Astounding Science Fiction (UK Edition) — page 58: what you’re looking at

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

36 psychology of these people. They seem un- alterably opposed to change. We represent change. So they figure they’ll simply ignore us.” “It won’t work,’ Underhill said. “Even if we starve to death, there’ll be more Earth ships later.” “The same gag could work on them, too.” “Starvation? But—” “Passive resistance. There’s no law com- pelling Venusians to treat with Earthmen. They can simply adopt a closed-door policy, and there’s not a thing we can do about it. There’s no welcome mat on Venus.” Mike Soaring Eagle broke a long silence as they emerged to the canal bank. “It’s a variation of ancestor worship, their psy- chology. Transferred egotism, perhaps—a racial inferiority complex.” Munn shook his head. “You’re drawing it a bit fine.” “All right, maybe I am. But it boils down to worship of the past. And fear. Their present social culture has worked for centuries. They want no intrusions. It’s logical. If you had a machine that worked perfectly at the job for which it had been designed, would you want improvements?” “Why not?” Munn said. “Certainly I would.” : “Why?” ““Well—to save time. If a new attachment would make the machine double its produc- tion, I'd want that.” The Navaho looked thoughtful. “Suppose it turned out—say—refrigerators. There’d be repercussions. You’d need less labor, which would upset the economic structure.” **Microscopically.” “In that case. But there’d also be a change in the consumer’s angle. More people would have refrigerators. More people would make homemade ice cream. Sales on ice cream would drop—retail sales. The wholesalers would buy less milk. The farmers would—” “I know,” Munn said. “For want of a nail the kingdom was lost. You’re speaking of microcosms. Even if you weren’t, there are automatic adjustments—there always are.” ““An experimental, growing civilization is willing to stand for such adjustments,” Mike Soaring Eagle pointed out. “The Venusians are ultraconservative. They figure they don’t need to grow or change any more. Their system has worked for centuries. It’s per- fectly integrated. Intrusion of anything might upset the apple cart. The tarkomars have the power, and they intend to keep it.” “So we starve,” Underhill put in. -useless ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION The Indian grinned at him. “Looks like it. Unless we can dope out some way of making money.” “We ought to,” Munn said. “We were chosen for our I. Q., among other things.” “Our talents aren’t too suitable,’ Mike Soaring Eagle remarked, kicking a stone into the canal. “You're a physicist. I’m a naturalist. Bronson’s an engineer, and Steve Thirkell’s a sawbones. You, my _ useless young friend, are a rich man’s son.” Underhill smiled in an _ embarrassed fashion. “Well, dad came up the hard way. He knew how to make money. That’s what we need now, isn’t it?” “How did he clean up?” “Stock market.” “That helps a lot,” Munn said. “I think our best plan is to find some process the Venusians really need, and then sell it to them.” “If we could wireless back to Earth for help—” Underhill began. “—-then we'd have nothing to worry about,” the Navaho ended. “Unfortunately Venus has a Heaviside layer, so we can’t wireless. You’d better try your hand at in- venting something, skipper. But whether or not the Venusians will want it afterwards, J don’t know.” Munn brooded. “The status quo can’t remain permanently that way. It ain’t sensible, as my grandfather used to say about practically everything. There are always inventors. New processes—they’ve got to be assimilated into the social set-up. I should be able to dope out a gadget. Even a good preservative for foods might do it.” “Not with the hydroponic gardens pro-- ducing as they do.” “Um-m. A better mousetrap—something but intriguing. A one-armed bandit—” “They’d pass a law against it.” “Well, you suggest something.” “The Venusians don’t seem to know much about genetics. If I could produce some un- usual foods by crossbreeding ... eh?” *““Maybe,” Munn said. “Maybe.” Steve Thirkell’s pudgy face looked into the port. The rest of the party were seated at the table, scribbling on stylopads and drinking weak coffee. “T have an idea,” Thirkell said. Munn grunted. “I know your ideas. What is it now?” “Very simple. A plague strikes the Venu- sians and I find an antivirus that will save them. They will be grateful—” Ccomicbooks.c©