work hard for."
"Well, they liked tobacco and pipes all right--but it interfered withtheir oxygen storage so they couldn't dive. That ruled out tobacco andpipes. They liked Turkish towels, too, but they spent all their timeparading up and down in them and slaying the ladies and wouldn't work atall. That ruled out Turkish towels. They don't seem to care too muchwhether they're paid or not, though--as long as we're decent to them.They seem to like us, in a stupid sort of way."
"Just loving, affectionate, happy-go-lucky kids. I know. Go away."Kielland growled and turned back to the reports ... except that thereweren't any more reports that he hadn't read a dozen times or more.Nothing that made sense, nothing that offered a lead. Millions of Piperdollars sunk into this project, and every one of them sitting thereblinking at him expectantly.
For the first time he wondered if there really _was_ any solution to theproblem. Stumbling blocks had been met and removed before--that wasKielland's job, and he knew how to do it. But stupidity could be astumbling block that was all but insurmountable.
Yet he couldn't throw off the nagging conviction that something moresubtle than stupidity was involved....
Then Simpson came in, cursing and sputtering and bellowing for Louie.Louie came, and Simpson started dictating a message for relay to thetransport ship. "Special order, rush, repeat, rush," Simpson grated."For immediate delivery Piper Venusian Installation--one PiperAxis-Traction Dredge, previous specifications applicable--"
Kielland stared at him. "Again?"
Simpson gritted his teeth. "Again."
"Sunk?"
"Blub," said Simpson. "Blub, blub, blub."
Slowly, Kielland stood up, glaring first at Simpson, then at the littlemuddy creatures that were attempting to hide behind his waders, lookingso forlorn and chastised and woebegone. "All right," Kielland said,after a pregnant pause. "That's all. You won't need to relay that orderto the ship. Forget about Number Seven dredge. Just get your files inorder and get a landing craft down here for me. The sooner the better."
Simpson's face lit up in pathetic eagerness. "You mean we're going to_leave_?"
"That's what I mean."
"The company's not going to like it--"
"The company ought to welcome us home with open arms," Kielland snarled."They should shower us with kisses. They should do somersaults for joythat I'm not going to let them sink another half billion into the mudout here. They took a gamble and got cleaned, that's all. They'd be asstupid as your pals here if they kept coming back for more." He pulledon his waders, brushing penitent Mud-pups aside as he started for thedoor. "Send the natives back to their burrows or whatever they live inand get ready to close down. _I've_ got to figure out some way to make areport to the Board that won't get us all fired."
He slammed out the door and started across to his quarters, waders goingsplat-splat in the mud. Half a dozen Mud-pups were following him. Theyseemed extraordinarily exuberant as they went diving and splashing inthe mud. Kielland turned and roared at them, shaking his fist. Theystopped short, then slunk off with their tails between their legs.
But even at that, their squeaking sounded strangely like laughter toKielland....
In his quarters the light was so dim that he almost had his waders offbefore he saw the upheaval. The little room was splattered from top tobottom with mud. His bunk was coated with slime; the walls drippedblue-gray goo. Across the room his wardrobe doors hung open as threemuddy creatures rooted industriously in the leather case on the floor.
Kielland let out a howl and threw himself across the room. _His samplescase!_ The Mud-pups scattered, squealing. Their hands were filled withcapsules, and their muzzles were dripping with white powder. Two wentbetween Kielland's legs and through the door. The third dove for thewindow with Kielland after him. The company man's hand closed on aslippery tail, and he fell headlong across the muddy bed as the culpritliterally slipped through his fingers.
He sat up, wiping mud from his hair and surveying the damage. Bottlesand boxes of medicaments were scattered all over the floor of thewardrobe, covered with mud but unopened. Only one large box had beentorn apart, its contents ravaged.
