Foundling on Venus

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

  _Venus was the most miserable planet in the system, peopled by miserable excuses for human beings. And somewhere among this conglomeration of boiling protoplasm there was a being unlike the others, a being who walked and talked like the others but who was different--and afraid the difference would be discovered. You'll remember this short story._

  foundling on venus

  _by ... John & Dorothy de Courcy_

  The foundling could not have been more than three years old. Yet he held a secret that was destined to bring joy to many unhappy people.

  Unlike Gaul, the north continent of Venus is divided into _four_ parts.No Caesar has set foot here either, nor shall one--for the dank,stinging, caustic air swallows up the lives of men and only Venus maysay, _I conquered_.

  This is colonized Venus, where one may walk without the threat of suddendeath--except from other men--the most bitterly fought for, the dearest,bloodiest, most worthless land in the solar system.

  Separated by men into East and West at the center of the Twilight Zone,the division across the continent is the irregular, jagged line of MudRiver, springing from the Great Serpent Range.

  The African Republic holds one quarter which the Negroes exploit as bestthey can, encumbered by filter masks and protective clothing.

  The Asians still actually try to colonize their quarter, while theVenusian primitives neither help nor hinder the bitter game ofpower-politics, secret murder, and misery--most of all, misery.

  The men from Mars understand this better, for their quarter is a penalcolony. Sleepy-eyed, phlegmatic Martians, self-condemned for minuteviolations of their incredible and complex mores--without guards savethemselves--will return to the subterranean cities, complexphilosophies, and cool, dry air of Mars when they have declared theirown sentences to be at an end.

  Meanwhile, they labor to extract the wealth of Venus without thebitterness and hate, without the savagery and fear of their neighbors.Hence, they are regarded by all with the greatest suspicion.

  The Federated States, after their fashion, plunder the land and sendscreaming ships to North America laden with booty and with men grownsuddenly rich--and with men who will never care for riches or anythingelse again. These are the fortunate dead. The rest are received into thesloppy breast of Venus where even a tombstone or marker is swallowed ina few, short weeks. And they die quickly on Venus, and often.

  From the arbitrary point where the four territories met, New Reno flungits sprawling, dirty carcass over the muddy soil and roared and hootedendlessly, laughed with the rough boisterousness of miners and spacemen,rang with the brittle, brassy laughter of women following a trade olderthan New Reno. It clanged and shouted and bellowed so loudly that quietsobbing was never heard.

  But a strange sound hung in the air, the crying of a child. A tinychild, a boy, he sat begrimed by mud at the edge of the street where anoccasional ground car flung fresh contamination on his small form untilhe became almost indistinguishable from the muddy street. His whimperingchanged to prolonged wailing sobs. He didn't turn to look at any of thegiant passers-by nor did they even notice him.

  But finally one passer-by stopped. She was young and probably from theFederated States. She was not painted nor was she well-dressed. She hadnothing to distinguish her, except that she stopped.

  "Oh, my!" she breathed, bending over the tiny form. "You poor thing.Where's your mama?"

  The little figure rubbed its face, looked at her blankly and heaved along, shuddering sigh.

  "I can't leave you sitting here in the mud!" She pulled out ahandkerchief and tried to wipe away some of the mud and then helped himup. His clothes were rags, his feet bare. She took him by the hand andas they walked along she talked to him. But he seemed not to hear.

  Soon they reached the dirty, plastic front of the Elite Cafe. Oncethrough the double portals, she pulled the respirator from her face. Theair inside was dirty and smelly but it was breathable. People wereeating noisily, boisterously, with all the lusty, unclean young lifethat was Venus. They clamored, banged and threw things for no reasonother than to throw them.

  She guided the little one past the tables filled with people and intothe kitchen. The door closed with a bang, shutting out much of the noisefrom the big room. Gingerly she sat him down on a stool, and withdetergent and water she began removing the mud. His eyes were horriblyred-rimmed.

  "It's a wonder you didn't die out there," she murmured. "Poor littlething!"

  "Hey! Are you going to work or aren't you, Jane?" a voice boomed.

  A large ruddy man in white had entered the kitchen and he stood frowningat the girl. Women weren't rare on Venus, and she was only a waitress ...

  "What in the blue blazes is that!" He pointed to the child.

  "He was outside," the girl explained, "sitting in the street. He didn'thave a respirator."

  The ruddy man scowled at the boy speculatively. "His lungs all right?"

  "He isn't coughing much," she replied.

  "But what are you going to do with him?" the man asked Jane.

  "I don't know," she said. "Something. Tell the Patrol about him, Iguess."

  The beefy man hesitated. "It's been a long time since I've seen a kidthis young on Venus. They always ship 'em home. Could have been dumped.Maybe his parents left him on purpose."

  The girl flinched.

  He grunted disgustedly, his face mirroring his thoughts. _Stringy hair... plain face ... and soft as Venus slime clear through!_ He shrugged."Anyway, he's got to eat." He looked at the small figure. "Want to eat,kid? Would you like a glass of milk?" He opened a refrigerator, took outa plastic bottle and poured milk in a glass.

  Chubby hands reached out for the glass.

  "There, that's better," the cook said. "Pete will see that you get fedall right." He turned to the girl. "Could he belong to someone aroundhere?"

  Jane shook her head. "I don't know. I've never seen him before."

  "Well, he can stay in the kitchen while you work the shift. I'll watchhim."

  She nodded, took an apron down from a hook and tied it around her waist.Then she patted the sober-faced youngster on his tousled head and left.

  The beefy man studied the boy. "I think I'll put you over there," hesaid. He lifted him, stool and all, and carried him across the kitchen."You can watch through that panel. See? That's Jane in there. She'llcome back and forth, pass right by here. Is that all right?"

  The little one nodded.

  "Oh?" Pete raised his eyebrows. "So you _do_ know what I'm saying." Hewatched the child for a few minutes, then turned his attention to therange. The rush hour was on and he soon forgot the little boy on thestool ...

  Whenever possible during the lunch-hour rush, Jane stopped to smile andtalk to the child. Once she asked, "Don't you know where your mama anddaddy are?"

  He just stared at her, unblinking, his big eyes soft and sad-looking.

  The girl studied him for a moment, then she picked up a cookie and gaveit to him. "Can you tell me your name?" she asked hopefully.

  His lips parted. Cookie crumbs fell off his chin and from the corners ofhis mouth, but he spoke no words.

  She sighed, turned, and went out to the clattering throng with ladenplates of food.

  For a while Jane was so busy she almost forgot the young one. Butfinally people began to linger more over their food, the clinking ofdishes grew quieter and Pete took time for a cup of coffee. His sweatingface was haggard. He stared sullenly at the little boy and shook hishead.

  "Shouldn't be such things as kids," he muttered. "Nothing but a pain inthe neck!"

  Jane came through the door. "It gets wor
se all the time," she groaned.She turned to the little boy. "Did you have something to eat?"

  "I didn't know what to fix for him," Pete said. "How about some beefstew? Do you think he'd go for that?"

  Jane hesitated. "I--I don't know. Try it."

  Pete ladled up a bowl of steaming stew. Jane took it and put it on thetable. She took a bit on a spoon, blew on it, then held it out. Thechild opened his mouth. She smiled and slowly fed him the stew.

  "How old do you think he is?" Pete asked.

  The girl hesitated, opened her mouth, but said nothing.

  "About two and a half, I'd guess," Pete answered himself. "Maybe three."Jane nodded and he turned back to cleaning the stove.

  "Don't you want