"If there's good land up there, and anything happens to you so you
can't come back and tell us...."
"Like not bothering to come back, maybe?"
"I didn't say that. Like we both won't come back. But two is better
than one."
Harker smiled. The smile was enigmatic and not very nice. Gibbons said,
"He's right, Matt." Harker shrugged. Then Sim stood up.
"Two is good," he said, "but three is better." He turned to Gibbons.
"There's nearly five hundred of us, sir. If there's new land up there,
we ought to share the burden of finding it."
Gibbons nodded. Harker said, "You're crazy, Sim. Why you want to do all
that climbing, maybe to no place?"
Sim smiled. His teeth were unbelievably white in the sweat-polished
blackness of his face. "But that's what my people always done, Matt. A
lot of climbing, to no place."
They made their preparations and had a last night's sleep. McLaren said
good-bye to Viki. She didn't cry. She knew why he was going. She kissed
him, and all she said was, "Be careful." All he said was, "I'll be back
before he's born."
They started at dawn, carrying dried fish and sea-berries made into
pemmican, and their long knives and ropes for climbing. They had
long ago run out of ammunition for their few blasters, and they had
no equipment for making more. All were adept at throwing spears, and
carried three short ones barbed with bone across their backs.
It was raining when they crossed the mud flat, wading thigh-deep in
heavy mist. Harker led the way through the belt of swamp. He was
an old hand at it, with an uncanny quickness in spotting vegetation
that was as independently alive and hungry as he was. Venus is one
vast hothouse, and the plants have developed into species as varied
and marvelous as the reptiles or the mammals, crawling out of the
pre-Cambrian seas as primitive flagellates and growing wills of their
own, with appetites and motive power to match. The children of the
colony learned at an early age not to pick flowers. The blossoms too
often bit back.
The swamp was narrow, and they came out of it safely. A great
swamp-dragon, a _leshen_, screamed not far off, but they hunt by night,
and it was too sleepy to chase them. Harker stood finally on firm
ground and studied the cliff.
The rock was roughened by weather, hacked at by ages of erosion,
savaged by earthquake. There were stretches of loose shale and great
slabs that looked as though they would peel off at a touch, but Harker
nodded.
"We can climb it," he said. "Question is, how high is up?"
Sim laughed. "High enough for the Golden City, maybe. Have we all got a
clear conscience? Can't carry no load of sin that far!"
Rory McLaren looked at Harker.
Harker said, "All right, I confess. I don't care if there's land up
there or not. All I wanted was to get the hell out of that damn boat
before I went clean nuts. So now you know."