Underhill grinned. “So the base—the man-hour unit—had gone cockeyed. One little monkey wrench, thrown where it’ll do the most good. It’s spreading, too. Not only Vyring. The news is going all over Venus, and the workers in the other cities are asking why half of Vyring’s laborers should get better pay. That’s where the equal standard of exchange helps us—one monetary system all over Venus. Nothing has ever been off par here for centuries. Now—”

  Munn said, “Now the system’s toppling. It’s a natural fault in a perfectly integrated, rigid set-up. For want of a nail the tarkomars are losing their grip. They’ve forgotten how to adjust.”

  “It’ll spread,” Underhill said confidently. “It’ll spread. Steve, here comes another customer.”

  Underhill was wrong. Jorust and the Vyring tarkomar leader came in. “May you be worthy of your ancestors’ names,” Munn said politely. “Drag up a chair and have a drink. We’ve still got a few bulbs of beer left.”

  Jorust obeyed, but the Venusian rocked on his feet and glowered. The woman said, “Malsi is distressed. These Power Pills are causing trouble.”

  “I don’t know why,” Munn said. “They increase production, don’t they?”

  Malsi grimaced. “This is a trick! A stratagem! You are abusing our hospitality!”

  “What hospitality?” Bronson wanted to know.

  “You threatened the system,” Malsi plunged on doggedly. “On Venus there is no change. There must be none.”

  “Why not?” Underhill asked. “There’s only one real reason, and you know it. Any advances might upset thetarkomars—threaten the power they hold. You racketeers have had the whip hand for centuries. You’ve suppressed inventions, kept Venus in a backwater, tried to drive initiative out of the race, just so you could stay on top. It can’t be done. Changes happen; they always do. If we hadn’t come, there’d have been an internal explosion eventually.”

  Malsi glared at him. “You will stop making these Power Pills.”

  “Point of law,” Thirkell said softly. “Show precedent.”

  Jorust said, “The right of free gift is one of the oldest on Venus. That law could be changed, Malsi, but I don’t think the people would like it.”

  Munn grinned. “No. They wouldn’t. That would be the tipoff. Venusians have learned it’s possible to make more money. Take that chance away from them, and the tarkomars won’t be the benevolent rulers any more.”

  Malsi turned darker green. “We have power—”

  “Jorust, you’re an administrator. Are we protected by your laws?” Underhill asked.

  She moved her shoulders. “Yes, you are. The laws are sacrosanct. Perhaps because they have always been designed to protect the tarkomars.”

  Malsi swung towards her. “Are you siding with the Earthmen?”

  “Why, of course not, Malsi. I’m merely upholding the law, according to my oath of office. Without prejudice—that’s it, isn’t it?”

  Munn said, “We’ll stop making the Power Pills if you like, but I warn you that it’s only a respite. You can’t halt progress.”

  Malsi seemed unconvinced. “You’ll stop?”

  “Sure. If you pay us.”

  “We cannot pay you,” Malsi said stubbornly. “You belong to no tarkomar. It would be illegal.”

  Jorust murmured, “You might give them a free gift of—say—ten thousand sofals.”

  “Ten thousand!” Malsi yelped. “Ridiculous!”

  “So it is,” Underhill said. “Fifty thousand is more like it. We can live well for a year on that.”

  “No.”

  A Venusian came to the valve, peeped in and said: “I made twice as many difals today. May I have another Power Pill?” He saw Malsi and vanished with a small shriek.

  Munn shrugged. “Suit yourself. Pay up, or we go on handing out Power Pills—and you’ll have to adjust a rigid social economy. I don’t think you can do it.”

  Jorust touched Malsi’s arm. “There is no other way.”

  “I—” The Venusian by now was almost black with impotent rage. “All right,” he capitulated, spitting the words between his teeth. “I won’t forget this, Jorust.”

  “But I must administer the laws,” the woman said. “Why, Malsi! The rule of the tarkomars has always been unswerving honesty.”

  Malsi didn’t answer. He scribbled a credit check for fifty thousand sofals, validated it and gave the tag to Munn. After that he sent a parting glare around the cabin and stamped out.

  “Well!” Bronson said. “Fifty grand! Tonight we eat!”

  “May you be worthy of your fathers’ names,” Jorust murmured. At the valve she turned. “I’m afraid you’ve upset Malsi.”

  “Too bad,” Munn said hypocritically.

  Jorust moved her shoulders slightly. “Yes. You’ve upset Malsi. And Malsi represents the tarkomars—”

  “What can he do about it?” Underhill asked.

  “Nothing. The laws won’t let him. But—it’s nice to know the tarkomars aren’t infallible. I think the word will get around.”

  Jorust winked gravely at Munn and departed, looking as innocent as a cat, and as potentially dangerous.

  “Well!” Munn said. “What does that mean? The end of the tarkomar’s rule, maybe?”

  “Maybe,” Bronson said. “I don’t give a damn. I’m hungry and I want a beefsteak-mushroom. Where can we cash a check for fifty grand?”

 

 

  Unknown, [Title here]

 

 

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