_The little house pet from Venus didn't
like New York, so New York had to change._
He liked the flat cracking sound of the gun. He liked the way it slapped
back against his shoulder when he fired. Somehow it did not seem a part
of the dank, steaming Venusian jungle. Probably, he realized with a
smile, it was the only old-fashioned recoil rifle on the entire planet.
As if anyone else would want to use one of those old bone-cracking
relics today! But they all failed to realize it made sport much more
interesting.
"I haven't seen anything for a while," his wife said. She had a young,
pretty face and a strong young body. If you have money these days, you
could really keep a thirty-five-year-old woman looking trim.
Not on Venus, of course. Venus was an outpost, a frontier, a hot, wet,
evil-smelling place that beckoned only the big-game hunter. He said,
"That's true. Yesterday we could bag them one after the other, as fast
as I could fire this contraption. Today, if there's anything bigger than
a mouse, it's hiding in a hole somewhere. You know what I think, Lindy?"
"What?"
"I think there's a reason for it. A lot of the early Venusian hunters
said there were days like this. An area filled with big lizards and cats
and everything else the day before suddenly seems to clear out, for no
reason. It doesn't make sense."
"Why not? Why couldn't they all just decide to make tracks for someplace
else on the same day?"
He slapped at an insect that was buzzing around his right ear, then
mopped his sweating brow with a handkerchief. His name was Judd Whitney,
and people said he had a lot of money. Now he laughed, patting his
wife's trim shoulder under the white tunic. "No, Lindy. It just doesn't
work that way. Not on Earth and not on Venus, either. You think there's
a pied-piper or something which calls all the animals away?"
"Maybe. I don't know much about those things."
"No. I don't think they went anyplace. They're just quiet. They didn't
come out of their holes or hovels or down from the trees. But why?"
"Well, let's forget it. Let's go back to camp. We can try again
tomor--look! Look, there's something!"
Judd followed her pointing finger with his eyes. Half-hidden by the
creepers and vines clinging to an old tree-stump, something was watching
them. It wasn't very big and it seemed in no hurry to get away.
"What is it?" Lindy wanted to know.
"Don't know. Never saw anything like it before. Venus is still an
unknown frontier; the books only name a couple dozen of the biggest
animals. But hell, Lindy, that's not _game_. I don't think it weighs
five pounds."
"It's cute, and it has a lovely skin."
Judd couldn't argue with that. Squatting on its haunches, the creature
was about twenty inches tall. It had a pointed snout and two thin, long
ears. Its eyes were very big and very round and quite black. They looked
something like the eyes of an Earthian tarsier, but the tarsier were
bloody little beasts. The skin was short and stiff and was a kind of
silvery white. Under the sheen, however, it seemed to glow. A diamond is
colorless, Judd thought, but when you see it under light a whole rainbow
of colors sparkle deep within it. This creature's skin was like that,
Judd decided.
"If we could get enough of them," Lindy was saying, "I'd have the most
unusual coat! Do you think we could find enough, Judd?"
"I doubt it. Never saw anything like it before, never heard of anything
like it. You'd need fifty of 'em, anyway. Let's forget about it--too
small to shoot, anyway."
"No, Judd. I want it."
"Well, I'm not going to stalk a five-pound--hey, wait a minute! I taught
you how to use this rifle, so why don't you bag it?"
Lindy grinned. "That's a fine idea. I was a little scared of some of
those big lizards and cats and everything, but now I'm going to take you
up on it. Here, give me your gun."
Judd removed the leather thong from his shoulder and handed the weapon
to her. She looked at it a little uncertainly, then took the clip of
shells which Judd offered and slammed it into the chamber. The little
creature sat unmoving.
"Isn't it peculiar that it doesn't run away, Judd?"
"Sure is. Nothing formidable about that animal, so unless it has a
hidden poison somewhere, just about anything in this swamp could do it
in. To survive it would have to be fast as hell and it would have to
keep running all the time. Beats me, Lindy."
"Well, I'm going to get myself one pelt toward that coat, anyway. Watch,
Judd: is this the way?" She lifted the rifle to her shoulder and
squinted down the sights toward the shining creature.
"Yeah, that's the way. Only relax. Relax. Shoulder's so tense you're
liable to dislocate it with the kick. There--that's better."
Now Lindy's finger was wrapped around the trigger and she remembered
Judd had told her to squeeze it, not to pull it. If you pulled the
trigger you jerked the rifle and spoiled your aim. You had to squeeze it
slowly....
The animal seemed politely interested.
Suddenly, a delicious languor stole over Lindy. It possessed her all at
once and she had no idea where it came from. Her legs had been stiff and
tired from the all-morning trek through the swamp, but now they felt
fine. Her whole body was suffused in a warm, satisfied glow of
well-being. And laziness. It was an utterly new sensation and she could
even feel it tingling at the roots of her hair. She sighed and lowered
the rifle.
"I don't want to shoot it," she said.
"You just told me you did."
"I know, but I changed my mind. What's the matter, can't I change my
mind?"
"Of course you can change your mind. But I thought you wanted a coat of
those things."
"Yes, I suppose I do. But I don't want to shoot it, that's all."
Judd snorted. "I think you have a streak of softness someplace in that
pretty head of yours!"
"Maybe. I don't know. But I'd still like the pelt. Funny, isn't it?"
"Okay, okay! But don't ask to use the gun again." Judd snatched it from
her hands. "If you don't want to shoot it, then I will. Maybe we can
make you a pair of gloves or something from the pelt."
