We Open on Venus - Starship Troupers 2

by Christopher Stasheff

  “I don’t envy you the task,” Mamie said. “Disgusting little man!”

  “He is rather common,” Barry allowed.

  “Why anyone would take the news of the ability to cure lung cancer as permission to begin smoking such horrendous cigars, I shall never know,” Horace said.

  “Still, he is effective at his chosen occupation,” Barry said, “or was, until his wife left him …”

  “Small wonder, with those cigars about.” Mamie wrinkled her nose.

  “Under the circumstances, I thought an opportunity to begin anew might prove salutary,” Barry said, “especially with his first assignment being in a location that forbids smoking.”

  “It is likely to win him a salutary prison term,” Mamie declared. “Really, Barry, your preoccupation with charity will be your undoing! Business was never well mixed with altruism!” She said that with the confidence of somebody who knew she wasn’t a charity case—just a burden imposed on Barry, one that he really had no choice about. That was the price of his rich brother’s underwriting— taking Mamie off his hands.

  “Perhaps,” Barry allowed, “though he was willing to work for expenses and commission … Well! For good or for ill, we must seek him out! I do not, however, expect you to accompany me.”

  “Small worry about that,” Mamie returned. “I shall willingly devote myself to sight-seeing—though what there is to see on this dreary planet, heaven knows!”

  “Valleys and hills,” Winston suggested, “without walls around them. Buildings high and low—from the outside!”

  “You have a point,” Mamie admitted. “After all those weeks aboard ship, open space of any sort will be welcome, no matter how dreary!” She started for the door.

  A piece of the gray wall detached itself from the plasticrete and stepped forward, holding out a face mask with a tank on a shoulder strap. “Gotta wear a mask, lady. Regulations. And suicide if y’don’t.”

  Mamie slowed and regarded him as if he were a particularly offensive piece of litter. Not surprising—he wasn’t exactly dressed to the teeth and had seen so many better days it was a wonder he had any left. His face was leathery and wrinkled; his mouth had the slightly pursed look that old people, get when their dental implants aren’t quite as long as the teeth they grew up with; and his jumpsuit seemed to have been handed down from a larger man. I found out later that it had—himself. Those jumpsuits were made out of a cloth that wore like the pyramids, and when he shrank, it didn’t.

  Horace stepped in adroitly between this ancient specimen and Mamie’s repulsion. “Yes, I do think we had better each take one.” He reached out for the mask, but the oldster pulled it back just beyond his reach and said, “Fifty BTUs.”

  “Fifty?” Mamie gasped.

  Horace pursed his lips. “Local, or IDE?”

  “Local, of course,” the man snapped. “Think I could take anything else, right in here where anybody could see me?”

  “ ‘Anybody’ being the police, of course,” Horace mused, in a very low voice. “Why so much, friend?”

  The oldster eyed him with suspicion. “I ain’t your friend.”

  “I should hope you are not my enemy,” Horace returned. “Why is the rental so high?”

  The oldster shrugged. “It costs to import these things, y’know, and it costs to make the oxygen. B’sides, I gotta earn my cut, don’t I?”

  Larry pounced on it. “You mean they allow you to?”

  “It’s part o’ the job,” the old guy said impatiently. “Salary plus commission—and believe me, the salary ain’t nothin’ to write home about. You want ’em, or not?”

  “Of course, of course.” Horace pulled out his wallet and slipped out a few bills. “May I ask why you undertook this job, if it pays so little?”

  The old guy shrugged, irritated. “You get too old for the pumping stations, the Company finds you something you can still do.”

  “Semiretired?” Horace hazarded.

  ‘To a semiuseless job,” the old guy agreed, “renting out air masks to the tourists, which there ain’t very much of— maybe once er twice a month. Maybe. What’s it to you, anyway, old man?”

  “ ‘Old man’!” Horace stiffened. “Rather indelicate of you, isn’t that? Just how old are you, may I ask?”

  “Fifty-two,” the decrepit one said.

  Horace put on his mask.

  We all did; we filed out the three-meter-wide door in silence. As the panels closed behind us, Mamie gusted out a “Well!”

