Não há muito a ser feito aqui; essencialmente, é apenas "o homem anda na superfície de Júpiter". Sem dúvida, há algumas histórias de "botas em Júpiter". Este é talvez mais proeminente do que a maioria, porque foi antologizado, e porque o autor era um escritor proeminente de ficção científica e horror:
"Tempestade Vermelha em Júpiter" , um conto de 1936 de Frank Belknap Long , sobre exploradores de rádio e homens da lei em Júpiter; publicado originalmente em Astounding Stories , maio de 1936 , disponível em o Arquivo da Internet ; reimpresso na antologia de 1950 Voo para o Espaço editado por Donald A. Wollheim .
Enormous atmosphere transports had carried them to radium-rich veins under the red heavens, and intrepid Earthmen—dredgers and miners—had operated them in ghastly loneliness of spirit in a world where human beings moved with the slowness of exhaustion, incased in protective suits that weighed two hundred pounds, and wearing upon their feet immense shoes that mushroomed on the surface that was neither liquid nor solid, but an amalgam alien to Earth.
Miners and dredgers. Both terms were in a sense misnomers. The sluggish, heavy tides of the Jeel's crust solidified in spots to a consistency that merited the adjective "solid," and it was in such curdled areas that the radium deposits clustered like glowworms about a central matrix whose every pulse was worth a fortune in gold and diamonds.
[. . . .]
He had been dredging continuously for three hours. In a non-conductive belt which encircled his massive oxygen suit the garnering of his day's toil emitted radioactive emanations capable of destroying life on all of the Jovian outposts, actinic rays more deadly than the most lethal salts and corrosive acids. On Earth radium was the rarest of known elements and had to be patiently isolated from uranium residues. But on Jupiter radium existed in a free state in the turgid, semiliquid crust area.
Harnden's nerves shrieked warnings, protested that it was time to quit. The brief, ten-hour Jovian day was drawing to a close amidst such a plethora of brightness that it seemed to be just beginning. Harnden turned slowly about on his huge flattened shoes, and moved toward the little atmosphere transport which floated in the shadow of the Foam Station a few feet from where he was standing.
The turgid substance beneath him was unimaginably queer. The immense surfaces of Harnden's shoes plopped across it, sinking through the spreading scum from the sprayer, but making only slight depressions, which immediately filled, in the basic substance of the Jeel. By ultimate analysis, it was perhaps more solid than liquid. But it was sufficiently liquid to rear into huge waves, cones and pinnacles of seething menace when the sprayer ceased to function.