Sunday is Three Thousand Years Away and Other SF Classics

by Raymond F. Jones

  Robert glanced about the room and at the fine desk of polished Venusian mahogany. “You don’t get muddy feet sitting in a polished office built upon the sweat and blood of other men,” he said thinly. “You get it working, tramping through the swamps of Venus, building and discovering.”

  “Then go back to your building and discovering and tramping through the swamps. I’m leaving you your own laboratory and instruments. Make new discoveries and get your name in a dozen scientific journals. That’s what you want, isn’t it? As for Old Tom, I had my men bring him along when they found him in your plant. His great-grandfather was the first thing I ever took away from you. Old Tom will be the last, for I’ll never again allow you to accumulate a nickel. That’s what happens to men who fight me.”

  “A specific antitoxin for jungle Dread doesn’t mean a thing as long as it deprives you of a few of those precious nickels, does it?”

  Jason Cartwright shook his head. “Not a thing. Jungle Dread happens to be responsible for a considerable part of my income. The drugs my company sells do not bring a permanent cure for the disease and so a continuous repeat business is possible. It’s far more profitable to sell a repeat item than a single shot. But more important by far is the fact that the antidote we sell becomes a direct control over the Venusians. If they get out of hand, we just dilute the antidote or withhold it and they come around in short order.

  “You’re just no businessman, and that’s why I own fine, beautiful things, which you only track up with your muddy feet. You can get out, now, Robert, You’re through, washed up. After you attempted to buck me by manufacturing serum on your own, you signed your own sentence.”

  “Will you give me passage to Earth?”

  “And have you spread the news of your discovery there? I’m not crazy. I don’t care what happens to you. You can spend the rest of your life in the jungles hunting new bugs if you want to. The freedom of Venus is yours.

  Nothing you can do will harm me, but you can never obtain more than enough to barely live. The moment you try, I’ll snatch it away from you and throw you back into the jungles. You can attempt to send your story of the serum to Earth, but you’ll be a dead man if it reaches there. There’s no place on Venus that you can hide from me. Do anything else you like, but don’t cross me again. It will be the last time, if you try.”

  The face of Robert Cartwright was impassive as his brother pronounced sentence upon him. He knew that Jason’s word was final. There’d be no mercy.

  Robert Cartwright rose. “I’ll remember, Jason. You know, of course, that I won’t send the story of my discovery to Earth because I’m enough of an idealist to value myself as of greater worth to mankind alive than dead. But I want you to remember this, Jason: Never before have you interfered with my scientific work and I have let you alone. Now, it is different. I’ll not allow you to interfere with my work.”

  “Get out! I haven’t time for your empty threats.”

  “I’m going. Just one more thing for you to remember: You said the cat was symbolic, and you’re right. Old Tom may be in your possession, but I am still his master. Never forget it, Jason.”

  With that parting word, Robert Cartwright turned, grinding the mud of his heel into the thick pile of the rug, and strode towards the door. He never looked back.

  * * * *

  The door closed behind his brother, and Jason rose and went to the window. He scratched the cat’s ear. The big cat struck back playfully, raising blood on the back of Jason’s hand. The magnate laughed. “You play rough, eh? You and I should get along.”

  Then from the window that formed an entire missile-proof wall of his office, he watched the proud, shabby figure of his brother. Robert Cartwright stood hesitantly in the mud of the Venusian street, then turned his back on the magnificent edifice that housed the central offices of Cartwright Enterprises. He moved away and was lost in the crowd of Venusians and Earthmen.

  Jason Cartwright returned to the desk and leaned back in his swivel chair. The cat moved over and jumped up to sit on the desk, his proud head erect with tremendous feline superiority that matched Jason’s own concept of himself.

  The incident of blocking Robert in his manufacture of jungle Dread serum was merely a minor event in the operation of the great company of which Jason was the founder and dictator. As far as the sale of the serum went it wouldn’t have mattered a great deal if Robert had gone on with his production. The income from antidote was a small fraction of a percent of the total, but the threat of withholding the antidote was the force that held the hundreds of thousands of Venusian workers in line.

