by Various
The historian threw himself into a chair and glared at Rod. "If you couldn't find the kind of people you needed to test, you could have asked a historian if he knew anything about them!"
Rod shook his head puzzledly. "Subjective data, such as that--"
"Don't bring subjectivity into this, damn it! We get enough of that from physical scientists." Jaimie held himself in the chair, almost shaking with the intensity of his feeling. "Look, Rod, you know I want to see the project succeed. And you admit that you haven't got an answer. Well, baby, I think I have! It's an idea that has about a fifty-fifty chance of being right in this case ... would you be willing to try it?"
"If I had been betting on your side for the last few months, I'd be several dollars richer," Rod smiled. "Yes, I think I might go along with your idea, if you can convince me it has an even chance for success. Three failures out of three tries makes for poorer odds than that. What do you have in mind?"
"H'm," Jaimie said. "I imagine your stock isn't so high with old scabbard and blade right now, is it?"
Rod laughed. "I don't think he'll shoot on sight, but I'm not positive enough to stand in front of a lighted window."
"Well, then--if I had an idea you agreed with, the surest way to kill it would be to have you present it to him, right? And if you fight it, that's sure to convince Carlson!" Jaimie thought hard for a moment, tapping the chair-arm. "Rod, I have to do something you aren't going to like. Do you trust me?"
"You mean you're going to try this without even discussing it with the personnel group?"
"That's right. If I don't tell you what I'm doing, I know you'll fight it. And I'll need that kind of help from you to push Carlson into doing it.
"But I have to do something far worse than that, Rod. I'm going to tell the general that you knew my plan from the start, and have been sitting on it because I'm not a psychologist. I'm going to ruin your reputation with the worst set of lies since the Red purges. I'll say you're fighting me, because you can't accept an idea that came from a man outside of your own group. If the scheme doesn't work you'll be ruined, because there'll be no way to retract the lies. If it does work, we can announce that we put on an act to sell the plan to Carlson. Can you take it?"
Rod was thoughtful for a few minutes. He liked and trusted Jaimie, but the man had no experience in this field--and this sounded like an all-or-nothing shot.
Then he remembered his despair over the latest set of resignations. He'd been ready to quit--he had nothing to offer, and neither did his men. Even a wild idea was worth a try, he thought grimly--he would be risking nothing but a plan that had already failed.
"Go to it, boy," he said. "And if you need a fight, you'll get a damn good one."
* * * * *
The fight with Carlson was short, and Rod was abruptly overruled. After that Jaimie moved fast. The new colonists flocked in. Three months after Rod's talk with him, the compounds started to fill. A shipload was a hundred men, and each new man had to wait in a group until it was filled. But there was no waiting now except for processing; the compounds were full before the ships were ready.
Rod had paid no attention to Jaimie's recruiting methods, thinking that the historian's idea differed mainly in control over the colonists.
Until he saw the crowds.
Even from a distance, they didn't have the young look of the previous groups. Up close, they looked like the sweepings of the slums.
He and Biddington talked to a few before they fully realized what Jaimie had done. All the men were sure that Venus was a mineral paradise--gold in the streams, uranium lodes so pure you had to wear a shield to get near them, diamonds, silver--every treasure that had ever excited men on Earth was scattered around the new world waiting to be picked up. That was what Jaimie had told them.
Rod got to a phone, fast.
"Jaimie, you fool! I know what you're doing, and I won't put up with it! You've told these dupes they can get rich on Venus! You intended to attract large numbers of recruits, in the hope that some of them will be what we need--but look at what you attracted! Crooks, gangsters, bums, hoboes, sharecroppers and I don't know what. You got recruits all right ... but what the hell kind of a society are you going to start with them! And who will go and live there among them later?"
"What's the matter, Workham?" Jaimie asked coldly. "Are you a racial purist? Want only your kind of people to get to Venus?"
"I don't care who goes, as long as they fit some standards. But to make a decent place, you need decent people--morally clean and healthy. Not this collection of mental cripples, alcoholics and thieves. Probably half of them are wanted men!"
He argued further, unable to believe that this was Jaimison's great fifty-fifty chance. He said many things ... and regretted every one; for that night the telecasts carried a recorded version of his outburst. Jaimie had maneuvered him into saying things he didn't quite mean, so that it looked as if he was trying to hide the all good things on Venus and save them for his own friends. One commentator said outright that if you weren't a college graduate recommended by one of Workham's friends, it would cost you a thousand dollars to get on an outgoing ship. By the next morning, half the papers in the world were after Workham's scalp.
* * * * *
Rod could only take the abuse and grind his teeth. How did you fight a thing like that? You were condemned if you kept silent, and if you answered, people nodded their heads and said, "See--he's still trying to deny it."
The failures from the old colonies were Rod's only allies. They tried to tell people what Venus was like, and what lies Carlson and his stooge Jaimison were using for bait. But it was pointed out that these men naturally had a stake in the secret ... and, after all, everyone knew how well off the returning colonists were! This was actually due to the high premium paid to get men to go to the planet, but no one believed.
