The Native Soil by Alan E. Nourse Before the first ship from Earth made a landing on Venus, there was muchspeculation about what might be found beneath the cloud layers obscuringthat planet's surface from the eyes of all observers. One school of thought maintained that the surface of Venus was a jungle, rank with hot-house moisture, crawling with writhing fauna andman-eating flowers. Another group contended hotly that Venus was an ariddesert of wind-carved sandstone, dry and cruel, whipping dust intoclouds that sunlight could never penetrate. Others prognosticated anocean planet with little or no solid ground at all, populated byenormous serpents waiting to greet the first Earthlings with jaws agape. But nobody knew, of course. Venus was the planet of mystery. When the first Earth ship finally landed there, all they found was agreat quantity of mud. There was enough mud on Venus to go all the way around twice, with someleft over. It was warm, wet, soggy mud--clinging and tenacious. In someplaces it was gray, and in other places it was black. Elsewhere it wasfound to be varying shades of brown, yellow, green, blue and purple. Butjust the same, it was still mud. The sparse Venusian vegetation grew upout of it; the small Venusian natives lived down in it; the steam rosefrom it and the rain fell on it, and that, it seemed, was that. Theplanet of mystery was no longer mysterious. It was just messy. Peopledidn't talk about it any more. But technologists of the Piper Pharmaceuticals, Inc. , R&D squad found acertain charm in the Venusian mud. They began sending cautious and very secret reports back to the HomeOffice when they discovered just what, exactly was growing in thatVenusian mud besides Venusian natives. The Home Office promptly boughtup full exploratory and mining rights to the planet for a price that wasa brazen steal, and then in high excitement began pouring millions ofdollars into ships and machines bound for the muddy planet. The Board ofDirectors met hoots of derision with secret smiles as they rubbed theirhands together softly. Special crews of psychologists were dispatched toVenus to contact the natives; they returned, exuberant, withtest-results that proved the natives were friendly, intelligent, co-operative and resourceful, and the Board of Directors rubbed theirhands more eagerly together, and poured more money into the PiperVenusian Installation. It took money to make money, they thought. Let the fools laugh. Theywouldn't be laughing long. After all, Piper Pharmaceuticals, Inc. , couldrecognize a gold mine when they saw one. They thought. * * * * * Robert Kielland, special investigator and trouble shooter for PiperPharmaceuticals, Inc. , made an abrupt and intimate acquaintance withthe fabulous Venusian mud when the landing craft brought him down onthat soggy planet. He had transferred from the great bubble-shapedorbital transport ship to the sleek landing craft an hour before, boredand impatient with the whole proposition. He had no desire whatever togo to Venus. He didn't like mud, and he didn't like frontier projects. There had been nothing in his contract with Piper demanding that hetravel to other planets in pursuit of his duties, and he had balked atthe assignment. He had even balked at the staggering bonus check theyoffered him to help him get used to the idea. It was not until they had convinced him that only his own superiorjudgment, his razor-sharp mind and his extraordinarily shrewd powers ofobservation and insight could possibly pull Piper Pharmaceuticals, Inc. , out of the mudhole they'd gotten themselves into, that he hadreluctantly agreed to go. He wouldn't like a moment of it, but he'd go. Things weren't going right on Venus, it seemed. The trouble was that millions were going in and nothing was coming out. The early promise of high production figures had faltered, sagged, dwindled and vanished. Venus was getting to be an expensive project tohave around, and nobody seemed to know just why. Now the pilot dipped the landing craft in and out of the cloud blanket, braking the ship, falling closer and closer to the surface as Kiellandwatched gloomily from the after port. The lurching billows of cloudsmade him queasy; he opened his Piper samples case and popped a pill intohis mouth. Then he gave his nose a squirt or two with his PiperRhino-Vac nebulizer, just for good measure. Finally, far below them, thefeatureless gray surface skimmed by. A sparse scraggly forest of twistedgray foliage sprang up at them. The pilot sighted the landing platform, checked with Control Tower, andeased up for the final descent. He was a skillful pilot, with manylandings on Venus to his credit. He brought the ship up on its tail andsat it down on the landing platform for a perfect three-pointer as thejets rumbled to silence. Then, abruptly, they sank--landing craft, platform and all. The pilot buzzed Control Tower frantically as Kielland fought downpanic. Sorry, said Control Tower. Something must have gone wrong. They'dhave them out in a jiffy. Good lord, no, _don't_ blast out again, therewere a thousand natives in the vicinity. Just