The Merchants of Venus

  Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net

  The MERCHANTS Of Venus

  By A. H. PHELPS, Jr.

  Illustrated by FREAS

  [Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science FictionMarch 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that theU.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

  [Sidenote: _A pioneer movement is like a building--the foundation isnever built for beauty!_]

  The telephone rang. Reluctantly, Rod Workham picked it up. Nothing goodhad come from that phone in six years, and his sour expression wasalmost an automatic reflex.

  ”Workham here,” he said.

  He held the phone an inch away from his ear, but the tirade exceeded hisexpectations--it would have been audible a foot away:

  ”Workham! How long do you think we're going to stand for this! At therate you're going, there won't be a man left on Venus or a dollar in thebudget! What kind of a personnel director are you? Don't you know thisproject is vital to every person on Earth? Thirty more resignations camein on this last mail flight.”

  Rod put the receiver gently on his desk. General Carlson raved andranted this way every time a colonist quit, and Rod knew he was notexpected to answer, even if given the chance. The general would carry onfor about five minutes and then would slam down the phone himself.

  He dialed another number on the other phone.

  ”This is Rod, Dave,” he said when he got an answer. ”Carlson is on theother phone, yelling at my desk blotter. He says thirty moreresignations came in just now. That right?”

  ”Close enough, Rod--twenty-three pulled out. That makes seventy-eightper cent resigned in less than--”

  ”Spare me the statistics--Carlson's probably blatting them right now.How do they break down? Are they mostly farmers or technicians?”

  ”There were only nine technicians left, and all of them quit with thisbunch. The rest were farmers.” Dave Newson must be smoking his pipe, Roddecided--grinding sounds were coming over the phone. ”That doesn't leavevery much on Venus to start a colony with--a few farmers, some trappers.And the scientific personnel--damn it, they seem to stick it out allright--”

  ”Their contracts are different,” Rod reminded him. ”They go on a twoyear hitch and then come back to Earth if they want to. The ones who arethere are the ones who can take it and are signed up again.”

  * * * * *

  There was a speculative pause on the other end of the line. ”Say, Rod,”Newson said slowly. ”Why not leave this last batch of quitters rightwhere they are? Every one of them. They signed up for the project withtheir eyes open. Why don't you just refuse to bring them home? ...they'd have to make a go of the colony to save their filthy necks!”

  Rod grinned nastily. ”I'd like to do it--but even General Carlsonwouldn't dare. We'd never get another colonist off Earth, once it gotout. They wouldn't trust us. Our first problem is to get aself-supporting society on Venus--and that might do it, all right. Butour main job is to relieve the crowding on Earth, and that means largenumbers of people will have to go willingly later on. If we get toughwith these babies, who will take a chance later on that we won't repeatthe trick?”

  ”But we lose a hundred potential colonists every time one of thesequitters starts talking about why he left! More harm is done by lettingthem come back than would result from leaving them where they are.”Again the speculative pause. ”Maybe you could shoot them on arrival?”

  ”I'll suggest it to the general when I see him,” Rod said, ”if hedoesn't shoot me first. Now, can you get me the files on this latestgroup? And I'd like to see the staff psychologist here, along with allthe interviewers who handled and passed the group. We'll see what we cansalvage out of this. And if you see Jaimie, send him along too, willyou? Maybe our gambling historian can find us something useful in theProject Record.”

  ”The files are already on the way. And I told Biddington you'd probablywant to see him--he said he'd be along in about ten minutes. I haven'tlocated all the interviewers yet. Jaimie's been right here, trying totalk me into a game of Nim and protesting he never heard of binarynumbers. I'll send him up, but keep your hand on your wallet. If youneed anything else, I'll be right here.”

