Astounding Science Fiction (UK Edition) — page 55: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE IRON STANDARD pay the initiation fee—a thousand sofals.”’ “Easy on those beans,” Underhill cautioned. ‘“We’ve only ten more cans.” There was silence. Presently Munn passed cigarettes. ‘“We’ve got to do something, that’s cer- tain,’ he said. “We can’t get food except from the Venusians, and they won't give it to us. One thing in our favor: the laws are so arbitrary that they can’t refuse to sell us grub—it’s illegal to refuse legal tender.” Mike Soaring Eagle glumly sorted his six mushrooms. “Yeah. Jf we can get our hands on legal tender. We’re broke—broke on Venus—and we’ll soon be starving to death. If anybody can figure out an answer to that one—” This was in 1964, three years after the first successful flight to Mars, five years since Dooley and Hastings had brought their ship down in Mare Imbrium. The Moon, of course, was uninhabited, save by active but unintelligent algae. The big- chested, alert Martians, with their high metabolism and _ their brilliant, erratic minds, had been friendly, and it was certain that the cultures of Mars and Earth would ‘not clash. As for Venus, till now, no ship had landed there. 7 The Goodwill was the ambassador. It was an experiment, like the earlier Martian voyage, for no one knew whether or not there was intelligent life on Venus. Supplies for more than a year were stowed aboard, dehydrates, plastibulbs, concentrates, and vitamin foods, but every man of the crew had a sneaking hunch that food would be found in plenty on Venus. There was food—yes. The Venusians grew it, in their hydroponic tanks under the cities. But on the surface of the planet grew nothing edible at all. There was little animal or bird life, so hunting was im- possible, even had the Earthmen been al- lowed to retain their weapons. And in the beginning it had seemed like a gala holi- day after the arduous space trip—a year- long fete and carnival in an alien, fasci- nating civilization. It was alien, all right. The Venusians were conservative. What was good enough for their remote ancestors was quite good enough for them. They didn’t want changes, it seemed. Their current set-up had worked O.K. for centuries; why alter it now? The Earthmen meant change—that was obvious. Result: a boycott of the Earthmen. Be It was all quite passive. The first month had brought no trouble; Captain Munn had been presented with the keys of the capital city, Vyring, on the outskirts of which the Goodwill now rested, and the Venusians brought food in plenty—odd but tasty dishes from the hydroponic gardens. In return, the Earthmen were lavish with their own stores, depleting them danger- ously. And the Venusian food spoiled quickly. There was no need to preserve it, for the hydroponic tanks turned out-a steady, un- failing supply. In the end the Earthmen were left with a few weeks’ stock of the food they had brought with them, and a vast pile of garbage that had been lusciously appetizing a few days before. Then the Venusians stopped bringing their quick-spoiling fruits, vegetables, and meat-mushrooms and clamped down. The party was ovér. They had no intention of harming the Earthmen; they remained carefully friendly. But from now on it was Pay as You’re Served—and no checks cashed. A big meat-mushroom, enough for four hungry men, cost ten fals. Since the Earthmen had no fals, they got no meat-mushrooms—nor anything else. In the beginning it hadn’t seemed im- portant. Not until they got down to cases and began to wonder exactly how they could get food. There was no way. So they sat in the Goodwill eating cold beans and looking like five of the Seven Dwarfs, a quintet of stocky, short, husky men, big-boned and muscular, especially chosen for their physiques to stand the rigors of space flight—and their brains, also specially chosen, couldn’t help them now. It was a simple problem—simple and primitive. They, the representatives of Earth’s mightiest culture, were hungry. They would soon be hungrier. And they didn’t have a fal—nothing but worthless gold, silver and paper currency. There was metal in the ship, but none of the pure metal they needed, except in alloys that couldn’t be broken down. Venus was on the iron standard. “—-there’s got to be an answer,’ Munn said stubbornly, his hard-bitten, harsh face somber. He pushed back his plate with an angry gesture. “I'm going to see the Council again.” “What good will that do?” Thirkell wanted to know. “We’re on the spot, there’s no getting around it. Money talks.’ comiicbooo S ©