be patient, everythingwould be all right. They waited. Presently there were thumps and bangs as grapplers clangedon the surface of the craft. Mud gurgled around them as they were hauledup and out with the sound of a giant sipping soup. A mud-encrustedhatchway flew open, and Kielland stepped down on a flimsy-lookingplatform below. Four small rodent-like creatures were attached to it byropes; they heaved with a will and began paddling through the soupy muddragging the platform and Kielland toward a row of low wooden buildingsnear some stunted trees. As the creatures paused to puff and pant, the back half of the platformkept sinking into the mud. When they finally reached comparatively solidground, Kielland was mud up to the hips, and mad enough to blast offwithout benefit of landing craft. He surveyed the Piper Venusian Installation, hardly believing what hesaw. He had heard the glowing descriptions of the Board of Directors. Hehad seen the architect's projections of fine modern buildings resting onwater-proof buoys, neat boating channels to the mine sites, fineorange-painted dredge equipment (including the new Piper Axis-TractionDredges that had been developed especially for the operation). It hadsounded, in short, just the way a Piper Installation ought to sound. But there was nothing here that resembled that. Kielland could see agroup of little wooden shacks that looked as though they were ready at amoment's notice to sink with a gurgle into the mud. Off to the rightacross a mud flat one of the dredges apparently had done just that: aswarm of men and natives were hard at work dragging it up again. ControlTower was to the left, balanced precariously at a slight tilt in a seaof mud. The Piper Venusian Installation didn't look too much like a goingconcern. It looked far more like a ghost town in the latter stages ofdecay. Inside the Administration shack Kielland found a weary-looking manbehind a desk, scribbling furiously at a pile of reports. Everything inthe shack was splattered with mud. The crude desk and furniture wassmeared; the papers had black speckles all over them. Even the man'sface was splattered, his clothing encrusted with gobs of still-damp mud. In a corner a young man was industriously scrubbing down the wall with alarge brush. The man wiped mud off Kielland and jumped up with a gleam of hope in histired eyes. "Ah! Wonderful!" he cried. "Great to see you, old man. You'll find all the papers and reports in order here, everything readyfor you--" He brushed the papers away from him with a gesture offinality. "Louie, get the landing craft pilot and don't let him out ofyour sight. Tell him I'll be ready in twenty minutes--" "Hold it, " said Kielland. "Aren't you Simpson?" The man wiped mud off his cheeks and spat. He was tall and graying. "That's right. " "Where do you think you're going?" "Aren't you relieving me?" "I am not!" "Oh, my. " The man crumbled behind the desk, as though his legs had justgiven way. "I don't understand it. They told me--" "I don't care what they told you, " said Kielland shortly. "I'm a troubleshooter, not an administrator. When production figures begin to drop, Ifind out why. The production figures from this place have never gottenhigh enough to drop. " "This is supposed to be news to me?" said Simpson. "So you've got troubles. " "Friend, you're right about that. " "Well, we'll straighten them out, " Kielland said smoothly. "But first Iwant to see the foreman who put that wretched landing platformtogether. " Simpson's eyes became wary. "Uh--you don't really want to see him?" "Yes, I think I do. When there's such obvious evidence of incompetence, the time to correct it is now. " "Well--maybe we can go outside and see him. " "We'll see him right here. " Kielland sank down on the bench near thewall. A tiny headache was developing; he found a capsule in his samplescase and popped it in his mouth. Simpson looked sad and nodded to the orderly who had stopped scrubbingdown the wall. "Louie, you heard the man. " "But boss--" Simpson scowled. Louie went to the door and whistled. Presently therewas a splashing sound and a short, gray creature padded in. His hindfeet were four-toed webbed paddles; his legs were long and powerful likea kangaroo's. He was covered with thick gray fur which dripped withthick black mud. He squeaked at Simpson, wriggling his nose. Simpsonsqueaked back sharply. Suddenly the creature began shaking his head in a slow, rhythmicundulation. With a cry Simpson dropped behind the desk. The orderly fellflat on the floor, covering his face with his arm. Kielland's eyeswidened; then he was sitting in a deluge of mud as the little Venusianshook himself until his fur stood straight out in all directions. Simpson stood up again with a roar. "I've told them a thousand times ifI've told them once--" He shook his head helplessly as Kielland wipedmud out of his eyes. "This is the one you wanted to see. " Kielland sputtered. "Can it talk to you?" "It doesn't talk, it squeaks. " "Then ask it to explain why the platform it built didn't hold thelanding craft. " Simpson began whistling and squeaking at