  “Only fifty-two?” Lacey’s eyes were wide. “And he looks that old!”

  Their voices came muffled through the grilles of their masks. They sounded thin, too—not with the falsetto that you get from breathing helium, but with the attenuation that comes from thin air.

  Susanne’s eyes were huge above her mask as she looked about her. “It’s rather … odd, isn’t it?”

  It sure was. Start off with a very pale sky, and a completely barren expanse of hard-baked mud for miles around, frozen in the contours of flowing. It had been like that ever since the rain dried up, and the last of the runoff trickled past on its way to the sea.

  “Kindly put,” Mamie said grimly. “ ‘Dreary’ comes to mind.”

  “Bleak,” Larry opined.

  Mamie nodded. “For once, Mr. Rash, I find I could agree with you.”

  A man of that ageless look you think of as being between forty and sixty slouched up to us. ‘Taxi?”

  Barry opened his mouth, but somebody on his other side said, “Taxi?” And before he could answer, they were coming at us from all sides. “Taxi?”

  “Taxi?”

  “Taxi?”

  Lacey looked around as if she couldn’t believe it. “What do they do—wait around here day in and day out, hoping for someone to come out this door?”

  “I didn’t think they had unemployment here,” I ventured. “We don’t, Jack.”

  I looked up, startled. The guy who said that was maybe a little older than I was, hair plastered into the nautilus shape that was popular with the teens when I was a brat trying to work my way up to juvenile delinquent. He wore a jacket with the sheen of plastic to it—and a grin with a toothpick in it.

  I knew about those toothpicks, and what they were flavored with. “My name’s not Jack.”

  “No, a ‘jack’ is what you are.” One of the older guys was glowering at the kid. “That’s what we call a tourist, somebody coming in from off-planet.”

  I frowned. “Odd slang. Where’s it from?”

  The kid shrugged. “Who can say? Slang just bubbles up like methane out of pitch.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that, especially since I had an idea about that term—but the kid was right, he couldn’t have known where it came from. He’d never seen any live animal bigger than a dog, much less a donkey. Besides, Barry was nodding graciously. “Autre temps, autre moeurs. ”

  “Outdoor moors? Yeah, we got plenty of ’em.” And the senior cabbie started detailing the wonders of New Venus to our august veterans.

  I sidled over to the kid and said, “So if they don’t have unemployment, what are you doing here?”

  ‘Trying to pick up a little extra tucker for my bag, Jack,” he said. “Got the Company car, too, so you know it’s comfy.”

  I stared. He mistook it for skepticism, not surprise, and waved me over to the last car in line. “That’s my roller. I’m Chovy, by the way.”

  It took me a second to realize he was giving me his name, not his description. Then I nodded and stuck out a hand. “Ramou. Nice car.”

  He gave my hand a shake, then let go to let me take a look at the vehicle. It was a little smaller than the others, but not much different in shape—streamlining is streamlining, after all, and the only question is whether it’s shaped like a dolphin or a fish, and which kind of scale. It was transparent on top, like all the others, but opaque below— who wants to see the motors sitting behind each wheel, or the big central box of the battery? Admittedly, the look’s be
en nice and clean, since they started putting on bottoms that only let the wheels stick out. Oh, there are some people who really get a thrill out of seeing the insides of machines—but I’m very much aware that we’re in the minority, and most people would rather see a sleek, smooth shape with maybe some interesting flares and sweeps, like the ones on Chovy’s car, and with a pretty color, like its glittering gold and purple design.

  ‘That bloke up at the head drives for the Company.” The kid jerked his head toward the older driver who was doing all the talking—at the moment, a very polite conversation with Winston and Mamie. “I mean, that’s all he does for a living—drives managers around. So he’s got the upscale bus.”

  It was, too—wide but long, sort of like a small whale. The kid’s car was more like a trout.

  “You mean the Company sent a car to pick up Barry?”

  “Not likely, Jack.” The kid chuckled. “Old Bomey takes private passengers in his off hours. Company doesn’t mind, so long as there’s no sign of use.”

  “The Company lets you use their cars for taxis?”

