Elliot shook his head. It was a mistake; his neck was still sore from
the clobbering earlier, and the pain made him wince.
"You're talking to Housten Blayne," Sam said.
Elliot stared silently. He knew Housten Blayne. Blayne was the Venusian
Commissioner for the Interplanetary Trade Board.
"You were in a brawl in a tavern, Mr. Elliot," said Blayne mildly. "I
could revoke your pilot's papers for that. It might even appear that
you were--ah--intoxicated when you smashed up the _Space Needle_.
Naturally we couldn't let you take off in the _Space Needle II_, could
we?"
Elliot saw the picture then. The fight in the bar had been staged.
Blayne had shrewdly framed him in order to get him to lead him to the
Dragonbird. And the fat man could do everything he said he would.
Elliot was in his pocket.
"All right, Blayne," Elliot said stiffly. "When do we start?"
"Tuesday," Blayne said. "And I'd better warn you, Elliot, that we must
protect each other. If I don't come back from this trip, certain papers
in my safe would make things very difficult for you. If we make it,
however, you will be well paid."
"What does that mean?"
Blayne smiled. "I believe ten thousand credits will be sufficient. That
is, of course, if we actually _get_ the Dragonbird."
* * * * *
They started the next day from North Venus City, Blayne and Elliot. Sam
followed them as far as the boundary line, then waved and turned back.
The first few days of the journey weren't too bad. The little jeep
went over the mossy undergrowth almost as though a road had been built
for it. It was, Elliot reflected, a hell of a lot better way to travel
than slogging through the Venusian jungle on foot. In four days, they
covered the same ground that had taken Elliot five weeks when he'd
cracked up his ship several hundred miles to the south.
At night, the two men took shifts, one of them sleeping in the rear
of the jeep and the other standing guard, keeping his eyes peeled
for predators. Here Elliot encountered a temptation that was almost
overpowering.
It happened the first night, while Blayne slept. Elliot paced slowly
back and forth, on the lookout. Half an hour before his watch was
due to end, he heard a faint chittering sound coming from one of the
swaying whip-trees overhead.
He glanced up, and swore. One of the grapefruit-sized purple Venusian
spiders was lowering itself stealthily from the overhead branches on
thick, sticky strands of web. It hovered some eight feet above Blayne's
face--the fat, grubby face that looked evil even in sleep.
Elliot felt perspiration bursting out on himself. It would be so easy
just to let the spider descend, to crawl on Blayne's ugly face, to
inject its venom--
No. He fought the temptation, and drew his blaster. A bright spurt of
golden flame split the night, and the spider withered on its web.