Days passed. Weeks. The compounds filled, and emptied, and filled again. People stood in lines to apply. They walked miles to appear at a recruiting center. They fought for a place on the next ship, or the one after that. Farmers, clerks, ragged families, hoboes, armed men, teen-age boys and old men. Four thousand people applied in the first few months and were shipped out. Then the crowds thinned, even though the Get Rich propaganda continued. Soon, only a few hundred appeared where there had been thousands; then twos and threes; at last only a dozen or so a day, many of whom changed their minds before the full shipload had been assembled.
Rod clung to his job throughout. He had little to do, though his department had never been formally discontinued. Sooner or later, he knew, their services would be needed--when this cheap trick had failed. So he and his staff remained. Studying old files, making up test batteries, discussing survival factors, they readied themselves for the project again. From time to time they interviewed and tested a few of those waiting in the compounds. There was too much time to just sit around--even this activity was a welcome diversion.
As the year passed, the number of prospective colonists stopped decreasing and held steady at about five a day. But slowly something else changed. Among the new arrivals there began to appear engineers who had tossed up good jobs to emigrate, farmers with their families, school-teachers, storekeepers, lawyers, even doctors. All of them young. Not in any great number; but their appearance was a surprise still. Then there came two former colonists who had resigned on one of the earlier attempts, now trying to get back to Venus without inducement of bonus, high pay or guaranteed return.
That was the day Rod decided to call on Jaimie.
* * * * *
"I have here a bottle of eight-year-old rye, Jaimie," he began. "I think you're entitled to a drink, and I'm entitled to an explanation. Want to swap?"
"Rod!" Jaimie's bony face lit up. "It's good to see you. I've been afraid to call you until we could admit to the hoax. Come in, come in."
"Well, you did it," Rod said, after they had settled down. "I met two former colonists in the compound today. They know there isn't gold on Ven
us, and still they want to go out for free. No contract. And lately we've been getting professional people. There was even a kid fresh out of journalism school who wants to start up a paper. Jaimie, how did you do it? Were we so far wrong as that?"
"You did it yourself, Rod. You told me how--but you wouldn't have believed, then. Or if you had, we never would have sold it to Carlson. Remember, you said if there were only a recent pioneer civilization around, you'd run to them with ink-blots and vocabulary tests? All you needed to do was duplicate the kind of person who settled America or Australia or California.
"Well, as a historian I knew those people. And I knew what brought them. So I merely put out the same kind of bait."
"The same kind of bait!" Rod exclaimed. "What about freedom of religion and freedom from oppression? Isn't that what brought people to this country? There's no oppression to flee from these days! And even if it was the same bait, why weren't the same kind of people attracted? You saw that first compound full--where in that cesspool was Thomas Paine, or Franklin, or Miles Standish?"
"Franklin was born here," Jaimie grinned. "Paine didn't come over in the first wave. And I suppose General Carlson was Miles Standish. Maybe that kid journalist you saw was Paine's counterpart. No, Rod--the bait I held out attracted the same kind of people initially as it always has. You have been compromising all along on the factors you really wanted in order to get young, healthy, moral people to Venus. The answer is simply this: Pioneers are not necessarily young, healthy, or moral. So you didn't get what you wanted.
"You see, America wasn't only founded by pilgrims. They were actually a minority here. We were settled by promoters, trappers, bonded servants, exiled British deportees, pickpockets and thieves. We were explored by French and Spanish pirates. The better element in Europe didn't come here at first--why should they? It was dangerous. Pioneering was to the advantage of the worst elements. They came by court order, out of necessity, for adventure. They came for gold more than for freedom; for a new chance more than for a new religion.
"Australia was set up as a penal colony. Others went there for gold, or to start over where they weren't known. That's the kind of person who settles a new land--the misfits: too impulsive, drunkards, weaklings, convicts, and fugitives from justice. Too sick in mind and body to make a go of it where they are.
"So we announced that there was a brand new world with a new chance for everyone on it. We implied that there was wealth. We told them everything about Venus that brought the English to America, the Spanish to South America, the Easterners to the West, and the Middlewesterners to California. We didn't hunt for pioneers. They came to us."
* * * * *
Rod refilled his glass thoughtfully. "But what kind of a society will men like that create? A fighting, lawless structure...."
"That's right. And the lawless will eliminate themselves by their very activities. Like the early West. While the doctors come in to treat wounds, and the lawyers to plead their cases; while their wives and the other wives will start schools and bring in school-teachers. That society will purge itself, Rod--many of the worst will become good citizens out of meeting the challenge of a new planet, and the rest will disappear."
"Well, then, what about the gold story?" Rod asked. "Won't they be angry with everyone connected with the project because of the hoax?"
"That was a little raw, but no worse than other gold rushes--few of the stampeders ever found the gold they went after. The captain of one of the rockets told me that the first few months the colonists were trying to stow away on the returning ships. Now they send messages to friends and relatives to come before the opportunity is gone--that's why you've seen this better element. Our lies will soon be forgotten, and crops and foods and minerals will be coming from Venus, and better people will go to meet the diminished challenge on our brave new world."
