Venus Is a Man's World
BY WILLIAM TENN
Illustrated by GENE FAWCETTE
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Galaxy Science Fiction July 1951.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Actually, there wouldn't be too much difference if women took
over the Earth altogether. But not for some men and most boys!
I've always said that even if Sis is seven years older than me—and agirl besides—she don't always know what's best. Put me on a spaceshipjam-packed with three hundred females just aching to get themselveshusbands in the one place they're still to be had—the planetVenus—and you know I'll be in trouble.
Bad trouble. With the law, which is the worst a boy can get into.
Twenty minutes after we lifted from the Sahara Spaceport, I wriggledout of my acceleration hammock and started for the door of our cabin.
"Now you be careful, Ferdinand," Sis called after me as she opened abook called Family Problems of the Frontier Woman. "Remember you'rea nice boy. Don't make me ashamed of you."
I tore down the corridor. Most of the cabins had purple lights on infront of the doors, showing that the girls were still inside theirhammocks. That meant only the ship's crew was up and about. Ship'screws are men; women are too busy with important things like governmentto run ships. I felt free all over—and happy. Now was my chance toreally see the Eleanor Roosevelt!
It was hard to believe I was traveling in space at last. Ahead andbehind me, all the way up to where the companionway curved in outof sight, there was nothing but smooth black wall and smooth whitedoors—on and on and on. Gee, I thought excitedly, this is one bigship!
Of course, every once in a while I would run across a big scene ofstars in the void set in the wall; but they were only pictures. Nothingthat gave the feel of great empty space like I'd read about in The BoyRocketeers, no portholes, no visiplates, nothing.
So when I came to the crossway, I stopped for a second, then turnedleft. To the right, see, there was Deck Four, then Deck Three, leadinginward past the engine fo'c'sle to the main jets and the grav helixgoing purr-purr-purrty-purr in the comforting way big machinery haswhen it's happy and oiled. But to the left, the crossway led all theway to the outside level which ran just under the hull. There wereportholes on the hull.
I'd studied all that out in our cabin, long before we'd lifted, onthe transparent model of the ship hanging like a big cigar from theceiling. Sis had studied it too, but she was looking for places likethe dining salon and the library and Lifeboat 68 where we should go incase of emergency. I looked for the important things.
As I trotted along the crossway, I sort of wished that Sis hadn'tdecided to go after a husband on a luxury liner. On a cargo ship, now,I'd be climbing from deck to deck on a ladder instead of having gravityunderfoot all the time just like I was home on the bottom of the Gulfof Mexico. But women always know what's right, and a boy can only makefaces and do what they say, same as the men have to do.
Still, it was pretty exciting to press my nose against the slots in thewall and see the sliding panels that could come charging out and blockthe crossway into an airtight fit in case a meteor or something smashedinto the ship. And all along there were glass cases with spacesuitsstanding in them,