"He said that Trans-Space doesn't discriminate between its employees because of sex," Wilkerson answered. "Open me another can of beer, somebody. I feel faint."
"Let me at that radio!" Molock screamed. "I want to talk to that Cooper."
He slammed out of the galley. While he was gone we drank beer vigorously. When he returned his face was ash-colored. "What did Cooper say?" Wilkerson asked.
"He said that good publicity was more important than our necks, that if we are going to bring colonists here, we have to be able to prove to them how peaceful Venus is."
"Um," Wilkerson said. "What else did the good man say?"
"He fired me!" Molock sounded as if he was strangling. "He told me to come in and get my pay. When I asked him how I was to get there, he said I was to walk."
"Um," Wilkerson said. "Well, go right ahead and start walking. You bluffed Shad Brisbee once. You can do it again."
"You're as bad as Cooper!" Molock screamed. "Shad Brisbee would murder me if he caught me outside this ship. I'm not a damned Venusian, I'm fair game to him."
"Nah, he wouldn't hurt you," Wilkerson said, "Hell, he's just an ignorant native. All he's got are knives and clubs and spears and bows and arrows—just a native. He's easy to bluff. Hell, you're a human being. He probably looks on you as a sort of a god. At least some of the literature I saw one of the trained seals pounding out in the publicity department said the natives regarded humans as minor gods who can do no wrong."
Whaaam! An arrow smashed against the plastite hull window bounced off. One point was definitely to our advantage. No weapon possessed by the Venusians could get through the steel hull or the plastite view ports of the ship. We were as safe as sardines in a can—unless the Venusians found a can opener.