The Native Soil

by Alan Edward Nourse

brighter in the morning," said Barton, and hesloshed angrily off toward the Administration island.

  "You see?" said Simpson. "Or do you want to look around some more?"

  * * * * *

  Back in Administration shack, Kielland sprayed his throat with PiperFortified Bio-Static and took two tetracycline capsules from hissamples case as he stared gloomily down at the little gob of blue-graymud on the desk before him.

  The Venusian bonanza, the sole object of the multi-million-dollar PiperVenusian Installation, didn't look like much. It ran in veins deepbeneath the surface. The R&D men had struck it quite by accident in thefirst place, sampled it along with a dozen other kinds of Venusianmud--and found they had their hands on the richest 'mycin-bearingbacterial growth since the days of the New Jersey mud flats.

  The value of the stuff was incalculable. Twenty-first century Earth hadnot realized the degree to which it depended upon its effectiveantibiotic products for maintenance of its health until the mutatingimmune bacterial strains began to outpace the development of newantibacterials. Early penicillin killed 96 per cent of all organisms inits spectrum--at first--but time and natural selection undid its work inthree generations. Even the broad-spectrum drugs were losing theireffectiveness to a dangerous degree within decades of theirintroduction. And the new drugs grown from Earth-born bacteria, orsynthesized in the laboratories, were too few and too weak to meet theburgeoning demands of humanity--

  Until Venus. The bacteria indigenous to that planet were alien toEarth--every attempt to transplant them had failed--but they grew withabandon in the warm mud currents of Venus. Not all mud was of value:only the singular blue-gray stuff that lay before Kielland on the deskcould produce the 'mycin-like tetracycline derivative that was morepowerful than the best of Earth-grown wide spectrum antibiotics, withfew if any of the unfortunate side-effects of the Earth products.

  The problem seemed simple: find the mud in sufficient quantities formining, dredge it up, and transport it back to Earth to extract thedrug. It was the first two steps of the operation that depended soheavily on the mud-acclimated natives of Venus for success. They were asmuch at home in the mud as they were in the dank, humid air above. Theycould distinguish one type of mud from another deep beneath the surface,and could carry a dredge-tube down to a lode of the blue-gray muck withthe unfailing accuracy of a homing pigeon.

  If they could only be made to understand just what they were expected todo. And that was where production ground down to a slow walk.

  The next few days were a nightmare of frustration for Kielland as heobserved with mounting horror the standard operating procedure of theInstallation.

  Men and Mud-pups went to work once again to drag Number Five dredge outof the mud. It took five days of explaining, repeating, coaxing andthreatening to do it, but finally up it came--with mud caked andhardened in its insides until it could never be used again.

  So they ferried Number Six down piecemeal from the special orbitaltransport ship that had brought it. Only three landing craft sank duringthe process, and within two weeks Simpson and Barton set bravely offwith their dull-witted cohorts to tackle the swamp with a spanking newpiece of equipment. At last the delays were over--

  Of course, it took another week to get the actual dredging started. TheMud-pups who had been taught the excavation procedure previously hadeither disappeared into the swamp or forgotten everything they'd everbeen taught. Simpson had expected it, but it was enough to keep Kiellandsleepless for three nights and drive his blood pressure to suicidallevels. At length, the blue-gray mud began billowing out of the dredgeonto the platforms built to receive it, and the transport ship wasnotified to stand by for loading. But by the time the ferry had landed,the platform with the load had somehow drifted free of the island andrequired a week-long expedition into the hinterland to track it down. Onthe trip back they met a rainstorm that dissolved the blue-gray stuffinto soup which ran out between the slats of the platform, and back intothe mud again.

  They did get the platform back, at any rate.

  Meanwhile, the dredge began sucking up green stuff that smelled ofsewage instead of the blue-gray clay they sought--so the natives dovemud-ward to explore the direction of the vein. One of them got caught inthe suction tube, causing a three-day delay while engineers dismantledthe dredge to get him out. In re-assembling, two of the dredge tubes gotinterlocked somehow, and the dredge burned out three generators tryingto suck itself through itself, so to speak. That took another week tofix.

