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  “I can’t see where you need rules to make people breed,” he said coldly. “They’ll do that anyway. You don’t realize what a struggle it is on Earth to bring the population back down toward a sensible figure.”

  “Things are different here,” answered Barbara Brandon in a dry tone. “We’re going to need plenty of people for a long time to come, and they have to be of the right stock. The congenitally handicapped can’t produce enough to justify their own existence; there’s been a program of euthanasia there, as you may know. But the new people are also needed in the right places. This town, for instance, can only accommodate so much population increase per year. We can’t send surplus children off to a special crèche because there aren’t enough teachers or doctors—or anything, so the mothers have to take care of all their own kids; or the fathers, if they happen to have a job in town and the mother is a field worker. The whole process has got to be regulated.”

  “Regulations!” Hollister threw up his hands. “Behold the bold frontiersman!”

  The girl looked worried. “Careful what you say.” She smiled at him with a touch of wistfulness. “It needn’t be such a hindrance to you. Things are … pretty free except where the production of children is involved.”

  “I—this is kind of sudden.” Hollister tried to smile back. “Don’t think I don’t appreciate the compliment. But I need time to think, adjust myself—Look, are you busy right now?”

  “No, I’m off.”

  “All right. Put on your party clothes and we’ll go out and have some drinks and talk the matter over.”

  She glanced shyly at the thin, colored coverall she wore. “These are my party clothes,” she said.

  Hollister’s present rank let him visit another bar than the long, crowded room where plain laborers caroused. This one had private tables, decorations, music in the dim dusky air. It was quiet, the engineer aristocracy had their own code of manners. A few couples danced on a small floor.

  He found an unoccupied table by the curving wall, sat down, and dialed for drinks and cigarettes. Neither were good enough to justify their fantastic cost but it had been a long time since he had enjoyed any luxuries at all. He felt more relaxed with them. The girl looked quite beautiful in the muted light.

  “You were born here, weren’t you, Barbara?” he asked after a while.

  “Of course,” she said. “You’re the first immigrant in a long time. Used to be some deportees coming in every once in a while, but—”

  “I know. ‘Sentence suspended on condition you leave Earth.’ That was before all countries had adopted the new penal code. Never mind. I was just wondering if you wouldn’t like to see Earth—sometime.”

  “Maybe. But I’m needed here, not there. And I like it.” There was a hint of defiance in the last remark.

  He didn’t press her. The luminous murals showed a soft unreal landscape of lakes and forests, artificial stars twinkled gently in the ceiling. “Is this what you expect Venus to become?” he asked.

  “Something like this. Probably not the stars, it’ll always be cloudy here but they’ll be honest rain clouds. We should live to see the beginning of it.”

  “Barbara,” he asked, “do you believe in God?”

  “Why, no. Some of the men are priests and rabbis and whatnot in their spare time, but—no, not I. What about it?”

  “You’re wrong,” he said. “Venus is your god. This is a religious movement you have here, with a slide rule in its hand.”

  “So—?” She seemed less assured, he had her off balance and the green eyes were wide and a little frightened.

  “An Old Testament god,” he pursued, “merciless, all-powerful, all-demanding. Get hold of a Bible if you can; and read Job and Ecclesiastes. You’ll see what I mean. When is the New Testament coming … or even the prophet Micah?”

  “You’re a funny one,” she said uncertainly. Frowning, trying to answer him on his own terms: “After the Big Rain, things will be easier. It’ll be—” She struggled through vague memories. “It’ll be the Promised Land.”

  “You’ve only got this one life,” he said. “Is there any sound reason for spending it locked in these iron boxes, with death outside, when you could lie on a beach on Earth and everything you’re fighting for is already there?”

  She grabbed his hand where it lay on the table. Her fingers were cold, and she breathed fast. “No! Don’t say such things! You’re here too. You came here—”

  Get thee behind me, Satan.

  “Sorry.” He lifted his glass. “Here’s freefalling.”