Rod stood up. "Well, my compliments for a job well done, Jaimie. When do you expect to go and live there yourself? You'll have to soon, won't you, to complete the Project Record in residence?"
Jaimie nodded. "About six months from now, I think. Why?"
"Good," Rod exclaimed. "We can all go together."
"What are you planning to do? Volunteer?"
"The whole personnel staff will be going. Here's just what we need--a young pioneer society! We can get adequate data for future selection, a better idea of what kind of person a colony needs at different stages of growth." Rod grinned. "After all, your method was pretty sloppy, even if it did work. And you sent far too many wrong people. Once we have some good data ... anything you can do, we can do better!"
* * *
Contents
CUBE ROOT OF CONQUEST
By Rog Phillips
What actual result is there in the act of conquest? What is its cube root?]
Jan ran tirelessly, his long clean limbs carrying him at express train speed across the uneven terrain. The small deer was beginning to show evidences of tiring. Its foam-flecked mouth was open, the swollen tongue protruding over the teeth. The ten or more miles of the chase had proven Jan's superior strength.
The deer rounded a dense patch of blackberry bushes and bounded out of sight over the crest of the hill. To Jan's keen eye it seemed that the deer stumbled at the instant of vanishing from view. Eagerly he put on a burst of speed to catch up and make the kill.
The scene that burst into view brought amazement into his clear blue eyes. The deer had stumbled, but caught itself, and was bounding down the gentle slope. Jan thrust curiosity away and concentrated on regaining the ground lost. His naked feet touched the turf with pile driver force every ten feet. The muscles under the tanned skin of his legs worked with smooth effort.
The deer was headed directly toward a glistening square spot just ahead. It was in mid stride when it reached it, its front legs doubled, ready to straighten and touch the ground at the right instant, its hind legs stretched out behind.
In that position it sailed over the glistening square that was set flush into the ground, and--vanished.
It vanished about like it might vanish around a tree. Its head and antlers went first, followed by the rest of it. One hoof seemed to hesitate, hanging in the air by itself. Then it was gone.
Jan turned desperately to avoid the spot and brought himself to a halt a few feet beyond. The hair on the back of his neck felt prickly with fear of the unknown. He returned cautiously to inspect the mysterious, glistening square slab.
It was no more than four feet across each way. There was no way of telling what its surface was like. About where its surface might be was a soft carpet of glistening, cool force that seemed neither solid nor fluid. It was something like the surface of a glowing ember in a dying fire, smoothed out flat and spread with uniformity over an area of sixteen square feet.
Jan's eyes pulled away from this fascinating thing and turned to survey what had first caused him to break his pace in surprise. A short distance away a skeleton of twisted and sheered off steel girders hinted at what had once been a bridge across a deep gash in the rolling terrain. On the other side was what had once been a huge city of sky-scrapers, though Jan had never heard of such a thing and did not know that that was what it had been.
With a frown of uneasiness he dismissed the ruins of the city and the bridge and turned to the mysteriously glowing square once more. The deer had vanished over it. Therefore it must have something to do with the vanishing of the deer. Since he had chased the deer so far, it would be foolish to turn away without investigating. The deer might still be there somewhere.
Jan's face lit up with an idea. He looked around until he spied a rock about as big as a fist. He came back with it and stood thoughtfully near the edge of the mysterious square. Then he tossed it with just enough force to carry it across. When it reached a point above the edge of the square it vanished. Jan waited, but it didn't land on the other side. It had simply ceased to exist!
Jan looked thoughtful for a moment. He turned and went back to the patch of blackber
ry bushes. Taking his long slim blade from its deerskin scabbard he cut a long, tough stick, trimming the younger shoots away. With this he returned to the calmly glistening, mysterious slab.
Ready to drop his hold on the stick at the first sign of the unusual, he thrust it part way into the area where things vanished. The end of the stick disappeared. There was no sign of any force creeping along the stick to his hand. He waited, reassuring himself. Then he stuck the stick in a little farther and it vanished a little farther along toward his hand.
He held it that way, his nostrils flaring with tenseness. Then slowly he drew the stick back. The vanished part of it returned to sight. It came out and was not changed in the least.
He sniffed at it. It smelled no different than it should. He felt of it carefully. It felt normal.
Reassured, he thrust it into the area of vanishment again. He pulled it out again. It delighted him to watch it vanish and reappear. He laughed gleefully. The deer was forgotten in the excitement of this strange game in the shadow of the crumbling bridge.
Suddenly the vanished end of the stick jerked in his hand. In spontaneous alarm he pulled toward him. The stick came unwillingly. Something held it.
* * * * *
Terrified, Jan dug his heels in the turf and pulled. Slowly inch by inch, the stick reappeared. But with it appeared a fat, pale hand, followed by a sleeved arm.
Jan slapped at the hand and pulled harder. The hand hung on grimly. Another hand appeared, gripping the slowly emerging arm. It fingered its way up the sleeve until it too gripped the stick.
Jan let go and sprang back several feet. He hesitated, ready to flee.
When he let go of the stick the hands dropped to the ground. The fat fingers dug into the sod and hung on. A bloated face came into sight and drew back into nothing once more.
