A Tenderfoot in Space

by Robert A. Heinlein

  There were only eight months in the year, exactly four weeks in each month, and an occasional odd '~.Year Day" to even things off. Worse still, the time of year didn't mean anything; there were no seasons, just one endless hot, damp summer. It was always the same time of-day, always the same time of year; only clock and calendar kept it from being the land that time forgot. Charlie never quite got used to it.

  If Nixie found the timelessness of Venus strange he never mentioned it. On Earth he had slept at night simply because Charlie did so, and, as for seasons, he had never cared much for winter anyhow. He enjoyed getting back into the Scouts even more than Charlie had, because he was welcome at every meeting. Some of the Scouts born on Earth had once had dogs; now none of them had -- and Nixie was at once mascot of the troop. He was petted almost to exhaustion the first time Charlie brought him to a meeting, until Mr. Qu'an pointed out that the dog had to have some peace...then squatted down and petted Nixie himself. "Nixie," he said musingly, "a nixie is a water sprite, isn't it?"

  "Uh, I believe it does mean that," Charlie admitted, "but that isn't -- how he got his name."

  "So?"

  "Well, I was going to name him 'Champ,' but when he was a puppy I had to say 'Nix' to so many things he did that he got to thinking it was his name -- and then it was."

  "Mmm...more logical than most names. And even the classical meaning is appropriate in a wet place like this. What's this on his collar? I see...you've decorated him with your old tenderfoot badge."

  "No, sir," Charlie corrected. "That's his badge."

  "Eh?"

  "Nixie is a Scout, too. The fellows in my troop back Earthside voted him into the troop. They gave him that. So Nixie is a Scout."

  Mr. Qu'an raised his eyebrows and smiled. One of the boys said, "That's about the craziest yet. A dog can't be a Scout."

  Charlie had doubts himself; nevertheless he was about to answer indignantly when the Scoutmaster cut smoothly in front of him. "What leads you to say that, Al!?"

  "Huh? Well, gosh! It's not according to Scout regulations."

  "It isn~t? I admit it is a new idea, but I can't recall what rule it breaks. Who brought a Handbook tonight?" The Scribe supplied one; Mr. Qu'an passed it over to Alf Rheinhardt. "Dig in, AIf. Find the rule."

  Charlie diffidently produced Nixie's letter of transfer. He had brought it, but had not given it to the Scribe. Mr. Qu'an read it, nodded and said, "Looks okay." He passed the letter along to others and said, "Well, Al!?"

  "In the first place, it says here that you have to be twelve years old to join -- Earth years, that is, 'cause that's where the Handbook was printed. Is that dog that old? I doubt it."

  Mr. Qu'an shook his head. "If I were sitting on a Court of Honor, I'd rule that the regulation did not apply. A dog grows up faster than a boy."

  "Well, if you insist on joking -- and Scouting is no joke to me -- that's the point: a dog can't be a Scout, because he's a dog."

  "Scouting is no joke to me either, Alf -- though I don't see any reason not to have fun as we go. But I wasn't joking. A candidate comes along with a letter of transfer, all regular and proper. Seems to me you should gc mighty slow before you refuse to respect an official act o~ another troop. All you've said is that Nixie is a dog. Well, didn't I see somewhere -- last month's Boys' L4fe~ I think -- that the Boy Scouts of Mars had asked one of the Martian chiefs to serve on their planetary Grand Council?"

  "But that's not the same thing!"

  "Nothing ever is. But if a Martian -- who is certainly not a human being -- can hold the highest office in Scouting, I can't see how Nixie is disqualified simply because he's a dog. Seems to me you'll have to show that he can't or won't do the things that a Tenderfoot Scout should do."

  "Uh..." Alf grinned knowingly. "Let's hear him explain the Scout Oath."

  Mr. Qu'an turned to Charlie. "Can Nixie speak English?"

  "What? Why, no, sir -- but he understands it pretty well."

  The Scoutmaster turned back to Aif. "Then the 'handicapped' rule applies, -- Alf -- we never insist that a Scout do something he can't do. If you were crippled or blind, we would change the rules to fit you. Nixie can't talk words...so if you want to quiz him about the Scout Oath, you'll have to bark. That's fair, isn't it, boys?"

