"I've just saved your worthless life," Elliot said tonelessly. "Spider.
Came out of the tree. Go back to sleep; you're not on duty for another
half-hour."
Blayne shuddered, rolled over--and went back to sleep.
During the day, Elliot drove. They moved further and further into the
tangle of foliage that was the Venusian jungle, while the gray clump of
buildings that was Venus City receded dimly behind them.
It was hot in the jungle, hot and moist. Elliot's hair plastered
itself to his forehead, sweat trickled into his eyes, steam fogged the
windshield. After a while, he brought the jeep to a halt.
Blayne wiped sweat from his wobbling chins and looked up. "What's going
on?"
"You drive," Elliot said. "I'm bushed."
"No," Blayne said. "You're doing the driving in this outfit. That's
your job--that's what I've hired you for. Get going. Now!"
Elliot started the jeep up again. He'd been in low straits before, but
this was about the depth in degradation. He had never hated anyone
quite so deeply as he did Blayne--and had never been in so poor a
position to do anything about it.
Pressure began to build up in him. He was a trained rocket pilot, a man
with skilled reflexes and an essential job. Somehow he'd slipped--and
it had landed him smack under Blayne's thumb. It wasn't an easy pill
to swallow. He would cheerfully have killed the fat man--except that
he knew he'd never fly a spaceship again if he returned to Venus City
without the Commissioner. Blayne had him tied up six ways from Sunday,
and it would do no good to strain at the bonds.
* * * * *
On the evening of the fourth day, disaster struck. The jeep was
bouncing over the mossy path between the great slime-covered trees
when, quite suddenly, Elliot spied something rope-like slithering down
a vine directly in the path of the car.
"_Snake!_" he yelled, and jerked the wheel to one side. The jeep
swerved.
"Watch what you're doing!" Blayne growled. But it was too late. The
right wheel hit a hidden rock, and the vehicle turned over on its side
with a rending crash.
Elliot was dazed, but he knew he still had to act fast. He sprang from
the overturned jeep, with Blayne behind him. The tree-snake that had
caused him to swerve was still coming toward them, its white fangs
dripping venom.
It sprang forward to strike, but Elliot's hand was faster. He closed
his fingers savagely around the reptile's neck. He held the head at
arm's length.
The snake's twelve-foot body whipped around Elliot's throat and chest,
pinning one arm to his side. The rocket pilot felt the dry, loathsome
odor of the reptile drifting into his nostrils, and retched. He gasped
for air and tightened his fingers on the snake's throat, drawing his
hand together as closely as he could. It was a question of which one
would hold out longer.
Elliot's eyes began to dim. What the hell was that fat fool Blayne
doing?
"_Blayne!_" he shouted.
But Blayne didn't answer. With one desperate surge of power, Elliot
clamped his fingers even tighter.
Something snapped. The snake gave one convulsive shudder and dropped
its lifeless coils from Elliot's body. He stood up, quivering with
tension.
As the snake hit the ground, a pencil beam seared the air, burning its
head off. "That's that," Housten Blayne said in relief.
Elliot whirled to face him. "Why the devil did you stand there? It
could have killed me. Why didn't you use your knife?"
Blayne shrugged. "You were doing all right. Now do something about the
car, will you?"
Elliot repressed a vivid curse and turned away. The sight of Blayne
sickened him, and he wished there were some way of exacting the revenge
Blayne merited without forfeiting the cash for the trip. There wasn't.
He bent and examined the car. "The front axle's broken," he said,
after a moment's scrutiny. "There's nothing much we can do about it out
here."
"Nothing?"
"Not unless you want to lash it together with some twigs," Elliot said
acidly.
"We can't turn back now," Blayne said. "Start loading your pack. We'll
walk the rest of the way. The Dragonbird's lair can't be too far off."
The bright glow of lust was shining in the fat man's eyes. Elliot
stared at him for a moment, then began packing.
* * * * *
A day later, they arrived at the banks of the Khathyl River, a
swirling, slow-moving, wide stream that wound lazily through most of
the continent.
Elliot and Blayne kept out of sight in the brush.
"Look out there," Elliot said. He pointed at an island a hundred yards
off shore.