  “Blazes, yes. They want to give the boost to private enterprise, now don’t they? Long as it doesn’t get out of hand. Keeps us off the streets, y’see, Jack.”

  I nodded. “What happens if you start hanging around under lampposts?”

  “No chance, Jack. When we’re through with grammar school, we’re outfitted with jobs—’less we qualify for high school.”

  I nodded again. “Never laid off?”

  “Blazes, no. Too much to do, Jack, and not enough hands.” He grinned wickedly. “Though if you’re a bad boy, they send you to the tar pits.”

  I didn’t want to ask. “What kind of a deal can you cut us here?”

  He shrugged. “What you want? Just a ride into town, or the whole flaming tour?”

  “The whole flaming tour,” I said, “and back.”

  Just then, Larry came over. “Here now, Ramou! You’re not making a deal for us, are you?”

  “No, just for me, Larry,” I said slowly, “and anybody who wants to come along with me.”

  He looked suddenly uncertain, but Marty overheard and stepped up with a joyful yip. “Hey! Free ride? Count me in!”

  “Well, you could share the cost,” I qualified.

  “But you wouldn’t charge a lady, would you?” Lacey batted her eyelashes under my nose.

  “Be my guest,” I said gallantly, though I could have wished she had volunteered to pay her own expenses.

  Chovy glanced around at them, losing his smile. “How many you booking me for, Jack?” Then he took a look at Susanne, and the smile came back, slowly.

  I counted noses. “Four, so far.” I looked up at Susanne. “Coming?”

  “I’d like to.” But she glanced anxiously at Ogden. “Mr. Wellesley, would you care to join us?”

  Chovy stared in alarm.

  “No, I think I’d prefer to tour with members of my own generation—or closer to it, at least.” At the look of anxiety that crossed her face, Ogden leaned over from his floater with a smile and patted her hand. “Don’t worry, Susanne, they’ll care for me well enough, if need be. After all, you can’t go dancing attendance on me every minute of your young life, can you? No, of course not. You must have some time to yourself—really, all of it; I appreciate your attentions deeply, but I won’t rob you. No, now, not a word! Go along with your young friends and have a lovely time.”

  “What, have the young folk made arrangements of their own?” Winston looked up with a smile.

  “Uh, well, we’re negotiating,” I hedged.

  Winston nodded. “A splendid idea! Especially since we don’t seem to be able to find a limo, and none of the cabs can hold all of us. In fact, we, ah, veterans, will have to take two cabs.”

  “You gentlemen go ahead with Mamie and Grudy, Winston.” Barry dismissed the issue with a wave of his hand. “I’m afraid Horace and I have a rather more demanding task ahead of us just now.”

  Winston frowned. “So soon? Really, Barry, you should take an hour or two to soak up the feeling of the milieu of your audience.”

  “It would be desirable,” Barry admitted, “but I’m afraid it is rather more necessary to ascertain the current status of preparations.”

  “Meaning, that you must find Publius Promo,” Winston said.

  Barry nodded. “We will have to see the sights at a later date.”

  “If at all,” Winston said, with sympathy. “The penalties of being in management.”

  Every single one of those cabbies looked up, tensed; then they sort of grinned sheepishly and relaxed a little.

  “We shall survive,” Barry promised.

  “Barry!” Mamie cried. “Surely you are not leaving me alone between the villain and the octogenarian!”

  “You have Grudy for chaperone, my dear, and she has you,” Barry said, not without sympathy. “Winston was never less than a perfect gentleman, and there is Merlo’s strong left arm to lean on.”

  “And his broken ankle to trip him up,” she said darkly.

  Merlo shrugged. “What can I say?”

  “The less, the better,” she assured him.

  “You are certainly welcome to accompany Horace and myself, my dear,” Barry said slowly, “but I doubt you will find it at all interesting.”

  Mamie stood motionless for a second, then sighed and turned back to Winston. “Well, let’s see if we can manage something moderately interesting as conversation, shall we?”

  “The topic of your choice,” he promised, then turned to me again. “Is your group accommodated, then, Ramou?”

  I looked over at Chovy, who was busy admiring Lacey this time. “Okay, fifty kwahers for the five of us. Suits?”