  The shouts of approval didn't sit well with Alf. He answered sullenly, "Well, at least he has to follow the Scout Law -- every Scout has to do that."

  "Yes," agreed the Scoutmaster soberly. "The Scout Law is the essence of Scouting. If you don't obey it, you aren't a Scout, no matter how many merit badges you wear. Well, Charlie? Shall we examine Nixie in Scout Law?"

  Charlie bit his lip. He was sorry that he hadn't taken that badge off Nixie's collar. It was mighty nice that the fellows back home had voted Nixie into the troop...but with this smart Aleck trying to make something of it -- Why did there always have to be one in every troop who tried to take the fun Out of life?

  He answered reluctantly, "All right."

  "Give me the Handbook. Is Nixie trustworthy?"

  "Sure he is!"

  "How?"

  "Well...he doesn't get on furniture even if you're not watching him...and he won't touch food unless he's told to, and uh..."

  "I think that's enough. Is he loyal?"

  "He's loyal to me."

  "Mmm...good enough. Helpful?"

  "Uh, there isn't a whole lot he can do, I guess. He used to fetch newspapers in -- but he can't do that here. He'll fetch anything you ask him to, if he understands what it is.,,

  "Friendly' -- well, obviously. 'Courteous' -- we'll pass him on that, seeing what he has put up with tonight. Kind?"

  "He'll let a baby try to pull his tail off, or step on his face, and never snap or growl. Uh, he did used to be kind of rough on cats, but I taught him better."

  "Obedient?"

  "Want to see?" Charlie put him through hand signal orders, ending with standing at attention and saluting. The applause made Nixie tremble but he held it until Charlie signalled "At ease."

  "Take note of that, Alf," Mr. Qu'an said drily, "next time I have to speak to you twice. 'Cheerful' -- we can skip that; I'm sure his grin isn't faked. 'Thrifty' -- well, we can hardly expect him to have a savings account."

  "He buries bones."

  "Mmm, I suppose that's the canine equivalent. Brave?"

  "I think he is. I've seen him tackle a dog three times his size -- and chase it out of our yard, too, back home -- back Earthside."

  "Clean?"

  "Smell him. He had a bath just yesterday. And he's perfectly housebroken."

  "All that is left is 'Reverent' -- and I don't intend to tr to discuss that with him. I rule that Nixie is at least a reverent as the rapscallions I've heard cussing aroun4 here when they didn't think I was listening. How abou it, boys? Does he pass?"

  Nixie was voted into Troop Four in his tenderfoo status unanimously...Alfred Rheinhardt, Tenderfool abstaining.

  After the meeting the troop treasurer buttOnhole Charlie. "You want to pay your dues now, Chuck?"

  "Huh? Oh, yeah, sure -- I brought some money."

  "Good." The other Scout accepted payment. "Here'~ your receipt."

  "Just mark it down in your book."

  "Take it. No tickee, no washee. I'm nasty about it -- that's why they made me treasurer. Now about Nixi -- You pay? Or do I speak to him?"

  The other boy was not smiling and Charlie could noi decide whether or not he was joking. He decided to pla) it just as soberly. "I settle for Nixie. You see, he doesn't have pockets." He dug down in his diminishing resources, managed to piece out enough to pay the small amount for Nixie. "Here."

  "Thanks." The treasurer handed back a shilling. "Tenderfeet get by cheaper, under Troop by-laws. But every little bit helps. You know, when I took this job, the troop was in the hole. Now we got money in the bank."

  "I believe it!" Charlie agreed. He was secretly delighted at the transaction. Nixie was no longer an honorary Scout," he was a Scout -- he kept the Law and his due
s were paid.

  Nixie's eligibility to take part in all troop doings wa~ fbi questioned until the first hike thereafter. Mr. Qu'ar looked troubled when Charlie showed up with him. "You had better take Nixie home. We'll wait for you."

  Charlie was upset. "But, Mr. Qu'an, I thought -- Well, Nixie always goes on hikes."

  "No doubt, back Earthside. Charlie, I'm not being

  arbitrary. I don't want your dog to get hurt."

  "He won't get hurt! -- He's real smart."

  The Scoutmaster frowned. Hans Kuppenheimer spoke up. "I think Nixie could come along, Mr. Qu'an."