length to the little creature. Its shaggy tail crept between its legs and it hung its head like ascolded puppy. "He says he didn't know a landing craft was supposed to land on theplatform, " Simpson reported finally. "He's sorry, he says. " "But hasn't he seen a landing craft before?" Squeak, squeak. "Oh, yes. " "Wasn't he told what the platform was being made for?" Squeak, squeak. "Of course. " "Then why didn't the platform stand up?" Simpson sighed. "Maybe he forgot what it was supposed to be used for inthe course of building it. Maybe he never really did understand in thefirst place. I can't get questions like that across to him with thiswhistling, and I doubt that you'll ever find out which it was. " "Then fire him, " said Kielland. "We'll find some other--" "Oh, no! I mean, let's not be hasty, " said Simpson. "I'd hate to have tofire this one--for a while yet, at any rate. " "Why?" "Because we've finally gotten across to him--at least I _think_ wehave--just how to take down a dredge tube. " Simpson's voice was almosttearful. "It's taken us months to teach him. If we fire him, we'll haveto start all over again with another one. " Kielland stared at the Venusian, and then at Simpson. "So, " he saidfinally, "I see. " "No, you don't, " Simpson said with conviction. "You don't even begin tosee yet. You have to fight it for a few months before you really see. "He waved the Venusian out the door and turned to Kielland with burden often months' frustration in his voice. "They're _stupid_, " he saidslowly. "They are so incredibly stupid I could go screaming into theswamp every time I see one of them coming. Their stupidity is positivelyabysmal. " "Then why use them?" Kielland spluttered. "Because if we ever hope to mine anything in this miserable mudhole, we've got to use them to do it. There just isn't any other way. " With Simpson leading, they donned waist-high waders with wide, flatsilicone-coated pans strapped to the feet and started out to inspect theinstallation. A crowd of a dozen or more Venusian natives swarmed happily around themlike a pack of hounds. They were in and out of the steaming mud, circling and splashing, squeaking: and shaking. They seemed to be havinga real field day. "Of course, " Simpson was saying, "since Number Four dredge sank lastweek there isn't a whale of a lot of Installation left for you toinspect. But you can see what there is, if you want. " "You mean Number Four dredge is the only one you've got to use?"Kielland asked peevishly. "According to my records you have fiveAxis-Traction dredges, plus a dozen or more of the old kind. " "Ah!" said Simpson. "Well, Number One had its vacuum chamber corrodedout a week after we started using dredging. Ran into a vein of stuffwith 15 per cent acid content, and it got chewed up something fierce. Number Two sank without a trace--over there in the swamp someplace. " Hepointed across the black mud flats to a patch of sickly vegetation. "TheMud-pups know where it is, they think, and I suppose they could go dragit up for us if we dared take the time, but it would lose us a month, and you know the production schedule we've been trying to meet. " "So what about Numbers Three and Five?" "Oh, we still have them. They won't work without a major overhaul, though. " "Overhaul! They're brand new. " "They _were_. The Mud-pups didn't understand how to sluice them downproperly after operations. When this guck gets out into the air ithardens like cement. You ever see a cement mixer that hasn't beencleaned out after use for a few dozen times? That's Numbers Three andFive. " "What about the old style models?" "Half of them are out of commission, and the other half are holding theislands still. " "Islands?" "Those chunks of semisolid ground we have Administration built on. Thechunk that keeps Control Tower in one place. " "Well, what are they going to do--walk away?" "That's just about right. The first week we were in operation we keptwondering why we had to travel farther every day to get to the dredges. Then we realized that solid ground on Venus isn't solid ground at all. It's just big chunks of denser stuff that floats on top of the mud likedumplings in a stew. But that was nothing compared to the otherthings--" They had reached the vicinity of the salvage operation on Number Fivedredge. To Kielland it looked like a huge cylinder-type vacuum cleanerwith a number of flexible hoses sprouting from the top. The wholemachine was three-quarters submerged in clinging mud. Off to the right aderrick floated hub-deep in slime; grapplers from it were clinging tothe dredge and the derrick was heaving and splashing like a trappedhippopotamus. All about the submerged machine were Mud-pups, workinglike strange little beavers as the man supervising the operation wipedmud from his face and carried on a running line of shouts, curses, whistles and squeaks. Suddenly one of the Mud-pups saw the newcomers. He let out a squeal, dropped his line in the mud and bounced up to the surface, dancing likea dervish on his broad webbed feet as he stared in unabashed curiosity. A dozen more followed his lead, squirming