Munn reddened. “Are you threatening me?”
“Of course not. I simply mean that no advertiser could use your idea without consulting my tarkoinar, and we would veto it.”
“Sure,” Munn said. “O.K. Come on, Bert. Let’s get out of here.” They departed, to stroll along a canal bank and confer. Underhill was thoughtful.
“The tarkomars have held the balance of power for a long time, it looks like. They want things to stay as they are. That’s obvious.”
Munn growled.
Underhill went on, “We’d have to upset the whole apple cart to get anywhere. There’s one thing in our favor, though.”
“What?”
“The laws.”
“How do you figure that out?” Munn asked. “They’re all against us.”
“So far-yes. But they’re traditionally rigid and unswerving. A decision made three hundred years ago can’t be changed except by a long court process. If we can find a loophole in those laws, they can’t touch us.”
“All right, find the loophole,” Munn said grumpily. “I’m going back to the ship and help Steve build an X-ray machine.”
“I think I’ll go down to the stock exchange and snoop,” Underhill said. “It’s just possible—”
After a week, the X-ray device was finished. Munn and Thirkell looked through the Vyring law records and found they were permitted to sell a self-created device without belonging to a tarkomar, provided they obeyed certain trivial restrictions. Leaflets were printed and strewed around the city, and the Venusians came to watch Munn and Thirkell demonstrating the merits of Roentgen rays. -
Mike Soaring Eagle knocked off work for the day and recklessly smoked a dozen cigarettes from his scanty store, burning with dull fury as he puffed. He had run into trouble with his hydroponic cultures.
“Crazy!” he told Bronson. “Luther Burbank would have gone nuts-the way I’m going. How the devil can I guess-pollinate those ambiguous specimens of Venusian flora?”
“Well, it doesn’t seem exactly fair,” Bronson consoled. “Eighteen sexes, eh?”
“Eighteen so far. And four varieties that apparently haven’t any sex at all. How can you crossbreed those perverted mushrooms? You’d have to exhibit the result in a side show.”
“You’re getting nowhere?”
“Oh, I’m getting places,” Mike Soaring Eagle said bitterly. “I’m getting all sorts of results. The trouble is nothing stays constant. I get a rum-flavored fungus one day, and it doesn’t breed true-its spores turn into something that tastes like turpentine. So you see.”
Bronson looked sympathetic. “Can’t you swipe some grub when they’re not looking? That way the job wouldn’t be a complete washout.”
“They search me,” the Navaho said.
“The dirty skunks,” Bronson yelped. “What do they think we are? Crooks?”
“Mph. Something’s going on outside. Let’s take a look.”
They went out of the Goodwill to find Munn arguing passionately with Jorust, who had come in person to examine the X-ray machine. A crowd of Venusians watched avidly. Munn’s face was crimson.
“I looked it up,” he was saying. “You can’t stop me this time, Jorust. It’s perfectly legal to build a machine and sell it outside the city limits.”
“Certainly,” Jorust said. “I’m not complaining about that.”
“Well? We’re not breaking any law.”
The woman beckoned, and a fat Venusian waddled forward. “Patent three gross squared fourteen two dozen, issued to Metzi-Stang of Mylosh year fourth power twelve, subject sensitized plates.”
“What’s that?” Munn asked.
“It’s a patent,” Jorust told him. “It was issued some time ago to-a Venusian inventor named Metzi-Stang. A tarkoinar bought and suppressed the process, but it’s still illegal to infringe on it.”
“You mean somebody’s already invented an X-ray machine on Venus?”
“No. Merely sensitized film. But that’s part of your device, so you can’t sell it.”
Thirkell pushed forward. “I don’t need film—”
The fat Venusian said, “Vibrationary patent three gross two dozen and seven—”
“What now?” Munn broke in.
Jorust smiled. “Machines employing vibration must not infringe on that patent.”
“This is an X-ray machine,” Thirkell snapped.
“Light is vibration,” Jorust told him. “You can’t sell it without buying permission from the tarkomar now owning that patent. It should cost-let’s see-five thousand sofals or so.”
Thirkell turned abruptly and went into the ship, where he mixed a whisky-and-soda and thought wistfully about diphtheria germs. After a time the others appeared, looking disconsolate.
“Can she do it?” Thirkell asked.
Munn nodded. “She can do it, chum. She’s done it.”
“We’re not infringing on their patents.”
“We’re not on Earth. The patent laws here are so wide that if a man invents a gun, nobody else can make telescopic sights. We’re rooked again.”
Underhill said, “It’s the tarkoniars again. When they see a new process or invention that might mean change, they buy it up and suppress it. I can’t think of any gadget we could make that wouldn’t be an infringement on some Venusian patent or other.”
“They stay within the -law,” Munn pointed out. “Their law. So we can’t even challenge them. As long as we’re on Venus, we’re subject to their jurisprudence.”
“The beans are getting low,” Thirkell said morosely.
“Everything is,” the captain told him. “Any ideas, somebody?”
There was silence. Presently Underhill took out a globe of Veetsy and put it on the table.
“Where’d you, get that?” Bronson asked. “It costs four fris.”
“It’s empty,” Underhill said. “I found it in an ash can. I’ve been-investigating glassite-the stuff they use for things like this.”
“What about it?”
“I found out how they make it. It’s a difficult, expensive process. It’s no better than our flexiglass, and a lot harder to make. If we had a flexiglass factory here—”
“Well?”
“The bottom would drop out of Amalgamated Glassite.”
“I don’t get it,” Bronson said. “So what?”
“Ever heard of a whispering campaign?” Underhill asked. “My father wangled many an election that way, the old devil. Suppose we passed the word around that there was a new process for making a cheaper, better substitute for glassite? Wouldn’t Amalgamated stock drop?”
“Possibly,” Munn said. “We could clean up.”
“What with?”
“Oh.” Underhill was silent. “It takes money to make money.”
“Always.”
“I wonder. Here’s another idea. Venus is on the iron standard. Iron’s cheap on Earth. Suppose we talked about bringing in iron here -strewing it broadcast. There’d be a panic, wouldn’t there?”
“Not without some iron to strew around,” Munn said. “Counterpropaganda would be telecast; we couldn’t compete with it. Our whispering campaign would be squashed before we got it started. The Venusian government-the tarkomars-would simply deny that Earth had unlimited iron supplies. We wouldn’t profit, anyway.”
“There must be some angle,” Underhill scowled. “There’s got to be. Let’s see. What’s the basis of the Venusian system?”
“No competition,” Mike Soaring Eagle said. “Everybody has all he wants.”
“Maybe. At the top. But the competitive instinct is too strong to be suppressed like that. I’ll bet plenty of Venusians would like to make a few extra fals.”
“Where does that get us?” Munn wanted to know.
“The way my father did it… Hm-m-m. He manipulated, pulled the wires, made people come to him. What’s the weak spot in Venusian economy?”
Munn hesitated. “Nothing we can strike at-we’re too handicapped.” Underhill shut his eyes. “The basis of an economic and social system is-what?”