"What's out that way?" Blayne asked.
"That's the temple. See the big white building? The natives never come
to this side of the river, by the way--the hunting's better over there."
"Give me the glasses," Blayne whispered.
Elliot handed the binoculars over and the fat man stared hungrily at
the island.
"See anything?"
"Just natives," Blayne said. He handed back the glasses and Elliot
looked at the little knots of mauve-skinned natives here and there on
the island.
"Don't they have any guards?"
Elliot shook his head. "No. They stick to their belief that the
Dragonbird will protect them from any invaders."
"Good," Blayne said. "So much the simpler for us. When do we get
moving?"
Elliot glanced at the man at his side, saw the desire on Blayne's face,
the greed of the hunter. "Don't be impatient," he said. "It's almost
noon now. Keep your glasses trained on the temple. Unless they've
changed the program, the Dragonbird will make an appearance at noon."
The minutes ticked past slowly. Blayne kept glancing at his watch and
looking eagerly out across the water toward the island.
At the instant the second-hand of the watch brushed past the "12,"
there was a sudden boom, as of a huge kettledrum, and the sound
reverberated hollowly out over the river. A group of natives, carrying
a dark-hued animal the size of a small sheep, marched in orderly
procession toward the temple. They laid the animal on an altar before
the door.
Another muffled boom followed.
"Here it comes," Elliot murmured.
The natives stepped back reverently, and the doors of the temple slowly
swung outward.
The Dragonbird appeared.
Blayne's astonished gasp was so loud that Elliot looked around
apprehensively. "It's _beautiful_," the fat man exclaimed. "More lovely
than I'd ever dreamed."
"It is," Elliot said grimly. He took the glasses from Blayne's
trembling fingers and focused them on the island.
The Dragonbird was walking with dignity across the little square
before the altar. It stood almost the height of a man, half-bird,
half-reptile, walking on powerful claws tipped with diamond-sharp,
gleaming talons. The brilliant sunlight glinted off its metallic
feathers, played over its shining plumage, lent brightness to the
shimmering row of scales that covered its long, swan-like neck.
"Give me back the glasses," Blayne said. He snatched them and stared.
"My God, what a beauty! He'll make a perfect trophy!"
"_Trophy?_" Elliot recoiled in amazement. "Trophy! I thought you were
going to capture it."
"Don't be a fool! How could we take a live bird the size of that one
back through the jungle? We'd need a cage of chrome steel. No, I'm
going to shoot it. We can take the head and skin back--that'll be
enough."
Elliot scowled, and felt sick. The Dragonbird--a trophy! The concept
disgusted him. He looked away, toward the island.
The Dragonbird had begun to feed on the small animal. It was ripping
into it viciously with its talons and powerful beak.
"It'll be easy," Blayne went on. "I'll put a bullet through the bird so
as not to ruin it, and then we'll use ray guns on the natives to get
rid of them."
"You'll _what_?"
"They'll never know what hit them. It's merciful that way. Lord, what a
lovely creature that is!"
Blayne raised his rifle and took careful aim.
* * * * *
The rifle hung there a long moment, as Elliot watched Blayne's pudgy
finger tightening on the trigger. Then he lowered it.
"No," he said. "I don't trust my aim. I might ruin the bird, and I'd
never forgive myself."
He handed the gun to Elliot. Elliot took it reluctantly, feeling the
coolness of the barrel, feeling the heaviness of the stock. "_You_
shoot it," Blayne said.
"No I won't," Elliot retorted. "We said nothing about--"
"That doesn't matter," said Blayne blandly. "I'm not asking you to
shoot the bird. I'm _ordering_ you to."
Hot arrows of rage danced before Elliot's eyes. He saw the
Dragonbird--now feasting on its sacrifice--saw that beautiful, noble
head pierced by a rocketing lump of metal, pictured the smoking rifle
in his hands--and he could barely check the impulse to swing the rifle
and bash in Blayne's bloated skull.
"I won't do it," he said. "I will not shoot that bird."
"You're a fool, Elliot. You know that if we don't get the bird, you
don't get paid. Why don't you--"
"_I won't do it!_"
"Very well," said Blayne coldly. "I can't waste further time arguing
with you. The bird may go back inside the temple any minute. Give me
the gun. I'll do it myself--and I'll settle with you later."