up and staring, shaking gobsof mud from their fur. "No, _no_!" the man supervising the operation screamed. "_Pull_, youidiots. Come back here! Watch _out_--" The derrick wobbled and let out a whine as steel cable sizzled out. Confused, the Mud-pups tore themselves away from the newcomers andturned back to their lines, but it was too late. Number Five dredgetrembled, with a wet sucking sound, and settled back into the mud, blub--blub--blub. The supervisor crawled down from his platform and sloshed across towhere Simpson and Kielland were standing. He looked like a man who hadsuffered the torment of the damned for twenty minutes too long. "Nomore!" he screamed in Simpson's face. "That's all. I'm through. I'llpick up my pay any time you get it ready, and I'll finish off mycontract at home, but I'm through here. One solid week I work to teachthese idiots what I want them to do, and you have to come along at theone moment all week when I really need their concentration. " He glared, his face purple. "Concentration! I should hope for so much! You got tohave a brain to have concentration--" "Barton, this is Kielland. He's here from the Home Office, to solve allour problems. " "You mean he brought us an evacuation ship?" "No, he's going to tell us how to make this Installation pay. Right, Kielland?" Simpson's grin was something to see. Kielland scowled. "What are you going to do with the dredge--just leaveit there?" he asked angrily. "No--I'm going to dig it out, again, " said Barton, "after we takeanother week off to drum into those quarter-brained mud-hens just whatit is we want them to do--again--and then persuade them to doit--again--and then hope against hope that nothing happens along todistract them--again. Any suggestions?" Simpson shook his head. "Take a rest, Barton. Things will look brighterin the morning. " "Nothing ever looks brighter in the morning, " said Barton, and hesloshed angrily off toward the Administration island. "You see?" said Simpson. "Or do you want to look around some more?" * * * * * Back in Administration shack, Kielland sprayed his throat with PiperFortified Bio-Static and took two tetracycline capsules from hissamples case as he stared gloomily down at the little gob of blue-graymud on the desk before him. The Venusian bonanza, the sole object of the multi-million-dollar PiperVenusian Installation, didn't look like much. It ran in veins deepbeneath the surface. The R&D men had struck it quite by accident in thefirst place, sampled it along with a dozen other kinds of Venusianmud--and found they had their hands on the richest 'mycin-bearingbacterial growth since the days of the New Jersey mud flats. The value of the stuff was incalculable. Twenty-first century Earth hadnot realized the degree to which it depended upon its effectiveantibiotic products for maintenance of its health until the mutatingimmune bacterial strains began to outpace the development of newantibacterials. Early penicillin killed 96 per cent of all organisms inits spectrum--at first--but time and natural selection undid its work inthree generations. Even the broad-spectrum drugs were losing theireffectiveness to a dangerous degree within decades of theirintroduction. And the new drugs grown from Earth-born bacteria, orsynthesized in the laboratories, were too few and too weak to meet theburgeoning demands of humanity-- Until Venus. The bacteria indigenous to that planet were alien toEarth--every attempt to transplant them had failed--but they grew withabandon in the warm mud currents of Venus. Not all mud was of value:only the singular blue-gray stuff that lay before Kielland on the deskcould produce the 'mycin-like tetracycline derivative that was morepowerful than the best of Earth-grown wide spectrum antibiotics, withfew if any of the unfortunate side-effects of the Earth products. The problem seemed simple: find the mud in sufficient quantities formining, dredge it up, and transport it back to Earth to extract thedrug. It was the first two steps of the operation that depended soheavily on the mud-acclimated natives of Venus for success. They were asmuch at home in the mud as they were in the dank, humid air above. Theycould distinguish one type of mud from another deep beneath the surface, and could carry a dredge-tube down to a lode of the blue-gray muck withthe unfailing accuracy of a homing pigeon. If they could only be made to understand just what they were expected todo. And that was where production ground down to a slow walk. The next few days were a nightmare of frustration for Kielland as heobserved with mounting horror the standard operating procedure of theInstallation. Men and Mud-pups went to work once again to drag Number Five dredge outof the mud. It took five days of explaining, repeating, coaxing andthreatening to do it, but finally up it came--with mud caked andhardened in its insides until it could never be used again. So they ferried Number Six down piecemeal from the special orbitaltransport ship that had brought it. Only three landing craft sank duringthe process, and within two weeks Simpson and Barton set