  “It’s a tight squeeze,” he said, “and fifty was the price when I thought it was just you. Seventy-five.”

  “Sixty,” I said.

  He grinned. “Seventy.”

  “Don’t push it, Ramou,” Lacey said nervously.

  I paused in midhaggle and sighed. “Okay, seventy.” I turned to my little troupe. “That’s fourteen apiece. Okay?”

  “I’ll take the front seat,” Marty volunteered.

  Chovy looked nettled, but Larry gave a reluctant nod. I lifted an eyebrow in Lacey’s direction, and she nodded, too. Susanne, though, gave Ogden another anxious glance, so I stepped over to her and said softly, “He has to learn how to manage on his own some time, Mama.”

  She looked up at me, startled, then gave a rueful little laugh. “I am being ridiculous, aren’t I? Sure, Ramou. I’m in.”

  “Then step,” I invited, waving toward the car, and Chovy popped the top right on cue. She gave him a bat of eyelash and stepped in.

  Lacey frowned and stepped hard after her.

  Susanne slid over to make room for her, and Larry stepped in quickly before I could. I took the hint and went around to the other side. All things considered, I’d rather sit next to Susanne, anyway. Close choice, I’ll admit, but there it is.

  Chovy slid into the driver’s seat and set his thumb against the ignition plate. The roof folded down around us like a clamshell closing—automatic, I guessed. Then he nudged the joystick forward and to the side, and the car pulled away from the curb.

  “Where to?” Chovy asked, toothpick sticking up at a jaunty angle.

  Well, I figured the little bit of upper in that wooden splinter couldn’t be enough to louse up his driving, and it sure would speed up his reflexes, so I said, “Wherever there’s something to see. But just to be on the safe side, keep it slow, okay? We want to see what we’re driving past.”

  “Nothing to see, Jack,” he said, “just mud flat after mud flat.”

  “We want to get the full impact,” I explained.

  He shrugged. “Suits me—you’re paying by the hour. Off we go, then.”

  And we went.

  11

  Chovy twisted around in his seat to ask, “Which one—the Gulf of Oil or the Bay of Benzene?” By some coincidence
, his gaze fell on Susanne. She lowered her eyes demurely, and alarm bells went off in my head.

  “Don’t you need to keep your eyes on the road?” I asked.

  “My eyes? Not a bit,” Chovy answered. “Car’s got autopilot. She’ll follow the road just fine, ’cept maybe when a turn comes in sight. Then she’ll beep me, and if I don’t turn around, she’ll slow down, nice and easy, and stop.”

  “Why is your car a girl?” Lacey asked.

  I didn’t think I wanted to hear the answer, but I had a hunch the best way to distract a guy like Chovy was to get him talking about his car, so I cut in with, “How come your cars run on wheels? Wouldn’t it be easier and cheaper to build ’em ground-effect?”

  Chovy switched his gaze to me, looking interested. “Y’know, Jack, I’ve wondered that myself many’s the time. But we build roads pretty cheap here—a few big machines and big men, and the job’s done, ten kilometers a day or more. I suppose there’s more chance of sparks from ground-effect, but no one’s been anxious to try the experiment.”

  I could see why.

  “There’s this, too,” Chovy said. “It’s easier to keep people from going where they’re not supposed to, if they have to have roads—but I’m just guessing there. Nobody in management is saying.”

  Susanne and Lacey were looking irritated that Chovy’s interest had shifted from them to cars. “Would you still think of them as female if they could be so wayward as to leave the road?” Lacey asked.

  Chovy switched back to her with a wide grin. “No, we call ’em ‘she’ because ..

  I cut in fast; I was interested in the answer, but I didn’t think the ladies would really want to hear it—and I wanted to get Chovy pointed back front fast, so I said, “Just show us the sights—right, folks?”

  “I’m looking,” Chovy answered.

  “Maybe you should have warned us about him,” Lacey told me.

  “Maybe he should have warned us about himself,” Marty returned.

  Chovy gave Marty the raised eyebrow. “Come on! That’s not in the rules of the game!”

  “Yeah,” Marty said, “but we’re not playing.”