  She clinked with him smiling shakily.

  “There isn’t any retirement on Venus, is there?” he asked.

  “Not exactly. Old people get lighter work, of course. When you get too old to do anything … well, wouldn’t you want euthanasia?”

  He nodded, quite sincerely, though his exact meaning had gone by her. “I was just thinking of … shall we say us … rose-covered cottages, sunset of life. Darby and Joan stuff.”

  She smiled, and reached over to stroke his cheek lightly. “Thanks,” she murmured. “Maybe there will be rose-covered cottages by the time we’re that old.”

  Hollister turned suddenly, aware with his peripheral senses of the man who approached. Or maybe it was the sudden choking off of low-voiced conversation in the bar. The man walked very softly up to their table and stood looking down on them. Then he pulled out the extra chair for himself.

  “Hello, Karsov,” said Hollister dully.

  The Guardian nodded. There was a ghostly smile playing about his lips. “How are you?” he asked, with an air of not expecting a reply. “I am glad you did so well out there. Your chief recommended you very highly.”

  “Thanks,” said Hollister, not hiding the chill in his voice. He didn’t like the tension he could see in Barbara.

  “I just happened by and thought you would like to know you will have a crew of your own next trip,” said the policeman. “That is, the Air Control office has made a recommendation to me.” He glanced archly at Barbara. “Did you by any chance have something to do with that, Miss Brandon? Could be!” Then his eyes fell to the cigarettes, and he regarded them pointedly till Barbara offered him one.

  “Pardon me.” Hollister held his temper with an effort and kept his voice urbane. “I’m still new here, lot of things I don’t know. Why does your office have to pass on such a matter?”

  “My office has to pass on everything,” said Karsov.

  “Seems like a purely technical business as long as my own record is clean.”

  Karsov shook his sleek head. “You do not understand. We cannot have someone in a responsible position who is not entirely trustworthy. It is more than a matter of abstaining from criminal acts. You have to be with us all the way. No reservations. That is what Psych Control and the Guardians exist for.”

  He blew smoke through his nose and went on in a casual tone: “I must say your attitude has not been entirely pleasing. You have made some remarks which could be … misconstrued. I am ready to allow for your not being used to Venusian conditions, but you know the law about sedition.”

  For a moment, Hollister savored the thought of Karsov’s throat between his fingers. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “Remember, there are recorders everywhere, and we make spot checks directly on people, too. You could be narcoquizzed again any time I ordered it. But I do not think that will be necessary just yet. A certain amount of grumbling is only natural, and if you have any genuine complaints you can file them with your local Technic Board.”

  Hollister weighed the factors in his mind. Karsov packed a gun, and—But too sudden a meekness could be no less suspicious. “I don’t quite understand why you have to have a political police,” he ventured. “It seems like an ordinary force should be enough. After all … where would an insurrectionist go?”

  He heard Barbara’s tiny gasp, but Karsov merely looked patient. “There are many factors involved,” said the Guardian. “For instance, some of
the colonies were not quite happy with the idea of being incorporated into the Venusian Federation. They preferred to stay with their mother countries, or even to be independent. Some fighting ensued, and they must still be watched. Then, too, it is best to keep Venusian society healthy while it is new and vulnerable to subversive radical ideas. And finally, the Guardian Corps is the nucleus of our future army and space navy.”

  Hollister wondered if he should ask why Venus needed military forces, but decided against it. The answer would only be some stock phrase about terrestrial imperialists, if he got any answer at all. He’d gone about far enough already.

  “I see,” he said. “Thanks for telling me.”

  “Would you like a drink, sir?” asked Barbara timidly.

  “No,” said Karsov. “I only stopped in on my way elsewhere. Work, always work.” He got up. “I think you are making a pretty good adjustment, Hollister. Just watch your tongue … and your mind. Oh, by the way. Under the circumstances, it would be as well if you did not write any letters home for a while. That could be misunderstood. You may use one of the standard messages. They are much cheaper, too.” He nodded and left.

