VIII – “Foxes have holes and birds of the air have nests—”
Don’s immediate purpose was to ask his way to the I.T.&T. office, there to file a radiogram to his parents, but he was unable to leave at once; the passengers had to have their papers inspected and they themselves were subjected to physical examinations and questioning. Don found himself, hours later, still sitting outside the security office, waiting to be questioned. His irregular status had sent him to the end of the line.
In addition to being hungry, tired, and bored, his arms itched-they were covered from shoulders to wrists with needle pricks caused by extensive testing for immunities to the many weird diseases and fungus-like infections of the second planet. Having once lived there he retained immunity to the peculiar perils of Venus-a good thing, he mused, else he would have had to waste weeks in quarantine while being inoculated. He was rubbing his arms and wondering whether or not he should kick up a fuss when the door opened and his name was called.
He went inside. An officer of the Middle Guard sat at a desk, looking at Don’s papers. “Donald Harvey?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Frankly, your case puzzles me. We’ve had no trouble identifying you; your prints check with those recorded when you were here before. But you aren’t a citizen.”
“Sure I am! My mother was born here.”
“Mmmm—” The official drummed on his desktop. “I’m not a lawyer. I get your point, but, after all, when your mother was born, there wasn’t any such nation as Venus Republic: Looks to me as if you were a test case, with precedent still to be established.”
“Then where does that leave me?” Don said slowly.
“I don’t know. I’m not sure you have any legal right to stay here at all.”
“But I don’t want to stay here! I’m just passing through.”
“Eh?
“I’m on my way to Mars.”
“Oh, that! I’ve seen your papers—too bad. Now let’s talk sense, shall we?”
“I’m going to Mars,” Don repeated stubbornly.
“Sure, sure! And I’m going to heaven when I die. In the meantime you are a resident of Venus whether we like it or not. No doubt the courts will decide, eventually, whether you are a citizen as well. Mr. Harvey, I’ve decided to turn you loose.”
“Huh?” Don was startled; it had not occurred to him that his liberty could be in question.
“Yes. You don’t seem like a threat to the safety of Venus Republic and I don’t fancy holding you in quarantine indefinitely. Just keep your nose clean and phone in your address after you find a place to stay. Here are your papers.”
Don thanked him, picked up his bags and left quickly.
Once outside, he stopped to give his arms a good scratching.
At the dock in front of the building an amphibious launch was tied up; its coxswain was lounging at the helm.
Don said, “Excuse me, but I want to send a radio. Could you tell me where to go?”
“Sure. I.T.&T. Building, Buchanan Street, Main Island. Just down in the Nautilus?”
“That’s right. How do I get there?”
“Jump in. I’ll be making another trip in about five minutes. Any more passengers to come?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You don’t sound like a fog-eater.” The coxswain looked him over.
“Raised on the stuff,” Don assured him, “but I’ve been away at school for several years.”
“Just slid in under the wire, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Lucky for you. No place like home, I guess.” The coxswain looked happily around at the murky sky and the dark waters.
Shortly he started his engine and cast off lines. The little vessel slopped its way through narrow channels, around islands and bars barely above water. A few minutes later Don disembarked at the foot of Buchanan Street, main thoroughfare of New London, capital of the planet.
There were several people loafing around the landing dock; they looked him over. Two of them were runners for rooming houses; he shook them off and started up Buchanan Street. The street was crowded with people but was narrow, meandering, and very muddy. Two lighted signs, one on each side of the street, shone through the permanent fog. One read: ENLIST NOW!!! YOUR NATION NEEDS YOU; the other exhorted in larger letters: Drink COCA-COLA—New London Bottling Works.