"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.
There were only eight months in the year, exactly four weeks in each month, and an occasional odd '~.Year Day" to even things off. Worse still, the time of year didn't mean anything; there were no seasons, just one endless hot, damp summer. It was always the same time of-day, always the same time of year; only clock and calendar kept it from being the land that time forgot. Charlie never quite got used to it.
If Nixie found the timelessness of Venus strange he never mentioned it. On Earth he had slept at night simply because Charlie did so, and, as for seasons, he had never cared much for winter anyhow. He enjoyed getting back into the Scouts even more than Charlie had, because he was welcome at every meeting. Some of the Scouts born on Earth had once had dogs; now none of them had -- and Nixie was at once mascot of the troop. He was petted almost to exhaustion the first time Charlie brought him to a meeting, until Mr. Qu'an pointed out that the dog had to have some peace...then squatted down and petted Nixie himself. "Nixie," he said musingly, "a nixie is a water sprite, isn't it?"
"Uh, I believe it does mean that," Charlie admitted, "but that isn't -- how he got his name."
"So?"
"Well, I was going to name him 'Champ,' but when he was a puppy I had to say 'Nix' to so many things he did that he got to thinking it was his name -- and then it was."
"Mmm...more logical than most names. And even the classical meaning is appropriate in a wet place like this. What's this on his collar? I see...you've decorated him with your old tenderfoot badge."
"No, sir," Charlie corrected. "That's his badge."
"Eh?"
"Nixie is a Scout, too. The fellows in my troop back Earthside voted him into the troop. They gave him that. So Nixie is a Scout."
Mr. Qu'an raised his eyebrows and smiled. One of the boys said, "That's about the craziest yet. A dog can't be a Scout."
Charlie had doubts himself; nevertheless he was about to answer indignantly when the Scoutmaster cut smoothly in front of him. "What leads you to say that, Al!?"
"Huh? Well, gosh! It's not according to Scout regulations."
"It isn~t? I admit it is a new idea, but I can't recall what rule it breaks. Who brought a Handbook tonight?" The Scribe supplied one; Mr. Qu'an passed it over to Alf Rheinhardt. "Dig in, AIf. Find the rule."
Charlie diffidently produced Nixie's letter of transfer. He had brought it, but had not given it to the Scribe. Mr. Qu'an read it, nodded and said, "Looks okay." He passed the letter along to others and said, "Well, Al!?"
"In the first place, it says here that you have to be twelve years old to join -- Earth years, that is, 'cause that's where the Handbook was printed. Is that dog that old? I doubt it."
Mr. Qu'an shook his head. "If I were sitting on a Court of Honor, I'd rule that the regulation did not apply. A dog grows up faster than a boy."
"Well, if you insist on joking -- and Scouting is no joke to me -- that's the point: a dog can't be a Scout, because he's a dog."
"Scouting is no joke to me either, Alf -- though I don't see any reason not to have fun as we go. But I wasn't joking. A candidate comes along with a letter of transfer, all regular and proper. Seems to me you should gc mighty slow before you refuse to respect an official act o~ another troop. All you've said is that Nixie is a dog. Well, didn't I see somewhere -- last month's Boys' L4fe~ I think -- that the Boy Scouts of Mars had asked one of the Martian chiefs to serve on their planetary Grand Council?"
"But that's not the same thing!"
"Nothing ever is. But if a Martian -- who is certainly not a human being -- can hold the highest office in Scouting, I can't see how Nixie is disqualified simply because he's a dog. Seems to me you'll have to show that he can't or won't do the things that a Tenderfoot Scout should do."
"Uh..." Alf grinned knowingly. "Let's hear him explain the Scout Oath."
Mr. Qu'an turned to Charlie. "Can Nixie speak English?"
"What? Why, no, sir -- but he understands it pretty well."
The Scoutmaster turned back to Aif. "Then the 'handicapped' rule applies, -- Alf -- we never insist that a Scout do something he can't do. If you were crippled or blind, we would change the rules to fit you. Nixie can't talk words...so if you want to quiz him about the Scout Oath, you'll have to bark. That's fair, isn't it, boys?"