Venus on the Half-Shell by Philip José Farmer Read Free Book Online Page A

way was salvation. But how to get there?
    When dusk came, with no land in sight, he prepared despondently for bed. He heaved Merneptah out into the several inches of water on the floor and stretched out on the coffin. When he awoke with the sun in his eyes, he was even weaker and hungrier. He wasn’t thirsty, since the sea water was diluted enough with rain to be potable. But water has no calories.
    He looked over the side of the coffin. The Pharaoh was a mess. Anubis had chewed him up, leathery skin, bone, and all. But the Pharaoh, that inveterate traveler, had made another passage. Anubis lay in the corner, sopping wet and sick. Simon felt sorry for him but could do nothing for him. As it was, he had to stick his head over the edge of the case to keep from dying of the stench before he died of starvation.
    A few hours later, while he was thinking of voluntarily dying by drowning, he saw something to the northwest. As the day passed, this slowly became larger. Just as the sun slid into the waters, he saw that it was not, as he had hoped, land. It was a submarine or something that looked like a submarine. But it was too far away for him to hope to swim to it.
    Dawn found him awake, looking northwest, hoping that the sub had not gone away during the night. No. It had drifted on the same collision course during the night. And it was close enough so he could see that it was a spaceship, not a submarine. On its side were two big Chinese ideograms and underneath them, in Roman letters: Hwang Ho. Since it wasn’t proceeding under power, it must be crewless. It had been sitting on some spaceport field somewhere, and when the rains came, its crew hadn’t been able to take refuge in it. They had probably drowned while roistering in the tavern or in bed with a friend or friends.
    Its ports were closed, but it was no problem to open one. There’d be a plate by the port which only had to be depressed to make the port open.
    More hours passed. By then Simon saw that the case was not going to bump into the ship. He shoved the heavy wooden coffin to the wall of the case, causing it to tilt and to ship water. Simon’s weight made it lean even more, and Simon went into the sea. Anubis didn’t want to leave the case, but he had no choice. Simon swam to the nearest port and pushed in on the plate. The port sank back and then swung aside. He put the banjo case inside, reached up, grabbed the threshold, and pulled himself in. After hoisting Anubis inside, he stood up shakily and watched the swirl which marked the sinking of the case until the surface was smooth again.
    “Just think,” Simon said to Anubis. “If old Merneptah had really been drowned in the Red Sea, and his body had been lost, there would have been no case for him in the museum, and you and I would have drowned several days ago. Kind of makes you wonder if it was destined or we’re just lucky, doesn’t it?”
    Simon thought a lot about predeterminism and free will.
    Anubis thought mainly about food, unless it was mating season, and so he didn’t even wait for Simon to quit talking. He trotted into the ship, and Simon’s belly, which also could not digest philosophy, urged him to follow the dog. He explored the ship, finding it empty of life, as he’d expected. But it was well stocked with food and drink, and that was all he cared about for the moment. Since he didn’t want to throw up, he forced himself to eat lightly. Anubis resented being fed small portions, but there wasn’t much he could do about it except look reproachful.
    “More later,” Simon said. “Much more. And it sure beats eating dried-up old Pharaoh, doesn’t it?”
    His next step was to search through the lockers and find clothes that fitted him. Once more, he was clad in a baggy gray sweatshirt, black tight-fitting Levis, and sandals.
    When he returned to the room by the still open port the owl was sitting on the back of a chair.
    “Who?” it said.
    “Not who? Why?” Simon replied.
    The