And Judd pointed his ancient rifle at the little animal preparing to
snap off a quick shot. It would be a cinch at this distance. Even Lindy
wouldn't have missed, if she hadn't changed her mind.
Judd yawned. He'd failed to realize he was so tired. Not an aching kind
of tiredness, but the kind that makes you feel good all over. He yawned
again and lowered the rifle. "Changed my mind," he said. "I don't want
to shoot it, either. What say we head back for camp?"
Lindy gripped his hand impulsively. "All right, Judd--but I had a
brainstorm! I want it for a pet!"
"A pet?"
"Yes. I think it would be the cutest thing. Everyone would look and
wonder and I'll adore it!"
"We don't know anything about it. Maybe Earth would be too cold, or too
dry, or maybe we don't have anything it can eat. There are liable to be
a hundred different strains of bacteria that can kill it."
"I said I want it for a pet. See? Look at it! We can call it Black
Eyes."
"Black Eyes--" Judd groaned.
"Yes, Black Eyes. If you don't do this one thing for me, Judd--"
"Okay--okay. But I'm not going to do anything. You want it, you take
it."
Lindy frowned, looked at him crossly, then sloshed across the swamp
toward Black Eyes. The creature waited on its stump until she came quite
close, and then, with a playful little bound, it hopped onto her
shoulder, still squatting on its haunches. Lindy squealed excitedly and
began to stroke its silvery fur.
* * * * *
A month later, they returned to Earth. Judd and Lindy and Black Eyes.
The hunting trip had been a success--Judd's trophies were on their way
home on a slow freighter, and he'd have some fine heads and skins for
his study-room. Even Black Eyes had been no trouble at all. It ate
scraps from their table, forever sitting on its haunches and staring at
them with its big black eyes. Judd thought it would make one helluva
lousy pet, but he didn't tell Lindy. Trouble was, it never did anything.
It merely sat still, or occasionally it would bounce down to the floor
and mince along on its hind-legs for a scrap of food. It never uttered a
sound. It did not frolic and it did not gambol. Most of the time it
could have been carved from stone. But Lindy was happy and Judd said
nothing.
They had a little trouble with the customs officials. This because
nothing unknown could be brought to Earth without a thorough
examination.
At the customs office, a bespectacled official stared at Black Eyes,
scratching his head. "Never seen one like that before."
"Neither have I," Judd admitted.
"Well, I'll look in the book." The man did, but there are no thorough
tomes on Venusian fauna. "Not here."
"I could have told you."
"Well, we'll have to quarantine it and study it. That means you and your
wife go into quarantine, too. It could have something that's catching."
"Absurd!" Lindy cried.
"Sorry, lady. I only work here."
"You and your bright ideas," Judd told his wife acidly. "We may be
quarantined a month until they satisfy themselves about Black Eyes."
The customs official shrugged his bony shoulders, and Judd removed a
twenty-credit note from his pocket and handed it to the man. "Will this
change your mind?"
"I should say not! You can't bribe me, Mr. Whitney! You can't--" The man
yawned, stretched languidly, smiled. "No, sir, you can keep your money,
Mr. Whitney. Guess we don't have to examine your pet after all. Mighty
cute little feller. Well, have fun with it. Come on, move along now."
And, as they were departing with Black Eyes, still not believing their
ears: "Darn this weather! Makes a man so lazy...."
It was after the affair at the customs office, that Black Eyes uttered
its first sound. City life hasn't changed much in the last fifty years.
Jet-cars still streak around the circumferential highways, their
whistles blaring. Factories still belch smoke and steam, although the
new atomic power plants have lessened that to a certain extent. Crowds
still throng the streets, noisy, hurrying, ill-mannered. It's one of
those things that can't be helped. A city has to live, and it has to
make noise.
But it seemed to frighten Lindy's new pet. It stared through the jet-car
window on the way from the spaceport to the Whitneys' suburban home, its
black eyes welling with tears.
"Look!" Judd exclaimed. "Black Eyes can cry!"
"A crying pet, Judd. I knew there would be something unusual about Black
Eyes, I just knew it!"
The tears in the big black eyes overflowed and tumbled out, rolling down
Black Eyes' silvery cheeks. And then Black Eyes whimpered. It was only a
brief whimper, but both Judd and Lindy heard it, and even the driver
turned around for a moment and stared at the animal.
The driver stopped the jet. He yawned and rested his head comfortably on
the cushioned seat. He went quietly to sleep.
* * * * *
A man named Merrywinkle owned the Merrywinkle Shipping Service. That, in
itself, was not unusual. But at precisely the moment that Black Eyes
unleashed its mild whimper, Mr. Merrywinkle--uptown and five miles
away--called an emergency conference of the board of directors and
declared:
"Gentlemen, we have all been working too hard, and I, for one, am going
to take a vacation. I don't know when I'll be back, but it won't be
before six months."
"But C.M.," someone protested. "There's the Parker deal and the Gilette
contract and a dozen other things. You're needed!"
Mr. Merrywinkle shook his bald head. "What's more, you're all taking
vacations, with pay. Six months, each of you. We're closing down
Merrywinkle Shipping for half a year. Give the competition a break, eh?"
"But C.M.! We're about ready to squeeze out Chambers Parcel Co.! They'll
get back on their feet in six months."
"Never mind. Notify all departments of the shut-down, effective
immediately. Vacations for all."
* * * * *
"Who shut off the assembly belt?" the foreman asked mildly. He was not a
mild man and he usually stormed and ranted at the slightest provocation.
This was at Clewson Jetcraft, and you couldn't produce a single
jet-plane without the assembly belt, naturally.