Running a hunting camp on Venus appeared
to be a good deal. But like any business, you
had to attract customers--and maybe a Wompan!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
August 1956
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
I dabbed at the nick on my jaw with a towel and said, "Ouch! Do you
always have to read to me when I'm shaving?"
"Shaving," Harry Conger scoffed. "That's just it, shaving. Why can't
you use dipilator, like ordinary people? What do you expect when you
use an archaic razor?"
"I happen to like the feel of a razor."
"Well, it's the same with .30-.30 rifles instead of blasters," Harry
said, still riding me. "The best the twenty-first century has to offer
isn't good enough for you. Oh, no." He shoved the accumulation of
unpaid bills in front of my face while I put the razor away and asked
me, "What do you expect to pay these with--twentieth century coin of
the realm?"
"O.K.," I said. "Lay off. So we happen to be a little behind in a few
payments."
"A _few_ payments. We haven't had a customer yet, Gil. Not even one
single, slightly jaded Earthman. No one."
"I still think 'Venus on the Half Shell' is a good idea," I said
stubbornly.
Harry shook his head. "Good for the bill collectors. Good for the
native bearers, who we've been feeding ever since we opened this joint.
Good for the washed up big-game hunter living off what little fat there
is in our land, but not good for us. If we only had one customer--just
one...."
"Look out the window," I said, trying to be cheerful. "Venus. Raw.
Primitive. Wild. Thirty million miles from civilization. A hunter's
paradise. And we're the guys who can serve Venus up to our customers
on the half shell. Hunting. Nature-watching. Just loafing. They can
name it--we've got it."
"You mean we've had it," Harry said gloomily, shaking the fistful of
bills. "Hell, Gil. It isn't only that. We haven't paid the bearers
yet--not that they've had to bear anything. We haven't even paid
what's-his-name, the hunter. All he does is drink our whiskey. Why
don't you admit it, Gil? Venus on the Half Shell is all washed up and
we might as well go back to Earth while we still have the fare."