to ride majestically over the dense swamplands below instead of slogging through them, but he couldn’t help but suspect the intent behind the German kindness.
Why were they keeping him so far above the majority of their settlements? What were they hiding? And how was he going to find out the truth, if he had to spend all his time floating around in an, admittedly, quite luxurious stateroom instead of getting his feet on the ground?
Sheridan stepped back from the telescope and gave it a spin; the shiny brass casing glittered from constant polishing, but he could already see a bloom of dampness on it from the constant wetness.
“I trust you are enjoying your journey, Mister Sheridan?” asked a voice behind him.
Sheridan turned. Damn these Germans! They wore the biggest, shiniest boots he’d ever seen, and yet crept about as silently as if they were barefoot.
“I am indeed, Colonel Kurt.” Sheridan beamed a smile so wide it hurt his mouth. “What a magnificent airship.”
Oberst Kurt snapped his heels together. “We prefer to call it a zeppelin, after its inventor, the German genius Count Ferdinand von Zeppelin. No doubt your own county has many airships? I understand your industry is burgeoning since that rather unfortunate split in your ranks?”
“The Civil War was indeed unfortunate,” Sheridan said, gritting his teeth to keep from spitting. Damn the man, with his starched uniform and ice blue eyes! “But that was some time ago, and we of the United States of America have tried very hard to leave the pain, if not the memories, behind us. As, I am sure your own country has done since,” Sheridan cast his eyes skyward in a show of innocence, “that rather unpleasant Franco-Prussian affair.”
Kurt gave a knife-like smile and a dismissive wave of his hand. “Nearly twenty years ago, Mister Sheridan. The new united German Confederacy looks to the future, not to the past. As, I am sure, your own relatively new country does. No doubt the acquisition of your colonies on Mars and your mining concerns in das Asteroidengürtel have offered your country much. Have you visited the Asteroid Belt mines in your journeys?”
Sheridan raised an eyebrow. This is one clever German, he thought in grudging admiration. “Not yet, though perhaps my paper will send me there next.” He turned and strolled across the deck to lean over the high railing.
Kurt joined him, though he did nothing so decadent as leaning, but stood straight as a ramrod beside the American.
“You learned a great deal about the British colonies, I am sure…and the Italian settlements in the north, no doubt.”
It wasn’t quite a question, but Sheridan decided to treat it as if it had been. He wasn’t sure where the German colonel was going with this, but Sheridan had always been insatiably curious; one of the many reasons he had landed up in the Secret Service after over a dozen years of wandering from place to place and job to job.
“I enjoyed seeing what they’ve accomplished, yes.” Sheridan took out his cigar case and offered it to Kurt, who shook his head. “The Italians are limited in their growth, I’m afraid. They settled the far north and don’t have the knowledge or equipment or experience yet to move further south. The British, on the other hand, took over quite the best spot on the planet, as far as I can see.”
Sheridan watched the colonel’s face from the corner of his eye, though he seemed to be entirely engrossed in rolling his cigar between his palms.
“It is interesting that you would think so, Mister Sheridan.” Kurt’s voice sounded tight, as if he was having trouble keeping it under control. “There are other plateaus on the planet, after all, but that is hardly the point. We Germans are not as delicate and effete as the British. We have taken on the challenge of the lowlands, and we have conquered, to the everlasting glory of our beloved Kaiser.”
Sheridan lit his cigar. “The challenge of the lowlands. That’s an excellent phrase; may I use it in my dispatches? I certainly will credit it to you.”
Kurt nodded. “You may have free use of it, Mister Sheridan, with my compliments. Anything which shines a light upon the excellence of Germany is ever at your service.”
Sheridan puffed thoughtfully as he eyed his host. “And anything which does not add to the glory of Germany is hidden away, I assume?”
Kurt looked down at the stocky American. “We are not the British, sir. We conduct all our business in the clear light of day. We do not hide things away, keep the knowledge of…certain actions from our friends. And enemies.”
“You are needlessly obscure, sir.” Sheridan’s dark eyes squinted to keep the smoke out. “Are you suggesting the British colonials have something to hide? You interest me indeed. Tell me more.”
Kurt turned to look out over the vast greenery below. “Look down there, sir,” he said, motioning with one hand. “Do you see the many villages belonging to the lizard-men of this planet?”
Sheridan looked below. The Rheingold was at that moment deep within the German territories, and he could see, in clearings here and there, many small villages. “I see them.”
“How many native villages did you see in the British territory?” Kurt asked. No doubt he hoped the American could not see that he was holding his breath in suspense, but to Sheridan it was more than obvious.
Sheridan’s dark eyes widened. “Well, now that you mention it, not many, not many at all.”
“And yet you see them scattered all about our own territories, do you not?” Kurt said, releasing his breath in a sigh.
“What’s your point?”
Kurt smiled at his shorter guest. “We Germans respect the lizard-men of Venus. We give them honest employment, we trade with them, we train them for honest labour, we study their culture. The British use them as little more than slaves. I am sure, when you spent time on the plateau, you saw many lizard-men used as servants, to pull the carriages, to plough the fields. You will not see such things in German colonies.”
Sheridan nodded enthusiastically. “You know, you’re correct. The Victoria plateau had really very few lizard-men villages. And I did see lizard-men pulling small carriages.” He puffed on his cigar to hide his smile. Did this German think him an idiot? Did the colonel truly believe he’d come to Venus without doing any reading or study of the place at all?
Of course there were few native villages on the plateau. The lizard-men lived in the lowlands; only a few were able to survive comfortably in the relatively cooler—very relatively, he thought wryly—higher regions. The few who did live on the plateau had been, in his consideration, gainfully employed and appeared quite content. Unlike, for instance, the few he’d been allowed to actually come in contact with in the German colonies thus far.
Sheridan wanted to know, more than anything, exactly where Kurt might be going with this.
“I’ll certainly put that in my next dispatch to New York,” he said. “My countrymen, as you know, do not take kindly to even the hint of slavery. The thought of these poor natives,” he waved his hand to take in two small villages they were at that moment flying over, “being enslaved by the British will not go well at home, I can tell you.”