Silently, Elliot returned the gun to the fat man. Blayne took it,
cocked it, sighted along the barrel. A second time, his finger began to
tighten on the trigger.
Suddenly, in a flash of bitter insight, Elliot realized he could never
live with himself again if he allowed that finger to close on the
trigger. No matter what the cost to himself, he couldn't let this fat
butcher kill one of the most beautiful things that had ever lived,
as--as a _trophy_.
All the pent-up rage that had been building inside him since his first
meeting with Blayne exploded. Realizing exactly what the significance
of his action was, he threw up his hand and slammed it hard against the
barrel of the rifle just as Blayne fired.
The shot cracked out, breaking the silence, and a native fell. Blayne
looked at him in astonishment.
"You fool!" he shouted.
The fat man leaped up, swinging the rifle around in a buzzing arc
toward Elliot. The pilot side-stepped, and the butt whistled through
the air inches above his head. Blayne, off-balance after the swing,
fell away to one side, and Elliot sprang at him.
* * * * *
The fat man sank to one knee under Elliot's attack, but he turned out
to be stronger than the rocket man had thought--under the coating of
fat was solid muscle. Grunting, Blayne forced himself upward and hurled
Elliot away from him.
Livid hate sparkled in Blayne's eyes, and Elliot knew that his own face
was an angry mask. This was going to be a battle to the death, here on
the banks of this sluggish Venusian river.
The two men circled warily around each other. Blayne swung out one
apelike arm in a tentative offensive gesture, and Elliot danced
backward.
"You know what'll happen," Blayne shouted. "You'll rot on Venus for the
rest of your life if I don't get back!"
"I'll take that chance, Blayne. I can't let you kill that bird."
He put his head down and bulled into Blayne's midsection, ignoring
the rain of blows that descended on his neck and shoulders. He forced
Blayne back toward the water's edge, only to have to let go when the
other's fingers clawed into his throat. He pulled away, and Blayne's
fingers left bright red streaks on Elliot's flesh. Blood mingled with
sweat. A cloud of Venusian gnats descended on them, humming gently
around their heads.
Blayne's fist smashed into Elliot's stomach, but the pilot shook off
the blow and landed one in the bowl of lard that cushioned the other's
intestines. Blayne coughed and stepped backward.
Elliot leaped for him and wrapped his arms around Blayne, barely
managing to encircle the fat man's body. Then, slowly, he lifted the
struggling Blayne from the ground.
"Here ... we ... go...." he said, as he heaved the Commissioner's bulk
upward. He got Blayne as far off the ground as he could, and started to
dash him to the ground again, when the other broke Elliot's grasp.
Elliot let him go and he fell heavily. Instantly the pilot was upon
him, and the two rolled one over the other down the side of the bank
toward the river. Just at the river's edge, Elliot managed to check
their fall and broke loose. Blayne was on his feet again in an instant.
Elliot's first punch crashed through Blayne's guard. The fat man reeled
backward, lost his footing, and toppled off the embankment into the
quiet water below, shouting wildly as he fell. As he struck, he shot up
a torrent of water that splashed over Elliot's feet.
Suddenly the water was quiet no longer. There was a swirl beneath the
river's surface, and Blayne's body became the center of a tangle of
dark saurian shapes. Blayne screamed just once before the razor-sharp
teeth dragged him beneath the water. A red stain formed and drifted
slowly down the sluggish stream, and then the water was quiet once
again.
* * * * *
Elliot stood on the riverbank, gasping heavily as he fought to recover
his breath, and mopped away the blanket of gnats that had adhered
to him during the fight. He watched the streaks of red drifting
downstream, and knew that his own life was forfeit now for Blayne's.
He shook his head and turned away. There was nothing else he could have
done. He started to walk slowly back away from the river.
There was a rustling sound in the air above him. He looked up, into
the blazing sun, and a moment later was crouching in a huddled ball
on the ground. The Dragonbird was dropping gently toward him. Elliot
remembered only too well what those gleaming talons had done to the
sacrificial animal strapped to the altar.