  Kielland buried himself in the Administration shack, digging through therecords, when the reign of confusion outside became too much to bear. Hesent for Tarnier, the Installation physician, biologist, and erstwhileVenusian psychologist. Dr. Tarnier looked like the breathing soul offailure; Kielland had to steel himself to the wave of pity that sweptthrough him at the sight of the man. "You're the one who tested theseimbeciles originally?" he demanded.

  Dr. Tarnier nodded. His face was seamed, his eyes lustreless. "I tested'em. God help me, I tested 'em."

  "How?"

  "Standard procedures. Reaction times. Mazes. Conditioning. Language.Abstractions. Numbers. Associations. The works."

  "Standard for Earthmen, I presume you mean."

  "So what else? Piper didn't want to know if they were Einsteins or not.All they wanted was a passable level of intelligence. Give them nativeswith brains and they might have to pay them something. They thoughtthey were getting a bargain."

  "Some bargain."

  "Yeah."

  "Only your tests say they're intelligent. As intelligent, say, as alow-normal human being without benefit of any schooling or education.Right?"

  "That's right," the doctor said wearily, as though he had been throughthis mill again and again. "Schooling and education don't enter into itat all, of course. All we measured was potential. But the results saidthey had it."

  "Then how do you explain the mess we've got out there?"

  "The tests were wrong. Or else they weren't applicable even on a basiclevel. Or something. I don't know. I don't even care much any more."

  "Well I care, plenty. Do you realize how much those creatures arecosting us? If we ever do get the finished product on the market, it'llcost too much for anybody to buy."

  Dr. Tarnier spread his hands. "Don't blame me. Blame them."

  "And then this so-called biological survey of yours," Kiellandcontinued, warming to his subject. "From a scientific man, it's a prize.Anatomical description: limited because of absence of autopsy specimens.Apparently have endoskeleton, but organization of the internal organsremains obscure. Thought to be mammalianoid--there's a fence-sitter foryou--but can't be certain of this because no young have been observed,nor any females in gestation. Extremely gregarious, curious, playful,irresponsible, etc., etc., etc. Habitat under natural conditions:uncertain. Diet: uncertain. Social organization: uncertain." Kiellandthrew down the paper with a snort. "In short, the only thing we'recertain of is that they're here. Very helpful. Especially when everydime we have in this project depends on our teaching them how to countto three without help."

  Dr. Tarnier spread his hands again. "Mr. Kielland, I'm a mere mortal. Inorder to measure something, it has to stay the same long enough to getit measured. In order to describe something, it has to hold still longenough to be observed. In order to form a logical opinion of acreature's mental capacity, it has to demonstrate some perceptiblemental capacity to start with. You can't get very far studying acreature's habitat and social structure when most of its habitating goeson under twenty feet of mud."

  "How about the language?"

  "We get by with squeaks and whistles and sign language. A sort ofpidgin-Venusian. They use a very complex system among themselves." Thedoctor paused, uncertainly. "Anyway, it's hard to get too tough with thePups," he burst out finally. "They really seem to try hard--when theycan just manage to keep their minds to it."

  "Just stupid, carefree, happy-go-lucky kids, eh?"

  Dr. Tarni
er shrugged.

  "Go away," said Kielland in disgust, and turned back to the reports witha sour taste in his mouth.

  Later he called the Installation Comptroller. "What do you pay Mud-pupsfor their work?" he wanted to know.

  "Nothing," said the Comptroller.

  "_Nothing!_"

  "We have nothing they can use. What would you give them--United Nationscoin? They'd just try to eat it."

  "How about something they _can_ eat, then?"

  "Everything we feed them they throw right back up. Planetaryincompatibility."

  "But there must be _something_ you can use for wages," Kiellandprotested. "Something they want, something they'll