Erd Neff wanted as little to do with his fellow men as possible. So he lived alone in his big cash-vault. Alone, except for John . . . .
Elvin wasn’t sure how it had started—maybe it was the Schermerhorn twins—or the mysterious “meteorite”—or else the world had gone crazy . . . .
Venus was the most miserable planet in the system, peopled by miserable excuses for human beings. And somewhere among this conglomeration of boiling protoplasm there was a being unlike the others, a being who walked and talked like the others but who was different—and afraid the difference would be discovered. You’ll remember this short story.
New neighbors are always exciting. But the anachronistic MacDonalds offered a bit too much.
From where had these attacking Indians come? Out of a long forgotten and dim past? Had their medicine man seen the one supreme vision?
Most men of middle age would welcome a chance to live their lives a second time. But Coulter did not.
It didn’t matter that he had quit. He was still one of the guilty. He had seen it in her eyes and in the eyes of others.
A world had collapsed around this man—a world that would never shout his praises again. The burned-out cities were still and dead, the twisted bodies and twisted souls giving him their last salute in death. And now he was alone, alone surrounded by memories, alone and waiting . . .
The secret lay hidden at the end of nine landings, and Medusa-dark was one man’s search for it—in the strangest journey ever made.