Astounding Science Fiction (UK Edition) — page 61: what you’re looking at

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

THE IRON STANDARD emptied the green fluid into his beaker. After that, he dropped in a half dozen colored balls and added a chunk of dry ice, which sank to the bottom. The balls went up and down rapidly. “See?” Munn said. “Visual effect. The marbles are only slightly heavier than Veetsy. It’s the visual equivalent of Wet Tingles. Show that on the televisor, with a good sales talk, and see how your sales curve jumps.” Hakkapuy looked interested. sure—” Munn dragged out a sheaf of papers and hammered at the breach in the wall. After a time a fat Venusian came in and said, “May you be worthy of your ancestors’ names.” Hakkapuy introduced him as Lorish. “I thought Lorish had better see this. Would you mind going over it again?” “Sure,” Munn said. “Now the principle of display windows—” When he had finished, Hakkapuy looked at Lorish, who shook his shoulders slowly. “No,” he said. Hakkapuy blew out his lips. “It would sell more Veetsy.” “And upset the economy charts,” Lorish said. ““No.” Munn glared at him. “Why not? Hakka- puy owns Veetsy, doesn’t he? Who are you, anyhow—a censor?” “I represent the advertisers’ tarkomar,” Lorish explained. “You see, advertising on Venus is strongly ritual. It is never changed. Why should it be? If we let Hakkapuy use your ideas, it would be unfair to other makers of soft drinks.” “They could do the same thing,” pointed out. “A pyramiding competition leading to ultimate collapse. Hakkapuy makes enough money. Don’t you, Hakkapuy?” “I suppose so.” “Are you questioning the motives of the tarkomars?”’ Hakkapuy gulped. “No,” he said hastily. “No, no, no! You're perfectly right.” Lorish looked at him. “Very well. As for you, Earthman, you had better not waste your time pursuing this—scheme—further.” Munn reddened. “Are you threatening me?” “Of course not. I simply mean that no advertiser could use your idea without con- sulting my tarkomar, and we would veto it.” “Sure,” Munn said. “O.K. Come on, Bert. Tet’s set out of here.” a “Tm not Munn 39 They departed, to stroll along a canal bank and confer. Underhill was thoughtful. “The tarkomars have held the balance of power for a long time, it looks like. They want things to stay as they are. That’s obvious.” Munn growled. Underhill went on, “We’d have to upset the whole apple cart to get anywhere. _ There’s one thing in our favor, though.” “What?” “The laws.” “How do you figure that out?” Munn asked. “They’re all against us.’ “So far—yes. But they’re traditionally rigid and unswerving. A decision made three hundred years ago can’t be changed except by a long court process. If we can find a loophole in those laws, they can’t touch us.’ “All right, find the loophole,” Munn said grumpily. “I’m going back to the ship and help Steve build an X-ray machine.” “TJ think Ill go down to the stock ex- change and snoop,” Underhill said. “It’s just possible—”’ After a week, the X-ray device was finished. Munn and Thirkell looked through the Vyring law records and found they were permitted to sell a self-created device with- out belonging to a tarkomar, provided they obeyed certain trivial restrictions. Leaflets were printed and strewed around the city, and the Venusians came to watch Munn and Thirkell demonstrating the merits of Roentgen rays. Mike Soaring Eagle knocked off work for the day and recklessly .smoked a dozen cigarettes from his scanty store, burning with dull fury as he puffed. He had run into trouble with his hydroponic cultures. “Crazy!” he told Bronson. “Luther Bur- bank would have gone nuts—the way I’m going. How the devil can I cross-pollenate those ambiguous specimens of Venusian flora?” “Well, it doesn’t seem exactly fair,” Bronson consoled. “Eighteen sexes, eh?” “Kighteen so far. And four varieties that apparently haven’t any sex at all. How can you cross-breed those perverted mushrooms? You'd have to exhibit the result in a side show.” “You're getting nowhere?” “Oh, I’m getting places,” Mike Soaring Eagle said bitterly. “I’m getting all sorts of results. The trouble is nothing stays con- stant. I get a rum-flavored fungus one day, and it doesn’t breed true—its spores turn comiclooks ©