  "Eh?" -- The Scoutmaster looked at Hans thoughtfully.

  "You'll have your hands full with Chuck, since it's his first time out."

  Hans had a habit of saying nothing when he had nothing to say; -- he did so now. Mr. Qu'an persisted, "You'd have to look out for them both, you know."

  Hans still kept quiet. "Well," Mr. Qu'an said doubtfully, "Nixie is a member of the troop. If you can take care of him -- and Charlie, too -- I'll let him come."

  "Yes, sir."

  The -- Scoutmaster turned away. Charlie whispered, "Thanks, Hans. That was swell." Hans said nothing.

  Hans had surprised Charlie by his first reaction to Nixie the night Nixie had been taken into the troop. While other boys were clustering around making much of Nixie, Hans had stayed a wary distance away. Charlie had felt offended. Since he was assigned with Hans as a buddy team, Charlie decided to do something about it.

  After the meeting he sought out Hans. "Don't be in a hurry, Hans. I want you to get acquainted with Nixie."

  The country boy still avoided the dog. "Does it bite?"

  "Huh? Nixie? Of course not. Well, he would if you took a poke at me. -- Not otherwise."

  "I thought so. And suppose I gave you a friendly slap on -- the back. He could kill a man, huh?"

  Nixie had listened, tense and watchful. He could feel the fear in Hans' mind; he understood, without understanding why, that his boy was arguing with this other boy. Charlie did not seem in immediate danger, but Nixie stayed at yellow alert.

  It showed. The savage carnivores who were Nixie's remote ancestors showed in his stance and his watchful eyes. The Venus-born jungle rat, drilled since babyhoo~ to keep his eyes open for just such unknown dangers could see the carnivore -- and failed to see the gentle household pet. He watched the dog carefully.

  Charlie said, "Why, that's nonsense, Hans. Pat him Rough him up a bit. Shake hands with him. Let hin learn your smell." When Hans still did not move Charlie asked incredulously, "Don't you like dogs?"

  "I don't know. I've never seen one before, up close." Charlie's jaw dropped. But Hans had spoken thc simple truth. Some town boys in the troop, immigrant~ like Charlie, had once owned dogs Earthside. Others had friends among the handful of dogs in Borealis. But Hans alone, born on Venus and living outside town, knew so little of dogs that they were as strange to him as a tiger shark would have been.

  When Charlie finally got this incredible fact firmjyin his mind he persisted even more strongly inJiis -- ~fibrt to get his team buddy acquainted witJi-his~ther partner. Before Hans went home that nght he had touched the dog, patted him, even picked hith up and held him. Nixie could feel the fear go away, to be replaced by a sudden warm feeling. So Nixie snuffled Hans and licked his chin.

  Hans showed up the next day at Charlie's home. He wanted to see Nixie.

  In the two weeks that followed before the hike, Nixie adopted Hans as another member of Charlie's family. Subject always to his first loyalty, he accepted the other boy, took orders from him, even worked to hand signals, which he had never done with anyone but Charlie. At first he did it to please Charlie, but in time he was doing so because it was right and proper in his doggy mind, as long as it was all right with Charlie.

  The troop set out on the hike. Before they reacbed~ the jungle at the edge of town Hans said to Charlie, "Better have him heel."

  "Why? He likes to run around and poke his nose into things. But he always stays in earshot. He'll come if he's called."

  Hans scowled. "Suppose he can't? Maybe he goes into bush and doesn't come out. You want to lose him?"

  This was a long speech for Hans. Charlie looked surprised, then called, "Nixie! Heel!"

  The dog had been supervising the van; he turned and came at once to Charlie's left and rear. Hans relaxed, said, "Better," and placed himself so that the dog trotted between them.

  When the jungle loomed up over them, pierced here by a road, Mr. Qu'an held up his arm and called out, "Halt! Check watches." He held up his wrist and waited; everybody else did the same.

  Jock Quentin, an Explorer Scout equipped with twoway radio, spoke into his microphone, then said, "Stand by...oh nine eleven."

  "Anybody fail to check?" continued Mr. Qu'an. "All you with polarizers, establish base line."

  Hans took out an odd-looking pair of spectacles with double lenses which rotated and a sighting device which snapped out. "Try it."