bravely offwith their dull-witted cohorts to tackle the swamp with a spanking newpiece of equipment. At last the delays were over-- Of course, it took another week to get the actual dredging started. TheMud-pups who had been taught the excavation procedure previously hadeither disappeared into the swamp or forgotten everything they'd everbeen taught. Simpson had expected it, but it was enough to keep Kiellandsleepless for three nights and drive his blood pressure to suicidallevels. At length, the blue-gray mud began billowing out of the dredgeonto the platforms built to receive it, and the transport ship wasnotified to stand by for loading. But by the time the ferry had landed, the platform with the load had somehow drifted free of the island andrequired a week-long expedition into the hinterland to track it down. Onthe trip back they met a rainstorm that dissolved the blue-gray stuffinto soup which ran out between the slats of the platform, and back intothe mud again. They did get the platform back, at any rate. Meanwhile, the dredge began sucking up green stuff that smelled ofsewage instead of the blue-gray clay they sought--so the natives dovemud-ward to explore the direction of the vein. One of them got caught inthe suction tube, causing a three-day delay while engineers dismantledthe dredge to get him out. In re-assembling, two of the dredge tubes gotinterlocked somehow, and the dredge burned out three generators tryingto suck itself through itself, so to speak. That took another week tofix. Kielland buried himself in the Administration shack, digging through therecords, when the reign of confusion outside became too much to bear. Hesent for Tarnier, the Installation physician, biologist, and erstwhileVenusian psychologist. Dr. Tarnier looked like the breathing soul offailure; Kielland had to steel himself to the wave of pity that sweptthrough him at the sight of the man. "You're the one who tested theseimbeciles originally?" he demanded. Dr. Tarnier nodded. His face was seamed, his eyes lustreless. "I tested'em. God help me, I tested 'em. " "How?" "Standard procedures. Reaction times. Mazes. Conditioning. Language. Abstractions. Numbers. Associations. The works. " "Standard for Earthmen, I presume you mean. " "So what else? Piper didn't want to know if they were Einsteins or not. All they wanted was a passable level of intelligence. Give them nativeswith brains and they might have to pay them something. They thoughtthey were getting a bargain. " "Some bargain. " "Yeah. " "Only your tests say they're intelligent. As intelligent, say, as alow-normal human being without benefit of any schooling or education. Right?" "That's right, " the doctor said wearily, as though he had been throughthis mill again and again. "Schooling and education don't enter into itat all, of course. All we measured was potential. But the results saidthey had it. " "Then how do you explain the mess we've got out there?" "The tests were wrong. Or else they weren't applicable even on a basiclevel. Or something. I don't know. I don't even care much any more. " "Well I care, plenty. Do you realize how much those creatures arecosting us? If we ever do get the finished product on the market, it'llcost too much for anybody to buy. " Dr. Tarnier spread his hands. "Don't blame me. Blame them. " "And then this so-called biological survey of yours, " Kiellandcontinued, warming to his subject. "From a scientific man, it's a prize. Anatomical description: limited because of absence of autopsy specimens. Apparently have endoskeleton, but organization of the internal organsremains obscure. Thought to be mammalianoid--there's a fence-sitter foryou--but can't be certain of this because no young have been observed, nor any females in gestation. Extremely gregarious, curious, playful, irresponsible, etc. , etc. , etc. Habitat under natural conditions:uncertain. Diet: uncertain. Social organization: uncertain. " Kiellandthrew down the paper with a snort. "In short, the only thing we'recertain of is that they're here. Very helpful. Especially when everydime we have in this project depends on our teaching them how to countto three without help. " Dr. Tarnier spread his hands again. "Mr. Kielland, I'm a mere mortal. Inorder to measure something, it has to stay the same long enough to getit measured. In order to describe something, it has to hold still longenough to be observed. In order to form a logical opinion of acreature's mental capacity, it has to demonstrate some perceptiblemental capacity to start with. You can't get very far studying acreature's habitat and social structure when most of its habitating goeson under twenty feet of mud. " "How about the language?" "We get by with squeaks and whistles and sign language. A sort ofpidgin-Venusian. They use a very complex system among themselves. " Thedoctor paused, uncertainly. "Anyway, it's hard to get too tough with thePups, " he burst out finally. "They really seem to try hard--when theycan just manage to keep their minds to it. " "Just stupid, carefree, happy-go-lucky kids, eh?" Dr. Tarnier shrugged. "Go away, " said Kielland in disgust, and turned back to the reports witha sour taste in his mouth. Later he called the Installation Comptroller. "What do you pay Mud-pupsfor their work?" he wanted to know. "Nothing, " said the Comptroller. "_Nothing!