  * * * * *

  Rod thanked him and hung up, shaking his head. Dave Newsom was too gooda man to be stuck on a government project--he ought to get out beforethe trouble started. Anyone who worked for Rod Workham on Project Venuswas likely to end up with a bad name. They lived under the ax. The onlyperson who could be sure of his job was Rod himself. He'd beenrecommended by a committee of top men in his field, and no otherpersonnel man would accept the job if he were removed. Also, most of hismen would leave the project if General Carlson bounced him, for they hadbeen telling him so ever since the job had gotten hot.

  But there was the danger that the general might decide to bypassPersonnel in selecting colonists--or, what was more probable, might tryto tame the planet with a military outpost.

  Rod could hardly blame the man for his feelings. The job was vital, andeveryone was intensely interested in making a go of it. Scientificagriculture had gone about as far as it could; hydroponics had alreadybegun to shoulder the load required by an overpopulated planet. But thefact known to most intelligent people on Earth was that either new roomwas found in this kind of emergency, some place where people could goand live under nearly the same standards, or else some drastic changesin living standards would be required of all. And absolute and rigidlyenforced birth control would have to go into effect. And all theattendant causes for race wars, nationalist wars, and have-not warswould crop up.

  But the majority of the people wouldn't move to an undeveloped planet.You couldn't send ordinary citizens as pioneers. For one thing, theywouldn't want to go. For another, the new community wouldn't last longif you forced them to go--the average person had neither the attitudesnor the physique needed to make over a wilderness.

  The problem was to find people who would create a community on a newplanet and develop an integrated society there. This had meant rigidselection, careful psychological preparation and a terrificallyexpensive transportation system to get the people there and keep themsupplied. And the job had to be done soon. Economists predicted thatthirty years were left on Earth under present standards, maybe fifty. Ifthe population couldn't be thinned out one way by then, it would have tobe done by another.

  * * * * *

  For six years, now, Rod had worked on the job of establishing aself-supporting colony on Venus. Three different colonies had beenstarted, and each had died out in less than two years. Resignationswould come in slowly at first, and then in a rush, until only twenty orthirty people would be left, of which the majority would be short-termscientific teams. By the terms of the colonists' contracts no man couldbe left on Venus more than a month after his resignation; so the bulk oftwo colonies had simply had to be shipped back to Earth, and plans madefor another try.

  And now the third colony was quitting, rushing home, leaving nothing onthe jungle planet but a few small clearings soon to be taken over by thevegetation.

  Several times in the last year Rod had thought of volunteering himself;but he knew it for a futile gesture. He wasn't five hundred men. Hedidn't even have the special skills or physique that were needed.

  His gloomy thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the men.

  Biddington was first. Then in twos and threes came the interviewers, alllooking like the home team at the half, three touchdowns behind and justwaiting for their coach.

  If psychologists made good colonists, Rod thought, here would be a dozenmore volunteers.

  The arrival of
Homer Jaimison brought the only cheerful face in thegroup. The project historian was a young man, just over thirty, andconsiderably over six feet. He wore the expression of a man who isitching to do something. Jaimie had never really been busy yet on theproject--the colonies had died out so quickly that his work had beenmostly clerical, and he'd had to fill in time as best he could. So farhe had done it making up improbable contests of skill for drinks, withsuch a weird assortment of shifting rules and scoring that he hadn'tpaid for a drink since his arrival. He made a valuable contribution tothe project, however, since he helped to keep the group's minds offtheir troubles a part of the time.

  Rod genuinely liked Jaimie, and expected to miss him strongly when Venusbecame self-supporting to the point where the historian would have tocomplete his work in residence.

  * * * * *

  When they were all seated, Rod leaned against his desk and said, ”I cansee you all know why we're here. To begin with, I'm not going to accuseanyone of mistakes. Each of you is the best possible man in the countryfor his job. If you weren't, you wouldn't be here. I wouldn't have askedfor you; and General Carlson wouldn't have kept you. So there's nothingto feel bad about. If you can't do this work, no one can.Self-recrimination is foolish when you've been put on an impossibleproblem. I didn't call you in to bawl you out, but to ask you if