Charlie quickly bumped his nose into one respect in which Venus was not for sissies. His father placed him in school, he was assigned to a grade taught by Mr. deSoto. The school room was not attractive -- "grim" was the word Charlie used, but he was not surprised, as most buildings in Borealis were unattractive, being constructed either of spongy logs or of lignin panels made from jungle growth.
But the school itself was "grim." Charlie had been humiliated by being placed one grade lower than he had expected; now he found that the lessons were stiff and that Mr. deSoto did not have the talent, or perhaps the wish to make them fun. Resentfully, Charlie loafed.
After three weeks Mr. deSoto kept him in after school. "Charlie, what's wrong?"
"Huh? I mean, 'Sir?"
"You know what I mean. You've been in my class nearly a month. You haven't learned anything. Don't you want to?"
"What? Why, sure I do."
"Surely' in that usage, not 'sure.' Very well, so you want tO learn; why haven't you?"
Charlie stood silent. He wanted to tell Mr. deSoto what a swell place Horace Mann Junior High School had been, with its teams and its band and its student plays and its student council (this crazy school didn't even have a student council!), and its study projects picked by the kids themselves, and the Spring Outburst and Sneak Day...and -- oh, shucks!
But Mr. deSoto was speaking. "Where did you last go to school, Charlie?"
Charlie stared. Didn't the teacher even bother to read his transcript? But he told him and added, "I was a year farther along there. I guess I'm bored, having to repeat."
"I think you are, too, but I don't agree that you are repeating. They had an eighteen-year Jaw there, didn't they?"
"Sir?"
"You were required to attend school until you were eighteen Earth-years old?"
"Oh, that! Sure. I mean 'surely.' Everybody goes to school until he's eighteen. That's to 'discourage juvenile delinquency," he quoted.
"I wonder. Nobody ever flunked, I suppose."
"Sir?"
"Failed. Nobody ever got tossed out of school or left back for failing his studies?"
"Of course not, Mr. deSoto. You have to keep age groups together, or they don't develop socially as they should."
"Who told you that?"
"Why, everybody knows that. I've been hearing that ever since I was in kindergarten. That's what education is for -- social development."
Mr. deSoto leaned back, rubbed his nose. Presently he said slowly; "Charlie, this isn't that kind of a school at all."
Charlie waited. He was annoyed at not being invited to sit down and was wondering what would happen if he sat down anyway.
"In the first place we don't have the eighteen-year rule. You can quit school today. You know how to read. Your handwriting is sloppy but it will do. You are quick in arithmetic. You can't spell worth a hoot, but that's your misfortune; the city fathers don't care whether you learn to spell or not. You've got all the education the City of Borealis feels obliged to give you. If you want to take a flame gun and start carving out your chunk of the jungle, nobody is standing in your way. I can write a note to the Board of Education, telling them that Charles Vaughn, Jr. has gone as far as he ever will. You needn't come back tomorrow."
Charlie gulped. He had never heard of anyone being dropped from school for anything less than a knife fight. It was unthinkable -- what would his folks say?
"On the other hand," Mr. deSoto went on, "Venus needs educated citizens. We'll keep anybody as long as they keep learning. The city will even send you back to Earth for advanced training if you are worth it, because we need scientists and engineers...and more teachers. But this is a struggling new community and it doesn't have a penny to waste on kids who won't study. We do flunk them in this school. If you don't study, we'll lop you off so fast you'll think you've been trimmed with a flame gun. We're not running the sort of overgrown kindergarten you were in. It's up to you. Buckle down and learn...or get out. So go home and talk it over with your folks."
Charlie was stunned. "Uh...Mr. deSoto? Are you going to talk to my father?"
"What? Heavens, no! You are their responsibility, not mine. I don't care what you do. That's all. Go home."
Charlie went home, slowly. He did not talk it over with his parents. Instead he went back to school and studied. In a few weeks he discovered that even algebra could be interesting...and that old Frozen Face was an interesting teacher when Charlie had studied hard enough to know what the man was talking about.
Mr. deSoto never mentioned the matter again.
Getting back in the Scouts was more fun but even Scouting held surprises. Mr. Qu'an, Scoutmaster of Troop Four, welcomed him heartily. "Glad to have-you, Chuck. It makes me feel good when a Scout among the new citizens comes forward and says be wants to pick up the Scouting trail again." He looked over the letter Charlie had brought with him. "A good record -- Star Scout at your age. Keep at it and you'll be a Double Star...both Earth and Venus."
"You mean," Charlie said slowly, "that I'm not a Star Scout here?"
"Eh? Not at all." Mr. Qu'an touched the badge on Charlie's jacket. "You won that fairly and a Court of Honor has certified you. You'll always be a Star Scout, just as a pilot is entitled to wear his comet after he's too old to herd a space ship. But let's be practical. Ever been out in the jungle?"
"Not yet, sir. But I always was good at woodcraft~"
"Mmm...Ever camped in the Florida Everglades?"
"Well...no~ sir."
"No matter. I simply wanted to point out that while the Everglades are jungle, they are an open desert compared with the jungle here. And the coral snakes and water moccasins in the Everglades are harmless little pets alongside some of the things here. Have you seen our dragonflies yet?"
"Well, a dead one, at school."
"That's the best way to see them. When you see a live one, better see it first,...if it's a female and ready to lay eggs."
"Uh, I know about them. If you fight them off, they won't sting."
"Which is why you had better see them first."
"Mr. Qu'an? Are they really that big?"
"I've seen thirty-six-inch wing spreads. What I'm trying to say, Chuck, is that a lot of men have died learning the tricks of this jungle. If you are as smart as a Star Scout is supposed to be, you won't assume that you know what these poor fellows didn't. You'll wear that badge...but you'll class yourself in your mind as a tenderfoot ,all over again, and you won't be in a hurry about promoting yourself."
Charlie swallowed it. "Yes, sir. I'll try."
"Good. We use the buddy system -- you take care of your buddy and he takes care of you. I'll team you with Hans Kuppenheimer. Hans is only a Second Class Scout, but don't let that fool you. He was born here and he lives in the bush, on his father's plantation. He's the best jungle rat in the troop."
Charlie said nothing, but resolved to become a real jungle rat himself, fast. Being under the wing of a Scout who was merely second class did not appeal to him.
But Hans turned out to be easy to get along with. He was quiet, shorter but stockier than Charlie, neither unfriendly nor chummy; he simply accepted the assignment to look after Charlie. But he startled Charlie by answering, when asked, that he was twenty-three years old.
It left Charlie speechless long enough for him to realize that Hans, born here, meant Venus years, each only two hundred twenty-five Earth days. Charlie decided thai Hans was about his own age, which seemed reasonable. Time had been a subject which had confused Charlie ever since his arrival. The Venus day was only seven minutes different from that of Earth -- he had merely had to have his wristwatch adjusted. But the day itself had not meant what it used to mean, because day and night at the north pole of Venus looked alike, a soft twilight.