_" "We have nothing they can use. What would you give them--United Nationscoin? They'd just try to eat it. " "How about something they _can_ eat, then?" "Everything we feed them they throw right back up. Planetaryincompatibility. " "But there must be _something_ you can use for wages, " Kiellandprotested. "Something they want, something they'll work hard for. " "Well, they liked tobacco and pipes all right--but it interfered withtheir oxygen storage so they couldn't dive. That ruled out tobacco andpipes. They liked Turkish towels, too, but they spent all their timeparading up and down in them and slaying the ladies and wouldn't work atall. That ruled out Turkish towels. They don't seem to care too muchwhether they're paid or not, though--as long as we're decent to them. They seem to like us, in a stupid sort of way. " "Just loving, affectionate, happy-go-lucky kids. I know. Go away. "Kielland growled and turned back to the reports . .. Except that thereweren't any more reports that he hadn't read a dozen times or more. Nothing that made sense, nothing that offered a lead. Millions of Piperdollars sunk into this project, and every one of them sitting thereblinking at him expectantly. For the first time he wondered if there really _was_ any solution to theproblem. Stumbling blocks had been met and removed before--that wasKielland's job, and he knew how to do it. But stupidity could be astumbling block that was all but insurmountable. Yet he couldn't throw off the nagging conviction that something moresubtle than stupidity was involved. .. . Then Simpson came in, cursing and sputtering and bellowing for Louie. Louie came, and Simpson started dictating a message for relay to thetransport ship. "Special order, rush, repeat, rush, " Simpson grated. "For immediate delivery Piper Venusian Installation--one PiperAxis-Traction Dredge, previous specifications applicable--" Kielland stared at him. "Again?" Simpson gritted his teeth. "Again. " "Sunk?" "Blub, " said Simpson. "Blub, blub, blub. " Slowly, Kielland stood up, glaring first at Simpson, then at the littlemuddy creatures that were attempting to hide behind his waders, lookingso forlorn and chastised and woebegone. "All right, " Kielland said, after a pregnant pause. "That's all. You won't need to relay that orderto the ship. Forget about Number Seven dredge. Just get your files inorder and get a landing craft down here for me. The sooner the better. " Simpson's face lit up in pathetic eagerness. "You mean we're going to_leave_?" "That's what I mean. " "The company's not going to like it--" "The company ought to welcome us home with open arms, " Kielland snarled. "They should shower us with kisses. They should do somersaults for joythat I'm not going to let them sink another half billion into the mudout here. They took a gamble and got cleaned, that's all. They'd be asstupid as your pals here if they kept coming back for more. " He pulledon his waders, brushing penitent Mud-pups aside as he started for thedoor. "Send the natives back to their burrows or whatever they live inand get ready to close down. _I've_ got to figure out some way to make areport to the Board that won't get us all fired. " He slammed out the door and started across to his quarters, waders goingsplat-splat in the mud. Half a dozen Mud-pups were following him. Theyseemed extraordinarily exuberant as they went diving and splashing inthe mud. Kielland turned and roared at them, shaking his fist. Theystopped short, then slunk off with their tails between their legs. But even at that, their squeaking sounded strangely like laughter toKielland. .. . In his quarters the light was so dim that he almost had his waders offbefore he saw the upheaval. The little room was splattered from top tobottom with mud. His bunk was coated with slime; the walls drippedblue-gray goo. Across the room his wardrobe doors hung open as threemuddy creatures rooted industriously in the leather case on the floor. Kielland let out a howl and threw himself across the room. _His samplescase!_ The Mud-pups scattered, squealing. Their hands were filled withcapsules, and their muzzles were dripping with white powder. Two wentbetween Kielland's legs and through the door. The third dove for thewindow with Kielland after him. The company man's hand closed on aslippery tail, and he fell headlong across the muddy bed as the culpritliterally slipped through his fingers. He sat up, wiping mud from his hair and surveying the damage. Bottlesand boxes of medicaments were scattered all over the floor of thewardrobe, covered with mud but unopened. Only one large box had beentorn apart, its contents ravaged. Kielland stared at it as things began clicking into place in his mind. He walked to the door, stared out across the steaming gloomy mud flatstoward the lighted windows of the Administration shack. Sometimes, hemused, a man can get so close to