  Hollister’s eyes followed him out. How much does he know?

  “Come on,” said Barbara. There was a little catch in her voice. “Let’s dance.”

  Gradually they relaxed, easing into the rhythm of the music. Hollister dismissed the problem of Karsov for the time being, and bent mind and senses to his companion. She was lithe and slim in his arms, and he felt the stirrings of an old hunger in him.

  The next Venus day he called on Yamashita. They had a pleasant time together, and arranged a party for later; Hollister would bring Barbara. But as he was leaving, the Venusian drew him aside.

  “Be careful, Si,” he whispered. “They were here a few hours after I got back, asking me up and down about you. I had to tell the truth, they know how to ask questions and if I’d hesitated too much it would have been narco. I don’t think you’re in any trouble, but be careful!”

  Barbara had arranged her vacation to coincide with his—efficient girl! They were together most of the time. It wasn’t many days before they were married. That was rushing things, but Hollister would soon be back in the field for a long stretch and—well—they had fallen in love. Under the circumstances, it was inevitable. Curious how it broke down the girl’s cool self-possession, but that only made her more human and desirable.

  He felt a thorough skunk, but maybe she was right. Carpe diem. If he ever pulled out of this mess, he’d just have to pull her out with him; meanwhile, he accepted the additional complication of his assignment. It looked as if that would drag on for years, anyhow; maybe a lifetime.

  They blew themselves to a short honeymoon at a high-class—and expensive—resort by Thunder Gorge, one of Venus’ few natural beauty spots. The atmosphere at the lodge was relaxed, not a Guardian in sight and more privacy than elsewhere on the planet. Psych Control was shrewd enough to realize that people needed an occasional surcease from all duty, some flight from the real world of sand and stone and steel. It helped keep them sane.

  Even so, there was a rather high proportion of mental disease. It was a taboo subject, but Hollister got a doctor drunk and wormed the facts out of him. The psychotic were not sent back to Earth, as they could have been at no charge; they might talk too much. Nor were there facilities for proper treatment on Venus. If the most drastic procedures didn’t restore a patient to some degree of usefulness in a short time—they had even revived the barbarism of prefrontal lobotomy!—he was quietly gassed.

  “But it’ll all be diff’rent af’er uh Big Rain,” said the doctor. “My son ull have uh real clinic, he will.”

  More and more, Hollister doubted it.

  A few sweet crazy days, and vacation’s end was there and they took the rocket back to New America. It was the first time Hollister had seen Barbara cry.

  He left her sitting forlornly in the little two-room apartment they now rated, gathering herself to arrange the small heap of their personal possessions, and reported to Air Control. The assistant super gave him a thick, bound sheaf of papers.

  “Here are the orders and specs,” he said. “You can have two days to study them.” Hollister, who could memorize the lot in a few hours, felt a leap of gladness at the thought of so much free time. The official leaned back in his chair. He was a gnarled old man, retired to a desk after a lifetime of field duty. One cheek was puckered with the scars of an operation for the prevalent HR cancer; Venus had no germs, but prepared her own special death traps. “Relax for a minute and I’ll give you the general idea.”

  He pointed to a large map on the wall. It was not very complete or highly accurate: surveying on this planet was a job to break a man’s heart, and little had been done. “We’re establishing your new camp out by Last Chance. You’ll note that Little Moscow, Trollen, and Roger’s Landing cluster around it at an average distance of two hundred kilometers, so that’s where you’ll be getting your supplies, sending men on leave, and so forth. I doubt if you’ll have any occasion to report back here till you break camp completely in a couple of years.”

  And Barbara will be here alone, Barbara and our child whom I won’t even see—

  “You’ll take your wagon train more or less along this route,” went on the super, indicating a dotted line that ran from New America. “It’s been gone over and is safe. Notice the eastward jog to Lucifer at the halfway point. That’s to refuel and take on fresh food stores.”

