To Each His Own
By JACK SHARKEY
A world ideal for life will
have life on it—but don't
expect ideal life!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, January 1960.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
On September the 24th, 1965, the Venusian spaceship Investigatorfloated gently to Earth in Times Square.
The sleek metal belly of the ship touched feather-light upon theasphalt "X" of Broadway and Seventh Avenue, and stubby stabilizing legsextended from ports along the sides of the hull, bracing the ship'smass against dangerous rolling, leaving it hulking there like somemetallic beetle at rest.
The sun was almost directly overhead, sending yellow-gold serpentineglints wriggling on the gleaming surface of the ship. After the veryslight thumping as the ship settled into place, there was no soundthroughout the nearby streets of New York.
Absent was the noise of traffic, the hubbub of voices, thehurry-scurry of pedestrians. Nothing but heavy oppressive silenceeverywhere outside the body of the ship. No apprehensive eye appearedat a window to stare at the visitor from the nearest planet. Notelephone was picked up in nervous haste to warn the authorities ofthe possible menace to the peoples of Earth. Just the silence and thedancing sunlight.
Inside the spaceship, there was swift, practiced activity.
The Venusians were a picked, trained crew. This, the first contact withthe third planet, called for quick reaction, accurate evaluation, andcompetent decision.
Each of the five aboard had a job to do immediately upon landing. Withno conversation, they were all at their tasks. It was an operationthey'd practiced many times over, back at their home base on Venus.They were sick of the thing even before being sent to Earth. But theirtraining had paid well, for now their motions were automatic, eachseparate action swift, sure and precise.
Gwann, the pilot, his heavy-lidded eyes narrowed with the intensityof concentration, checked and re-checked his instruments and gauges.His nimble three-digited hands, with their long, flat palms, flickeredfrom button to switch to dial. He locked the stabilizing legs intoposition, once each leg had made its contact securely with the surfaceoutside. He dampered the power of the interplanetary drive, leaving itsdeadly emanations at a low, and therefore safe, degree of pulsation. Hechecked the release valves of the individual skimmers, making certainat the same time that, should the atmosphere outside be hostile toVenusian breathing, the tanks were filled and the cockpit seals weretight and break-free.
Drog, the navigator, used compass, ruler and stylus upon the scant,almost rudimentary Earth map, to determine the exact point of contactwith the third planet. Venusian telescopes were able to see—veryindistinctly—continental outlines at the twenty-million-mile distanceto their neighbor planet. But the foggy overhang that shrouded theirhome planet had made sharp topographical drawing well-nigh impossible.
Volval, as Drog passed him the information, relayed the findings bylight-beam back to their home base. The geographical location, codedinto the tight beam, sped outward from the surface of Earth towardVenus, where it would not be received for at least a minute and a half.Volval, having transmitted the data, waited impatiently while theVenusian biochemist tested the outside surface against their