"Midges?"
"They're the little people of Venus. They serve. They believe that all Earth men are gods, or something." Jim shrugged. "Don't ask me. We'll find out soon enough."
The Midge! I remembered that little bronze man-figure which had peered at us.
"And Venta?" I prompted.
"Her father—No, I guess it's her grandfather—he's a leader on Venus. Religious leader, or something. He and some others have escaped to a Forest City. Curtmann had Venta. Venta says he's just trying to make her love him—make her see how wonderful he is. Curtmann, the Man of Destiny—I can't wait to meet him!"
He had taken Venta on one of his forays to Earth, and she had escaped from him. "An' they got us along with her," Jim finished wryly. "Damned lucky we didn't get killed. We will yet, most probably."
A little rasp here in the darkness made us turn. A doorslide had opened; a man's heavy-featured face scowled in at us.
"At last you have recovered," he said to me. His voice was the heavy, guttural timber of a mid-European. He was a villainous-looking fellow, his slack-jowled face bluish with a week's growth of beard.
"Yes," I said. "Fortunately for me. Are you Curtmann?"
"He's Frantz," Jim put in. "He's been feeding me."