Double-Cross
The Officer of the Deck was pleased as he returned to the main lock. There was no reason why everything shouldn’t have been functioning perfectly, of course, but he was pleased to have it confirmed, all the same. The Executive Officer was moodily smoking a cigarette in the open lock, staring out over the dank Venusian terrain at the native town. He turned.
“Everything shipshape, I take it!” he commented.
The O.D. nodded. “I’ll have a blank log if this keeps up,” he said. “Every man accounted for except the delegation, cargo stowed, drivers ready to lift as soon as they come back.”
The Exec tossed away his cigarette. “If they come back.”
“Is there any question?”
The Exec shrugged. “I don’t know, Lowry,” he said. “This is a funny place. I don’t trust the natives.”
Lowry lifted his eyebrows. “Oh? But after all, they’re human beings, just like us—”
“Not anymore. Four or five generations ago they were. Lord, they don’t even look human anymore. Those white, flabby skins—I don’t like them.”
“Acclimation,” Lowry said scientifically. “They had to acclimate themselves to Venus’s climate. They’re friendly enough.”
The Exec shrugged again. He stared at the wooden shacks that were the outskirts of the native city, dimly visible through the ever-present Venusian mist. The native guard of honor, posted a hundred yards from the Earth-ship, stood stolidly at attention with their old-fashioned proton-rifles slung over their backs. A few natives were gazing wonderingly at the great ship, but made no move to pass the line of guards.
“Of course,” Lowry said suddenly, “there’s a minority who are afraid of us. I was in town yesterday, and I talked with some of the natives. They think there will be hordes of immigrants from Earth, now that we know Venus is habitable. And there’s some sort of a paltry underground group that is spreading the word that the immigrants will drive the native Venusians—the descendants of the first expedition, that is—right down into the mud. Well—” he laughed—“maybe they will. After all, the fittest survive. That’s a basic law of—”
The annunciator over the open lock clanged vigorously, and a metallic voice rasped: “Officer of the Deck! Post Number One! Instruments reports a spy ray focused on the main lock!”
Lowry, interrupted in the middle of a word, jerked his head back and stared unbelievingly at the telltale next to the annunciator. Sure enough, it was glowing red—might have been glowing for minutes. He snatched at the hand-phone dangling from the wall, shouted into it. “Set up a screen! Notify the delegation! Alert a landing party!” But even while he was giving orders, the warning light flickered suddenly and went out. Stricken, Lowry turned to the Exec.
The Executive Officer nodded gloomily. He said, “You see!”
“You see?”
Svan clicked off the listening-machine and turned around. The five others in the room looked apprehensive. “You see?” Svan repeated. “From their own mouths you have heard it. The Council was right.”
The younger of the two women sighed. She might have been beautiful, in spite of her dead-white skin, if there had been a scrap of hair on her head. “Svan, I’m afraid,” she said. “Who are we to decide if this is a good thing? Our parents came from Earth. Perhaps there will be trouble at first, if colonists come, but we are of the same blood.”
Svan laughed harshly. “They don’t think so. You heard them. We are not human anymore. The officer said it.”
The other woman spoke unexpectedly. “The Council was right,” she agreed. “Svan, what must we do?”
Svan raised his hand, thoughtfully. “One moment. Ingra, do you still object?”
The younger woman shrank back before the glare in his eyes. She looked around at the others, found them reluctant and uneasy, but visibly convinced by Svan.
“No,” she said slowly. “I do not object.”
“And the rest of us? Does any of us object?”
Svan eyed them, each in turn. There was a slow but unanimous gesture of assent.
“Good,” said Svan. “Then we must act. The Council has told us that we alone will decide our course of action. We have agreed that, if the Earth-ship returns, it means disaster for Venus. Therefore, it must not return.”
An old man shifted restlessly. “But they are strong, Svan,” he complained. “They have weapons. We cannot force them to stay.”
Svan nodded. “No. They will leave. But they will never get back to Earth.”
“Never get back to Earth?” the old man gasped. “Has the Council authorized—murder?”
Svan shrugged. “The Council did not know what we would face. The Councilmen could not come to the city and see what strength the Earth-ship has.” He paused dangerously. “Toller,” he said, “do you object?”
Like the girl, the old