something that he can't see theobvious. He stared at the samples case again. Sometimes stupidity worksboth ways--and sometimes what looks like stupidity may really besomething far more deadly. He licked his lips and flipped the telephone-talker switch. After amisconnection or two he got Control Tower. Control Tower said yes, theyhad a small exploratory scooter on hand. Yes, it could be controlled ona beam and fitted with cameras. But of course it was special equipment, emergency use only-- He cut them off and buzzed Simpson excitedly. "Cancel all I said--aboutleaving. I mean. Change of plan. Something's come up. No, don't orderanything--but get one of those natives that can understand yourwhistling and give him the word. " Simpson bellowed over the wire. "What word? What do you think you'redoing?" "I may just be saving our skins--we won't know for a while. But howeveryou manage it, tell them we're definitely _not leaving Venus_. Tell themthey're all fired--we don't want them around any more. The Installationis off limits to them from here on in. And tell them we've devised a wayto mine the lode without them--got that? Tell them the equipment will bearriving as soon as we can bring it down from the transport. " "Oh, now look--" "You want me to repeat it?" Simpson sighed. "All right. Fine. I'll tell them. Then what?" "Then just don't bother me for a while. I'm going to be busy. WatchingTV. " An hour later Kielland was in Control Tower, watching the pale screen asthe little remote-controlled explorer circled the installation. Three TVcameras were in operation as he settled down behind the screen. He toldSparks what he wanted to do, and the ship whizzed off in the directionthe Mud-pup raiders had taken. At first, there was nothing but dreary mud flats sliding past thecameras' watchful eyes. Then they picked up a flicker of movement, andthe ship circled in lower for a better view. It was a group ofnatives--a large group. There must have been fifty of them workingbusily in the mud, five miles away from the Piper Installation. Theydidn't look so carefree and happy-go-lucky now. They looked very muchlike desperately busy Mud-pups with a job on their hands, and they wereso absorbed they didn't even see the small craft circling above them. They worked in teams. Some were diving with small containers; some werehandling lines attached to the containers; still others were carryingand dumping. They came up full, went down empty, came up full. Theproduce was heaped in a growing pile on a small semisolid island with afew scraggly trees on it. As they worked the pile grew and grew. It took only a moment for Kielland to tell what they were doing. Thecolor of the stuff was unmistakable. They were mining piles of blue-graymud, just as fast as they could mine it. With a gleam of satisfaction in his eye, Kielland snapped off the screenand nodded at Sparks to bring the cameras back. Then he rang Simpsonagain. "Did you tell them?" Simpson's voice was uneasy. "Yeah--yeah, I told them. They left in ahurry. Quite a hurry. " "Yes, I imagine they did. Where are your men now?" "Out working on Number Six, trying to get it up. " "Better get them together and pack them over to Control Tower, fast, "said Kielland. "I mean everybody. Every man in the Installation. We mayhave this thing just about tied up, if we can get out of here soonenough--" Kielland's chair gave a sudden lurch and sailed across the room, smashing into the wall. With a yelp he tried to struggle up the slopingfloor; it reared and heaved over the other way, throwing Kielland andSparks to the other wall amid a heap of instruments. Through the windowsthey could see the gray mud flats careening wildly below them. It tookonly an instant to realize what was happening. Kielland shouted, "Let'sget out of here!" and headed down the stairs, clinging to the railingfor dear life. Control Tower was sinking in the mud. They had moved faster than he hadanticipated, Kielland thought, and snarled at himself all the way downto the landing platform below. He had hoped at least to have time toparley, to stop and discuss the whys and wherefores of the situationwith the natives. Now it was abundantly clear that any whys andwherefores that were likely to be discussed would be discussed later. And very possibly under twenty feet of mud-- A stream of men were floundering out of Administration shack, plowingthrough the mud with waders only half strapped on as the line of lowbuildings began shaking and sinking into the morass. From the directionof Number Six dredge another crew was heading for the Tower. But theTower was rapidly growing shorter as the buoys that sustained it brokeloose with ear-shattering crashes. Kielland caught Sparks by the shoulder, shouting to be heard above theracket. "The transport--did you get it?" "I--I think so. " "They're sending us a ferry?" "It should be on its way. " Simpson sloshed up, his face heavy with dismay. "The dredges! They'vecut loose the dredges. " "Bother the dredges. Get your men collected and into the shelters. We'llhave a ship here any minute. " "But what's happening?" "We're leaving--if