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"I doubt it," Nina said.
"I doubt it, too. But well need something to keep us going. We're going to have a few rough times ahead." He turned away from the window. "You can stay here, you realize. You're legally not my wife; they won't necessarily co
"I'll come along," Nina said.
"You're sure? After all, you're in on the ground floor... you can be a saint in the new church."
She smiled up sadly. "You know I want to come along. So let's stop stalling around."
"Good," Cussick agreed, a little happier. In fact, a lot happier. Bending, he kissed her on the nose. "You're right—let's get started. The sooner we get out of here, the better."
CHAPTER TWENTY
THE INTERIOR of the cabin was cool and dark. The air, moist with the swirling mist from outside, drifted up in Louis' face and momentarily cut off his view. He blinked, squinted, settled down on his haunches, and leaned closer to see.
"Be careful," Dieter warned him ominously.
In the shadows lay Vivian, covered to her chin by a blanket. She gazed up weakly at Louis, her eyes dark and immense. It gave him a strange feeling; his heart turned over, and he had trouble getting his breath.
"Maybe I better look later," he muttered.
"I don't drive you fifty miles for nothing," Dieter answered urgently. "What's the matter? Afraid?"
"Yes," Louis admitted. "Do I have to look?" Fear took over, and he backed hurriedly away from the bed. What if it wasn't right? There was always the chance, a high chance, a better than even chance. The problem had never been solved; maybe the genes were inviolate, as Mendel had said. But how, then, had evolution occurred? A vast torrent of abstract theory swept through his brain. "No," he said emphatically, "I can't look."
Dieter strode over beside his wife. "You'll be next," he said to Louis. "You and Irma. And then Frank and Syd. So look."
He looked. And it was all right.
Trembling, he bent down. The baby was sound asleep, a reddish, healthy face, eyes shut tight, mouth slack, forehead pulled into a rubbery scowl. Tiny arms stuck up, ending in bent fingers. In many ways, it looked like an Earth baby ,...ut it wasn't. He could see that already.
The nostrils were altered; he noticed that first of all. A spongy element closed each one: filter-membrane to screen out the thick water vapor. And the hands. Reaching cautiously down, he took hold of the baby's tiny right hand and examined it. The fingers were webbed. No toes at all. And the chest was immense: huge lungs, to gather in enough of the air to keep the fragile organism alive.
And that was the proof. That was the important thing, the real thing. The baby was alive. Breathing the Venusian air, withstanding the temperature, the humidity... all that remained was the problem of nutrition.
Fondly, Vivian drew the baby against her body. The baby stirred, struggled fitfully, opened its eyes. "What do you think of him?" Vivian asked.
"He's fine," Louis said. "What's his name?"
"Jimmy." Vivian smiled up blissfully. Presently she lifted the struggling baby up against her enlarged breasts; after a short while the struggles ceased, and the frantic motion died into a greedy half-doze. Louis watched for a moment, and then he tiptoed off, to where Dieter stood proudly waiting.
"Well?" Dieter demanded belligerently.
Louis shrugged. "It's a baby. It kicks."
The youth's face flushed scarlet. "Don't you understand? It's altered—it's adapted. It'll live."
"Sure," Louis agreed. Then he gri
"Eighteen."
"How old is Viv?"
"Seventeen."
"You old patriarch. By the time you're my age, you'll have grandchildren. Virility, thy name is youth."
Frank and Syd came rapidly into the cabin, followed by Laura: now three years old and skipping about ably. Irma appeared behind them, face anxious. "Is it—" she began, and then became quiet and subdued as she made out the two figures in the bed.
"Gosh," Frank said, awed. "It's real."
"Of course it's real!" Dieter shouted.
Garry appeared in the doorway. "Can I come in?"
"Come on in," Louis said. "We're going to have a party." He led Laura over to the bed. "You, too. Everybody can look."
Bending over the woman and her baby, Syd said thoughtfully: "The nutrition problem is solved right now. But what about later?"
"Don't worry about it," Dieter said haughtily. With a little embarrassment he explained: "Rafferty didn't overlook anything. Viv's glands... that is... the mammary secretions aren't the same. Louis and I made tests. It's milk, but it's not regular milk."
"Thank God," Syd said, relieved.
"I wouldn't want to have to keep him alive for the rest of his life," Vivian said softly. "I don't think I could."
Frank and Louis walked off to confer in private. "This is the best thing that's happened," Frank said. "Have you considered the alternative? Suppose the baby had been normal—an Earth baby, geared to an Earth environment. Suppose all our progeny reverted. Yes, that's the term. Reversion. Suppose we hadn't been able to pass this on? Suppose we were sports, not true mutants?"
"Well, we're not."
"Thank God for that. The eight of us would have lived out our little life spans and then died. That would have been the end of the race. Some race."
They stepped out of the cool darkness, down the three steps, onto the walk that Dieter had laboriously erected to the main road. In the last year the colony had expanded geometrically. Smooth-surfaced roads linked each of the individual settlements with the others. In front of Dieter's cabin stood a crude metal vehicle he and Garry had built: metal hammered from sheets rolled in their own furnace.
It was a grotesque-looking object, but it served its purpose. The vehicle was powered by a storage battery. Its tires were amateurishly molded, not precisely round, but serviceable. The material was a poured plastic, a sap derived from a fern-like tree. The vehicle, on level ground, did ten miles an hour.
"Don't look at it too hard," Louis commented. "It'll collapse."
And that wasn't all. The bubbling fonts of hot water that spilled to the surface were natural sources of electric power. Four generating plants had already been assembled; the new Venusian society had a constant source of heat, light, and general power. Most of the equipment had been removed from the ruined ships and scout domes; but gradually, bit by bit, hand-made elements were being substituted.
"Looks good," Louis admitted.
"It does," Frank agreed. "He's done a lot here. But all those silly-looking animals he's got tied up... what the hell are they for?"
"God knows," Louis said. He leaned into the cabin and said to Dieter: "What are those things standing around out here?"
Loftily, Dieter answered: "That's my herd of wuzzles."
"What are they for? You going to eat them?"
With dignity, Dieter explained: "The wuzzle was the dominant species. Intellectually, it's the most advanced indigenous life form. Tests I've conducted show the wuzzle is more intelligent than the Terran horse, pig, dog, cat, and crow put together."
"Heavens," Irma murmured.
"They're going to be our helpers," Dieter revealed sleekly. I'm teaching that particular herd to perform routine chores. So our minds will be free for constructive pla
Shaking his head, Louis backed out of the cabin.
But it was a good sight. All of it: the fields, the animal sheds, the smoke-house, the silo, the main cabin, now a double-walled building with two bedrooms, a living room, kitchen, and indoor bathroom. And already, Garry had located a substitute for wood-pulp; an abortive paper had been turned out, followed by primitive type. It was only a question of time before their society became a civilization: a civilization, now, of nine individuals.