  "Okay." Charlie accepted them gingerly. He did not yet own a light-polarizing sighter. "Why are we going to establish base line if we're going to stay on marked roads?"

  Hans did not answer and Charlie felt foolish, realizing that the time to lea~rn how not to get lost was before you got lost. He put on the polarizers and tried to establish base line.

  "Base line" was the prime meridian of Venus, the direction from Borealis of the Sun at noon. To find that direction it was necessary first to find the Sun itself (in a grey, thickly overcast sky), then, using a watch, figure where the Sun would be at noon.

  That direction would be south -- but all directions from Borealis were south; the city lay on the north pole of the planet. The mapmakers used Borealis as a zero point and the direction of the Sun at noon as a base line With the aid of transceivers, radar beacons, and radi compass, they were gradually establishing a grid o reference points for the few hundred square mile around Borealis. A similar project was going on at Souti Pole City. But the millions of square miles between pole were unknown country, more mysterious and incredibl3 vaster than any jungle on Earth. There -- was a sayin~ among the Scouts that streams at the equator were "hol enough to boil eggs," but nobody knew. As yet, no ship had landed near the equator and managed to come back.

  The difficulty of telling directions on Venus is very great. The stars are always invisible. Neither magnetic compasses nor gyro compasses were of any use at the poles. Nor is there moss on the north sides of trees, nor any shadows to read -- Venus is not only the land that time forgot; it is also the place of no directions.

  So the colonists were forced to establish new directions. From Borealis toward the Sun at noon was prime meridian, called "base line," and any direction parallel to that was "base." -- Back the other way was "reverse"; the two intermediate directions were "Left demi" and "right demi." By counting clockwise from "base," any other direction could be named.

  It was not a perfect system since it used square coordinates for a spherical surface. But it was better than nothing in a place where the old directions had turned slippery -- where all directions away from the city were "south" and where east and west, instead of being straight lines, were circular.

  At first, Charlie could not see why, if they were going to use four directions, they didn't call them "north," "south," "east" and "west," instead of ringing in these silly names, "base," "reverse," "right demi," and "left demi." It was not until he saw in school a map of the colony, with the old familiar directions, north, south, east, west, on it and a "base line" grid drawn on top of it that he realized that the problem was not that simple. To go east on that map you went counterclockwise on one of those little circles -- but how could you tell what direction "east" was unless you knew where you were? And how could you tell how much to curve left in order to keep going east? When compasses were no good and the Sun might be in any direction, north, south, east, or west, depending on which side of the city you were on?

  So he buckled down and lea
rned the new system.

  Charlie put on Hans' polarizing spectacles and looked around. He could see nothing. Light leaked around the guards of the spectacles and the glass in front of his eyes seemed opaque. He knew that he should be able to pick out the Sun, for he knew that the light from the sky, dispersed by the clouds of Venus, was polarized, made to wiggle up-and-down or sideways, instead of in all directions. He knew that these spectacles were supposed to blank out polarized light, let him see the Sun itself. But he could not see anything.

  He turned slowly, blind behind the spectacles.

  Hey, it was getting brighter! He swung his head back and forth, made sure he was not mistaken. "I got it!"

  "False sun," Hans announced dispassionately.

  "Huh?"

  "You're a hundred and eighty degrees out of phase," Mr. Qu'an's voice announced. "You're looking at the reflection of the Sun. Never mind, other people have made that mistake. But it's not a mistake you can afford to make even once out in the bush...so keep trying#"

  Charlie kept on turning -- darn it, these specs fit so tight that he couldn't even see his feet! There it was again! Was it false sun? Or the Sun itself? How far had he turned?

  He turned until he was dizzy, seeing brightness, then darkness, several times -- and realized that one brightness was brighter than that which it alternated. Finally he stopped. "I'm looking at the Sun," he announced firmly.

  "Okay," Hans admitted. "Jigger with it. Fine it down."

  Charlie found that he could fiddle with screw settings on the sides of the spectacles and thereby kill the brightness almost completely. He did so, while swinging his head back and forth like a radar, trying to spot the smallest gleam that he could. "That's the best I can do."

  "Hold still," Hans ordered. "Uncover your right eye. Mark me."