[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Galaxy Science Fiction January 1951.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Pioneers have always resented their wanderlust, hated
their hardships. But the future brings a new grudge--when
pioneers stay put and scholars do the exploring!
_The very young man sat on the edge of the sofa and looked nervous. He
carefully studied his fingernails and ran his hands through his hair
and picked imaginary lint off the upholstery._
_"I have a chance to go with the first research expedition to Venus,"
he said._
_The older man studied the very young man thoughtfully and then leaned
over to his humidor and offered him a cigaret. "It's nice to have the
new air units now. There was a time when we had to be very careful
about things like smoking."_
_The very young man was annoyed._
_"I don't think I want to go," he blurted. "I don't think I would care
to spend two years there."_
_The older man blew a smoke ring and watched it drift toward the air
exhaust vent._
_"You mean you would miss it here, the people you've known and grown
up with, the little familiar things that have made up your life here.
You're afraid the glamor would wear off and you would get to hate it on
Venus."_
_The very young man nodded miserably. "I guess that's it."_
_"Anything else?"_
_The very young man found his fingernails extremely fascinating again
and finally said, in a low voice, "Yes, there is."_
_"A girl?"_
_A nod confirmed this._
_It was the older man's turn to look thoughtful. "You know, I'm sure,
that psychologists and research men agree that research stations should
be staffed by couples. That is, of course, as soon as it's practical."_
_"But that might be a long time!" the very young man protested._
_"It might be--but sometimes it's sooner than you think. And the goal
is worth it."_
_"I suppose so, but--"_
_The older man smiled. "Still the reluctant heroes," he said, somewhat
to himself._
* * * * *
Chapman stared at the radio key.
Three years on the Moon and they didn't want him to come back.
Three years on the Moon and they thought he'd be glad to stay for more.
Just raise his salary or give him a bonus, the every-man-has-his-price
idea. They probably thought he liked it there.
Oh, sure, he loved it. Canned coffee, canned beans, canned pills,
and canned air until your insides felt as though they were plated
with tin. Life in a cramped, smelly little hut where you could take
only ten steps in any one direction. Their little scientific home of
tomorrow with none of the modern conveniences, a charming place where
you couldn't take a shower, couldn't brush your teeth, and your kidneys
didn't work right.
And for double his salary they thought he'd be glad to stay for another
year and a half. Or maybe three. He should probably be glad he had the
opportunity.
The key started to stutter again, demanding an answer.