  Robert had openly accused Jason of this, and such charges could not go unanswered. Such brashness could not go unpunished. Besides, there was a particularly satisfying feeling in having smashed Robert completely once again.

  When they were boys, Robert had been the favorite of their father, a man who dreamed great dreams and dreamed them too well for his own good and that of his family. His dreams had touched the domains of the great transportation and power companies and they had crushed him mercilessly. He had died in near poverty.

  — From this, Jason had taken his lesson for life. He would never be crushed as be had seen his father crushed. He would be the merciless conqueror, not the broken dreamer his father had been.

  With small beginnings in the early days of space flight, he had expanded one small enterprise after another, building each to a ruthless success, then combined and built anew until his empire at last stretched across the Solar System and his enemies were legion.

  In contrast, Robert had remained the dreamer like their father. He, too, had gone forward on the breast of the great tide of exploration that followed in the wake of the first space flights, but he went in the interest of science, of discovery. Each new world upon which he set foot was a thrill that touched his soul with the magnificent humbleness of the discoverer. He came to seek knowledge and to find better ways of life for man and the inhabitants of alien worlds.

  It was upon Venus that the bulk of human colonization had taken place, and the greatest of the extraterrestrial tragedies. Here, the natives were placid, aboriginal creatures whose life and evolution had almost been brought to a halt by the disease known as jungle Dread. Ninety-nine percent of the native Venusians suffered from it and nearly as many Earthmen contracted it after arriving there.

  Some of Jason’s chemists had devised an antidote that staved the mind-numbing attacks of the disease and it had been hailed by the worlds as a means of bringing Civilization to Venus. The Venusians were grateful and their advance had been remarkable, but constant consumption of the antidote was necessary.

  Leaping ahead as if released from age-old chains, the Venusian civilization developed with incredible rapidity. The shiftless, lethargic attitude of the people changed to an energetic, merciless driving of themselves as if they would make up for the lost centuries. Always skilled craftsmen in producing small artifacts, their innate talents now blossomed forth—to the great financial advantage of Jason Cartwright who hired them by the thousands in his fabricating plants.

  But with all this Robert knew that the planet would never achieve as it should as long as jungle Dread had to be held back like an ever present foe at the gates of a city. A specific serum was needed. He succeeded in isolating the virus of jungle Dread and producing a serum that gave lifetime immunity.

  Unaware of Jason’s use of the drug as a whip over the Venusians, he had asked Jason to manufacture it because he had no talent or bent for industrial or commercial enterprise. Jason had laughed at him and immediately confiscated his plans. Robert discovered the reason and went ahead then with a small plant of his own for the manufacture of the serum. This, too, was wiped out by Jason in a single blow.

  It was inevitable, Jason thought. The dreamer always gets cut down in the battle of life. Just as their father had been cut down. There were only the two possibilities for men in the world. He and Robert represented those two, the conqueror, ruthless and
unyielding, or the dreamer, imaginative and beaten.

  The giant cat twitched its whiskers and looked at Jason as if aware of his thoughts, and in thorough agreement.

  Jason could not have explained his pride in possession of the cat. It was not that he loved the pet—he was scarcely capable of such an emotion towards any object. But the cat represented conquest. It was his symbol of triumph, and dated from the boyhood of himself and Robert.

  Their father had given Robert the magnificent ancestor of Old loan, and Jason had wanted him. There came a time when Robert needed money for materials for the boyhood laboratory.

  It was more than useless to ask their father, but Jason had saved from his meager allowance and offered to loan it to Robert with the cat as security. Knowing Robert’s inability to comprehend anything but his scientific work, Jason was certain the cat would be his. And when the time limit was up on the loan he promptly foreclosed and took possession of the cat.