we can make it before these carefree, happy-go-luckykids here sink us in the mud, dredges, Control Tower and all. " Out of the gloom above there was a roar and a streak of murky yellow asthe landing craft eased down through the haze. Only the top of ControlTower was out of the mud now. The Administration shack gave a lurch, sagging, as a dozen indistinct gray forms pulled and tugged at thesupporting structure beneath it. Already a circle of natives wasconverging on the Earthmen as they gathered near the landing platformshelters. "They're cutting loose the landing platform!" somebody wailed. One ofthe lines broke with a resounding snap, and the platform lurched. Then adozen men dived through the mud to pull away the slippery, writhingnatives as they worked to cut through the remaining guys. Moments laterthe landing craft was directly overhead and men and natives alikescattered as she sank down. The platform splintered and jolted under her weight, began skidding, then held firm to the two guy ropes remaining. A horde of gray creatureshurled themselves on those lines as a hatchway opened above and a ladderdropped down. The men scurried up the ropes just as the plastic dome ofthe Control Tower sank with a gurgle. Kielland and Simpson paused at the bottom of the ladder, blinking at thescene of devastation around them. "Stupid, you say, " said Kielland heavily. "Better get up there, or we'llgo where Control Tower went. " "But--everything--gone!" "Wrong again. Everything saved. " Kielland urged the administrator up theladder and sighed with relief as the hatch clanged shut. The jetsbloomed and sprayed boiling mud far and wide as the landing craft liftedsoggily out of the mire and roared for the clouds above. Kielland wiped sweat from his forehead and sank back on his cot with ashudder. "_We_ should be so stupid, " he said. "I must admit, " he said later to a weary and mystified Simpson, "that Ididn't expect them to move so fast. But when you've decided in your mindthat somebody's really pretty stupid, it's hard to adjust to the ideathat maybe he _isn't_, all of a sudden. We should have been much moresuspicious of Dr. Tarnier's tests. It's true they weren't designed forVenusians, but they were designed to assess intelligence, andintelligence isn't a quality that's influenced by environment orspecies. It's either there or it isn't, and the good Doctor told usunequivocally that it was there. " "But their behavior. " "Even that should have tipped us off. There is a very fine line dividingincredible stupidity and incredible _stubbornness_. It's often a toughdifferential to make. I didn't spot it until I found them wolfing downthe tetracycline capsules in my samples case. Then I began to see theimplications. Those Mud-pups were stubbornly and tenaciously determinedto drive the Piper Venusian Installation off Venus permanently, by fairmeans or foul. They didn't care how it got off--they just wanted itoff. " "But why? We weren't hurting them. There's plenty of mud on Venus. " "Ah--but not so much of the blue-gray stuff we were after, perhaps. Suppose a space ship settled down in a wheatfield in Kansas along aboutharvest time and started loading wheat into the hold? I suppose thefarmer wouldn't mind too much. After all, there's plenty of vegetationon Earth--" "They're _growing_ the stuff?" "For all they're worth, " said Kielland. "Lord knows what sort ofmetabolism uses tetracycline for food--but they are growing mud thatyields an incredibly rich concentration of antibiotic . .. Their nativefood. They grow it, harvest it, live on it. Even the way they shakewhenever they come out of the mud is a giveaway--what better way toseed their crop far and wide? We were mining away their staff of life, my friend. You really couldn't blame them for objecting. " "Well, if they think they can drive us off that way, they're going tohave to get that brilliant intelligence of theirs into action, " Simpsonsaid ominously. "We'll bring enough equipment down there to mine themout of house and home. " "Why?" said Kielland. "After all, they're mining it themselves a lotmore efficiently than we could ever do it. And with Piper warehousesback on Earth full of old, useless antibiotics that they can't sell forpeanuts? No, I don't think we'll mine anything when a simple tradearrangement will do just as well. " He sank back in his cot, staringdreamily through the port as the huge orbital transport loomed largeahead of them. He found his throat spray and dosed himself liberally inpreparation for his return to civilization. "Of course, the natives aregoing to be wondering what kind of idiots they're dealing with to sellthem pure refined extract of Venusian beefsteak in return for raw chunksof unrefined native soil. But I think we can afford to just let themwonder for a while. " Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from "Tiger by the Tail and Other Science Fiction Stories by Alan E. Nourse" and was first published in _Fantastic Universe_ July 1957. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U. S. Copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note.