Kielland stared at it as things began clicking into place in his mind.He walked to the door, stared out across the steaming gloomy mud flatstoward the lighted windows of the Administration shack. Sometimes, hemused, a man can get so close to something that he can't see theobvious. He stared at the samples case again. Sometimes stupidity worksboth ways--and sometimes what looks like stupidity may really besomething far more deadly.
He licked his lips and flipped the telephone-talker switch. After amisconnection or two he got Control Tower. Control Tower said yes, theyhad a small exploratory scooter on hand. Yes, it could be controlled ona beam and fitted with cameras. But of course it was special equipment,emergency use only--
He cut them off and buzzed Simpson excitedly. "Cancel all I said--aboutleaving. I mean. Change of plan. Something's come up. No, don't orderanything--but get one of those natives that can understand yourwhistling and give him the word."
Simpson bellowed over the wire. "What word? What do you think you'redoing?"
"I may just be saving our skins--we won't know for a while. But howeveryou manage it, tell them we're definitely _not leaving Venus_. Tell themthey're all fired--we don't want them around any more. The Installationis off limits to them from here on in. And tell them we've devised a wayto mine the lode without them--got that? Tell them the equipment will bearriving as soon as we can bring it down from the transport."
"Oh, now look--"
"You want me to repeat it?"
Simpson sighed. "All right. Fine. I'll tell them. Then what?"
"Then just don't bother me for a while. I'm going to be busy. WatchingTV."
An hour later Kielland was in Control Tower, watching the pale screen asthe little remote-controlled explorer circled the installation. Three TVcameras were in operation as he settled down behind the screen. He toldSparks what he wanted to do, and the ship whizzed off in the directionthe Mud-pup raiders had taken.
At first, there was nothing but dreary mud flats sliding past thecameras' watchful eyes. Then they picked up a flicker of movement, andthe ship circled in lower for a better view. It was a group ofnatives--a large group. There must have been fifty of them workingbusily in the mud, five miles away from the Piper Installation. Theydidn't look so carefree and happy-go-lucky now. They looked very muchlike desperately busy Mud-pups with a job on their hands, and they wereso absorbed they didn't even see the small craft circling above them.
They worked in teams. Some were diving with small containers; some werehandling lines attached to the containers; still others were carryingand dumping. They came up full, went down empty, came up full. Theproduce was heaped in a growing pile on a small semisolid island with afew scraggly trees on it. As they worked the pile grew and grew.
It took only a moment for Kielland to tell what they were doing. Thecolor of the stuff was unmistakable. They were mining piles of blue-graymud, just as fast as they could mine it.
With a gleam of satisfaction in his eye, Kielland snapped off the screenand nodded at Sparks to bring the cameras back. Then he rang Simpsonagain.
"Did you tell them?"
Simpson's voice was uneasy. "Yeah--yeah, I told them. They left in ahurry. Quite a hurry."
"Yes, I imagine they did. Where are your men now?"
"Out working on Number Six, trying to get it up."
"Better get them together and pack them over to Control Tower, fast,"said Kielland. "I mean everybody. Every man in the Installation. We mayhave this thing just about tied up, if we can get out of here soonenough--"
Kielland's chair gave a sudden lurch and sailed across the room,smashing into the wall. With a yelp he tried to struggle up the slopingfloor; it reared and heaved over the other way, throwing Kielland andSparks to the other wall amid a heap of instruments. Through the windowsthey could see the gray mud flats careening wildly below them. It tookonly an instant
to realize what was happening. Kielland shouted, "Let'sget out of here!" and headed down the stairs, clinging to the railingfor dear life.
Control Tower was sinking in the mud. They had moved faster than he hadanticipated, Kielland thought, and snarled at himself all the way downto the landing platform below. He had hoped at least to have time toparley, to stop and discuss the whys and wherefores of the situationwith the natives. Now it was abundantly clear that any whys andwherefores that were likely to be discussed would be discussed later.
And very possibly under twenty feet of mud--
A stream of men were floundering out of Administration shack, plowingthrough the mud
The Native Soil Page 4