  That had been long decades ago, but to Jason it still carried the thrill of conquest. Old Tom, descendant of that first pet was a satisfying symbol of that conquest.

  Jason had not known at the time that Robert had some kittens fathered by their pet, so that when his men raided Robert’s plant and found the giant Maltese, he was exuberant. It was like reliving that first experience all over again. It was symbolic of what Robert had become and what Jason had saved himself from becoming.

  Old Tom yawned luxuriously and looked questioningly at Jason as if desirous for activity, as if waiting to witness some of the manipulations of the fabulous empire of Cartwright Enterprises.

  * * * *

  Jason turned to a locked cabinet beside the desk and opened a drawer.

  He pulled out a file of papers and began scanning them. After a moment, he spoke into the interphone system and demanded, “Marks, get Reamond.”

  Shortly, a small, ministerial looking man with a bald pate glided into the room soundlessly, “Yes, Cartwright?” he said.

  Jason motioned him to a chair.

  The man seated himself and found the Maltese, cat staring him in the face. “Where in the world did you get this thing?” asked Reamond.

  “Took him away from Robert. The cat’s ancestor was with me for years in every move I made before he died. I’m glad to have this cat. Not that I’m superstitious, but a good luck piece around the place won’t hurt anybody.”

  “It gives me the creeps. He just stares at you.”

  “You’ll get used to him. He stays here from now on. But that isn’t what I want to talk about.

  “You recall the incident of my brother and the absorption of his manufacturing facilities. I want a sufficient number of men put on Robert’s trail for a time until it can be determined what his plans are. He made a threat as he left, and I want to be certain that he makes no drastic attacks upon us.”

  “Yes, I’ll see that it’s taken care of.”

  “Remember Bridgeman?”

  Reamond scowled, “Yes, he’s the bacteriologist who got pretty riled over your brother’s case. He insisted we should make the serum and threatened to resign if we didn’t.”

  “Right. He hasn’t left yet, has he?”

  “Of course not. You know his kind. All high ideals and bluff, but no guts when it comes to a showdown.”

  “I’m not so sure. At least I’m doubtful enough to believe he should be dealt with. You’ll take care of it as in the past?”

  “It will be difficult. I think an accident outside the plant would perhaps be best. You feel sure there’s no better way? These things are becoming more difficult all the time. Venus isn’t quite the frontier country it once was, you know.”

  “Please take care of it as I asked,” Jason demanded. “That’s what you’re paid for. I think Bridgeman is too dangerous to keep around with the knowledge he has. He is the only one who is thoroughly familiar with Robert’s process.”

  “As you say, Cartwright. What about your brother?”

  “He’s harmless. I’d rather let him go and enjoy watching him squirm. He’ll be at some new program within a year, beating a drum to save the Venusians from some other thing on this foul planet, or else lost in glory over a new bug he’s found in the jungle. It amuses me to watch him, especially now that I have the cat. Because it’s symbolical to us he’ll be sure to make some move to try to get it back.”

  “There’s another matter,” said Reamond. “The Workers’ Council in the Drian plant is protesting conditions there. They’ve found some descriptions of Terrestrial plants somewhere and they want equal conditions.”

  “Drian! We can’t have trouble there! The Jovians are coming to pick up their first delivery of distorters soon. Their attack upon the Martians is less than a month away. Dilute the Venusians’ antidote for a day. That ought to bring them to their senses.”

  “It won’t be that easy this time, that’s why I mention it. They have a new angle. They have an immune as a control. If he sees the effects of diluted antidote in any of them, he yells for help.”

  “From whom? They aren’t organized so much that one group will strike or show force to help another, are they?”

  “Not yet, but they’re working in that direction. Anyway, the immune could stir up a fuss, yelling to the police, the Terrestrial news sources and so on. You can see what it would do.”

  “If something happened quite regularly to these immunes, such as accidents in hazardous work, they might become discouraged.”

