But how do you scare a Venusian?
I blasted off for Venus later that evening on a chartered ship, figuring the best thing was to go straight to the root of the trouble. Besides, I’d always had an urge to see the place.
It was hot and sticky. I got a native carrier to take me to the Terran Embassy, which was a frumpy-looking building about three stories high, in an obscure corner of some village.
I walked in, bird cage dangling from my hand.
“Hello,” I said. “I’m Robinson.”
“Glad to meet you.” The short, squat, heavily-tanned, worried-looking man who greeted me was Jansen, the new ambassador. He’d just been promoted. When I had last seen him, back in 2160 or so, he had been a file clerk, but time has a way of moving on.
He didn’t look much like an ambassador, clad only in a pair of trunks. I couldn’t blame him; I was still in my business suit, and regretting it. It’s hot on Venus.
“You’ve met me before,” I told him. “You were a clerk in the E-T office, and I was—”
“—the kid who ran the mimeo machine!” Jansen’s dark face creased in a smile. “What brings you up here?”
“Trouble. Big trouble.” I unveiled the bird cage and told him the whole story—how the Venusians were plotting something devious with our wild-life, and how we didn’t like it.
“That’s a beaut,” he said, pointing at the pigeon, which was still fiercely attacking its cage. “It’s as weird as some of the things they’ve been doing here.”
“You know about them?”
“The jungles are full of them,” Jansen said. “They just turn them loose after they’ve manipulated them. You ought to see them. The local fauna is strange-looking enough, but once the blueskins get through juggling them they’re really out of this world.”
He reached up and rang a bell. Another Terran came in.
“Excuse me,” he said. He turned to the other. “Bring in a bowl of meat, will you? It’s feeding time.”
The newcomer grinned. “Your pet’s getting hungry, eh?”
“Something fierce. I forgot to feed it yesterday.”
He turned back to me as the other left. “Sorry.”
“What sort of pet?”
“Local creature,” he said. “Helps brighten up the office.” He paced nervously back and forth. “You say there’s a treaty revision coming up?”
I was astounded. “You mean you didn’t know?”
“They never tell me anything,” Jansen said, smiling apologetically. “I’m just a glorified file clerk still. The only reason we have an Embassy on Venus is because they’ve got one down there, and we can’t let them get a step ahead of us. Don’t you forget it.”
“Yes,” I said, trying to ignore his outburst. “There is a treaty revision coming up. And I have to put a stop to this genetic foolery before we sign the treaty, or else.”
Jansen smiled. “Just like that, eh? I wish you luck. The Venusians are as talkative as clams. You’ll have to scare them real hard to get them to bow to you.”
“I know,” I said, thinking of the calm, inscrutable blueskins. It’ll take a heap of scaring, I thought.
Just then the other Earthman came back in, bearing a little plate with some chunks of meat in it.
“Watch this,” Jansen said. “It may amuse you.”
He drew aside a curtain and revealed a potted plant, about a foot high—the meanest-looking, ugliest mess of vegetation I’d ever seen. He put the dish of meat down in front of it, and hurriedly drew away his hand.
I watched in horror as the plant lowered a couple of stringy, tendril-like branches, curled them firmly around two red chunks of meat, lifted them, and quickly stowed them inside a gaping orifice in the middle of a tangle of twisted, ugly leaves.
There was a gulping noise, and the tendrils descended again.
“What is it?” I managed to say.
“A local plant,” Jansen said. “Fairly common in the jungles around here.” He grinned. “Carnivorous.”
“So I see,” I said weakly.
“It preys on small wild life. I don’t think the plant bothers the Venusians very much; they keep them as pets too.”
I stared at it. “Some pet,” I said. “Scares me to pieces. I wonder what a big one would be like.”
“Ghastly, I suppose,” Jansen said. “But this one keeps us entertained. It keeps our minds off problems.”
“Yes,” I said. A new light began to dawn in my eyes. “Say—you think I could get a call through to Earth right away? I want to talk to someone, and in a hurry!”
My boy arrived on the next rocket in, very much mystified and somewhat annoyed. He claimed he had all sorts of important work to finish, but I shushed him and very carefully lined out the assignment for him. He nodded grimly and set to work.
And he delivered. And how, did he deliver!
The Venusian Overlord came to visit us, at my request, the day after the job was finished. I dressed formally, in my Earth clothes. I sweated blasphemously, but I felt I wouldn’t be able to sound commanding and business-like in a G-string.
Jansen introduced me as special envoy from Earth, and then edged away to leave us politely alone.
We fenced verbally for about five minutes, exchanging pleasantries about our respective planets, and sizing each other up. Like most blueskins, he seemed fully clothed in nothing but his loincloth; he was about seven feet tall, and with shoulders to match. He needed the big shoulders; they provided muscle anchors for his four arms.
Then I began to bring in the genetics deal. I worked around it most delicately, explaining how we were aware that the Venusians were doing all sorts of experiments with our native wild-life. I didn’t bother to tell him that we were worried silly about what they might do with the products of the experiments.
“There’s nothing in the Treaty that forbids members of our Embassy from performing genetic experiments,” the blueskin reminded me. “We are allowed to do whatsoever we please, just so long as we remain within our delimited confines.” He spoke clearly and precisely, as if he’d studied our language just for the occasion.
“Ah, yes,” I said. “But the animals your laboratories are producing constitute a potential danger to our planet, should they get loose. And, on occasion, this has happened.” I uncovered the bird cage. Exhibit A, I thought.
“We apprehended this one near your Embassy,” I lied. “You see, of course, how dangerous a beast it is?”
The Venusian frowned, lifting one of his arms to his forehead in a gesture I knew meant annoyance. “Yes, yes, of course. But I’m sure this was a mere accident. Ill see to it that due precautions are taken in the future, naturally, but you understand that our genetics program is an important part of our scientific development, just as—ah—your atomics researches on Earth are to you. You can no more expect us to halt our program than we would expect you to halt work on atomics.”
There was a glint in his eye that suggested to me that he might be willing to consider a trade; he might swap some geneticists for a couple of our nuclear physicists. It didn’t sound like a bad idea, but it wasn’t up to me to negotiate it. Leave that up to the Treaty-makers, I thought.
“Well,” I said, “I understand your position perfectly.” At that point I decided I hated diplomacy. “And we of Earth will withdraw our objections, provided you instruct your Embassy to take stronger precautions against the escape of any of their—ah—products.”
He smiled happily, and reached out with his two lower hands to grasp mine. “Fine. It pleases me that there will be no friction between our worlds.”
I stood up, sliding my hand from between his. “Oh, by the way,” I said casually. “Earth has begun a small genetic engineering program of its own, you know. Nothing to compare with the magnificent Venusian techniques, of course, but it’s a beginning, a beginning—”