"It will add cream and sugar if you wish, gentlemen," he said.
Bigman looked and sniffed. He said to Morriss with sharp suspicion, "Yeast?"
"No. Real coffee this time. I swear it."
For a moment they sipped in silence; then Morriss said, "Venus, Lucky, is an expensive world to keep up. Our cities must make oxygen out of water, and that takes huge electrolytic stations. Each city requires tremendous power beams to help support the domes against billions of tons of water. The city of Aphrodite uses as much energy in a year as the entire continent of South America, yet it has only a thousandth the population.
"We've got to earn that energy, naturally. We've got to export to Earth in order to obtain power plants, specialized machinery, atomic fuel, and so on. Venus's only product is seaweed, inexhaustible quantities of it. Some we export as fertilizer, but that is scarcely the answer to the problem. Most of our seaweed, however, we use as culture media for yeast, ten thousand and one varieties of yeast."
Bigman's lip curled. "Changing seaweed to yeast isn't much of an improvement."
"Did you find your last meal satisfactory?" asked Morriss.
"Please go on, Dr. Morriss," said Lucky.
Morriss said, "Of course, Mr. Jones is quite cor…"
"Call me Bigman!"
Morriss looked soberly at the small Martian and said, "If you wish. Bigman is quite correct in his low opinion of yeast in general. Our most important strains are suitable only for animal food. But even so, it's highly useful. Yeast-fed pork is cheaper and better than any other kind. The yeast is high in calories, proteins, minerals, and vitamins.
"We have other strains of higher quality, which are used in cases where food must be stored over long periods and with little available space. On long space journeys, for instance, so-called Y-rations are frequently taken.
"Finally, we have our top-quality strains, extremely expensive and fragile growths that go into the menus of the Green Room and with which we can imitate or improve upon ordinary food. None of these are in quantity production, but they will be someday. I imagine you see the whole point of all this, Lucky."
"I think I do."
"I don't," said Bigman belligerently.
Morriss was quick to explain. "Venus will have a monopoly on these luxury strains. No other world will possess them. Without Venus's experience in zymoculture…"
"In what?" asked Bigman.
"In yeast culture. Without Venus's experience in that, no other world could develop such yeasts or maintain them once they did obtain them. So you see that Venus could build a tremendously profitable trade in yeast strains as luxury items with all the galaxy. That would be important not only to Venus, but to Earth as well- to the entire Solar Confederation. We are the most over populated system in the Galaxy, being the oldest. If we could exchange a pound of yeast for a ton of grain, things would be well for us."
Lucky had been listening patiently to Morriss's lecture. He said, "For the same reason, it would be to the interest of a foreign power, which was anxious to weaken Earth, to ruin Venus's monopoly of yeast."
"You see that, do you? I wish I could persuade the rest of the Council of this living and ever-present danger. If growing strains of yeast were stolen along with some of the knowledge of our developments in yeast culture, the results could be disastrous."
"Very well," said Lucky, "then we come to the important point: Have such thefts occurred?"
"Not yet," said Morriss grimly. "But for six months now we have had a rash of petty pilfering, odd accidents, and queer incidents. Some are merely annoying, or even funny, like the case of the old man who threw half-credit pieces to children and then went frantically to the police, insisting he had been robbed. When witnesses came forward to show that he had given the money away, he nearly went mad with fury, insisting that he had done no such thing. There are more serious accidents, too, like that in which a freight-roller operator released a half-ton bale of weed at the wrong time and killed two men. He insisted later that he had blacked out."
Bigman squealed excitedly, "Lucky! The pilots on the coaster claimed they blacked out."
Morriss nodded, "Yes, and I'm almost glad it happened as long as the two of you survived. The Council on Earth may be a bit readier to believe there is something behind all this."
"I suppose," said Lucky, "you suspect hypnotism."
Morriss drew his lips into a grim, humorless smile. "Hypnotism is a mild word, Lucky. Do you know of any hypnotist who can exert his influence at a distance over unwilling subjects? I tell you that some person or persons on Venus possesses the power of complete mental domination over others. They are exerting this power, practicing it, growing more adept in its use. With every day it will grow more difficult to fight them. Perhaps it is already too late!"
4. Counglman Accused!
Bigman's eyes sparkled. "It's never too late once Lucky gets going. Where do we start, Lucky?"
Lucky said quietly, "With Lou Evans. I've been waiting for you to mention him, Dr. Morriss."
Morriss's eyebrows drew together; his plump face contracted into a frown. "You're his friend. You want to defend him, I know. It's not a pleasant story. It wouldn't be if it involved any councilman at all-but a friend at that."
Lucky said, "I am not acting out of sentiment only, Dr. Morriss. I knew Lou Evans as well as one man can know another. I know he is incapable of doing anything to harm the Council or Earth."
"Then listen, and judge for yourself. For most of Evans's tour of duty here on Venus, he accomplished nothing. A 'trouble shooter' they called him, which is a pretty word but means nothing."
"No offense, Dr. Morriss, but did you resent his arrival?"
"No, of course not. I just saw no point in it. We here have grown old on Venus. We have the experience. What do they expect a youngster, new from Earth, to accomplish?"
"A fresh approach is helpful sometimes."
"Nonsense. I tell you, Lucky, the trouble is that Earth headquarters don't consider our problem important. Their purpose in sending Evans was to have him give it a quick glance, whitewash it, and return to tell them it was nothing."
"I know the Council on Earth better than that. You do, too."
But the grumbling Venusian went on. "Anyway, three weeks ago, this man Evans asked to see some of the classified data concerning yeast-strain growth. The men in the industry objected."
"Objected?" said Lucky. "It was a councilman's request."
"True, but yeast-strain men are secretive. You don't make requests like that. Even councilmen don't. They asked Evans why he wanted the information. He refused to tell them. They forwarded his request to me, and I quashed it."
"On what grounds?" demanded Lucky.
"He wouldn't tell me his reasons either, and while I'm senior councilman on Venus, nobody in my organization will have secrets from me. But your friend Lou Evans then did something I had not expected. He stole the data. He used his position as councilman to get inside a restricted area in the yeast-research plants, and he left with microfilms inside his boot."
"Surely he had a good reason."
"He did," said Morriss, "he did. The microfilms dealt with the nutrient formulas required for the nourishment of a new and very tricky strain of yeast. Two days later a workman making up one component of that mixture introduced a trace of mercury salt. The yeast died, and six months' work was ruined. The workman swore he'd done no such thing, but he had. Our psychiatrists psychoprobed him. By now, you see, we had a pretty good notion of what to expect. He'd had a blackout period. The enemy still hasn't stolen the strain of yeast, but they're getting closer. Right?"