  “That is my solution, but it doesn’t seem to me that it will continue to work forever. We’re in a sort of transition period now and it’s going to be dangerous unless we retrench and spend more money for plant improvement. The Venusians are brilliant mentally. They’ve just been held down for thousands of years by this jungle Dread, and now they’re beginning to catch up. It might be that in the not too far distant future they’ll even pass us.”

  “I depend on you to prevent such contingencies. If new and more drastic methods are required, go ahead.”

  Reamond rose. “I’ll do as you say, but private police killings won’t stop a revolution and that’s where we’re headed.”

  “You’re talking like an ‘old woman, Reamond. If I hear much more of that, I’ll have to find someone else to fill your shoes.”

  The secret police head grinned mirthlessly. “You’ll never find another to fill my shoes like I fill ‘em.”

  * * * *

  As the door closed behind the man, Jason thought grimly that he was right about that. There was probably not another killer in the entire universe quite so efficient and ruthless as Reamond.

  Yet for Reamond to suggest a backing down from their policy of ruthlessness with the Venusians didn’t make sense. Surely the man couldn’t be getting old and squeamish, Jason thought. Perhaps in this one instance he was right, however, for, if there was one plant in his whole empire that had to be kept running, it was the Drian plant. For there the Venusians were producing deadly distorters, weapons which would go in great quantities to both sides of the imminent Jovian-Martian conflict. That war would make Cartwright Enterprises the greatest commercial empire in the universe, for the distorters rendered all other weapons obsolete. And no one could supply distorters except Cartwright. His scientists had designed it and only the Venusians could build it. Only they possessed the infinite skill that could perform the handwork necessary to the creation of the weapons.

  All distorter production was centralized in the Drian plant. If it were thrown out of production by trouble with the Venusians, Cartwright’s dreams of multiplication of his empire would disappear. Yes, the Drian plant had to be kept in operation at all costs. Perhaps Reamond was showing good sense after all in his suggestion that they backtrack and give in to the Venusians. But he’d let Reamond go ahead with diluted antidote. If that didn’t get results, it would be time to give in.

  The cat jumped down into the chair Reamond had just vacated and settled himself in a squatting position, watching with interest as Jason ope
ned another drawer of the cabinet which proved to be a miniature bar complete with ice-cube machine. He mixed a stiff drink of the Venusian fermented drink, Teoqua, and downed it. It was a midmorning ritual with Jason, which he was finding more essential and more satisfying as a mental pickup all the time.

  True, his doctor had strictly advised against liquor of any kind, but Jason wasn’t inclined to believe that doctors know everything about the human body. No one knew about this private stock except Jason. He winked at the cat and shut the drawer.

  At that moment the private outside phone, known only to a very few intimates, rang softly. Jason answered and the exotic face of Robin Murello appeared on the screen. “Hello, darling — ” she said.

  “Robin, I wish you wouldn’t call me here. I’ve asked you before.”

  “But darling—I had to tell you that I won’t be dancing this weekend. I’ll be free. We can be together if you like. Or perhaps you don’t like,” she pouted suddenly.

  “Of course, Robin. There’s nothing else in the world I’d rather do.

  Same place—The Lanceford in Sunward City.”

  “I’ll be waiting for you.” She cut off with a tantalizing smile.

  Jason sighed. Robin was expensive, but he could afford her, and she was the one thing that seemed to make things worth while at times. He hated to admit the strain of ruling his ruthless empire was telling on him. But with the help of Teoqua and Robin Murello, he’d see it through.

  Jason knew he ought to stay in town over the weekend and work on the problems of this new development at Drian. But he felt tired and wearied of mind and body. Another couple of days wouldn’t hurt anything. He reached for the phone and called home. He told his wife, Lotta, he had to go to Caramond for business reasons for several days. He had connections there that would alibi him in case Lotta should try to check up on him. She had done it before.

  He notified her of the cat, and sent Old Tom home in the care of his private chauffeur with instructions to provide its care.