  Hollister frowned, striving for concentration on the job. “I can’t see that. Why not take a few extra wagons and omit the detour?”

  “Orders,” said the super.

  Whose orders? Karsov’s? I’ll bet my air helmet!—but why?

  “Your crew will be … kind of tough,” said the old man. “They’re mostly from Ciudad Alcazar, which is on the other side of the world. It was one of the stubborn colonies when we declared independence, had to be put down by force, and it’s still full of sedition. These spigs are all hard cases who’ve been assigned to this hemisphere so they won’t stir up trouble at home. I saw in your dossier that you speak Spanish, among other languages, which is one reason you’re being given this bunch. You’ll have to treat them rough, remember. Keep them in line.”

  I think there was more than one reason behind this.

  “The details are all in your assignment book,” said the super. “Report back here in two days, this time. Okay—have fun!” He smiled, suddenly friendly now that his business was completed.

  V

  Darkness and a whirl of poison sleet turned the buildings into crouching black monsters, hardly to be told from the ragged snarl of crags which ringed them in. Hollister brought his tank to a grinding halt before a tower which fixed him with a dazzling floodlight eye. “Sit tight, Diego,” he said, and slapped his helmet down.

  His chief assistant, Fernandez, nodded a sullen dark head. He was competent enough, and had helped keep the unruly crew behaving itself, but remained cold toward his boss. There was always a secret scorn in his eyes.

  Hollister wriggled through the air lock and dropped to the ground. A man in a reinforced, armorlike suit held a tommy gun on him, but dropped the muzzle as he advanced. The blast of white light showed a stupid face set in lines of habitual brutality.

  “You the airman come for supplies?” he asked.

  “Yes. Can I see your chief?”

  The guard turned wordlessly and led the way. Beyond the lock of the main shell was a room where men sat with rifles. Hollister was escorted to an inner office, where a middle-aged, rather mild-looking fellow in Guardian uniform greeted him. “How do you do? We had word you were coming. The supplies were brought to our warehouse and you can load them when you wish.”

  Hollister accepted a chair. “I’m Captain Thomas,” the other continued. “Nice to have you. We don’t see many new faces at Lucifer—not men you can talk to, anyway. How are things in New America?”

  He g
ossiped politely for a while. “It’s quite a remarkable installation we have here,” he ended. “Would you like to see it?”

  Hollister grimaced. “No, thanks.”

  “Oh, I really must insist. You and your chief assistant and one or two of the foremen. They’ll all be interested, and can tell the rest of your gang how it is. There’s so little to talk about in camp.”

  Hollister debated refusing outright and forcing Thomas to show his hand. But why bother? Karsov had given orders, and Thomas would conduct him around at gunpoint if necessary. “Okay, thanks,” he said coldly. “Let me get my men bunked down first, though.”

  “Of course. We have a spare barracks for transients. I’ll expect you in two hours … with three of your men, remember.”

  Diego Fernandez only nodded when Hollister gave him the news. The chief skinned his teeth in a bleak sort of grin. “Don’t forget to ‘oh’ and ‘ah,’” he said. “Our genial host will be disappointed if you don’t, and he’s a man I’d hate to disappoint.”

  The smoldering eyes watched him with a quizzical expression that faded back into blankness. “I shall get Gomez and San Rafael,” said Fernandez. “They have strong stomachs.”

  Thomas received them almost unctuously and started walking down a series of compartments. “As engineers, you will be most interested in the mine itself,” he said. “I’ll show you a little of it. This is the biggest uranium deposit known in the Solar System.”

  He led them to the great cell block, where a guard with a shock gun fell in behind them. “Have to be careful,” said Thomas. “We’ve got some pretty desperate characters here, who don’t feel they have much to lose.”

  “All lifers, eh?” asked Hollister.

  Thomas looked surprised. “Of course! We couldn’t let them go back after what the radiation does to their germ plasm.”