She motioned for him to come to the window in his room. He gazed
outward, following the line of her finger as she pointed.
He saw a man-sized mound of stones, dimly visible beneath the
wind-whipped dust.
A grave.
"He was a man like you," Maggie said softly. "God knows Simon didn't
_try_ to kill him. But he was escaping. He--he made the decision not to
join us. Simon sensed it. There was a struggle. Simon's hands--well, he
doesn't realize--"
She didn't have to explain further. Ben knew what those mighty scaly
paws could do.
* * * * *
The moments were now like bits of eternity cloaked in frozen fear.
Somewhere in the blackness of interplanetary space, Jacob's rocket was
streaking closer and closer to Venus. How far away was it? A million
miles? Fifty thousand? Or was it now--right now--ripping through the
murky Venusian atmosphere above the dome?
A _complete_ decision, Maggie had said.
Jacob didn't want a potential deserter in his group. And you couldn't
_pretend_ that you were loyal to Jacob--not with monstrosities like
Simple Simon about.
Soon Jacob, not Ben, might have to make a decision--a decision that
could result in a second cairn of stones on the wind-swept desert.
Ben shivered.
Before retiring, he wandered nervously into the supply room. Maggie
was poised over the visi-radio. Simple Simon was intently scanning the
night-shrouded terrain in the viewscreen.
"Any news?" Ben asked Maggie.
The girl grunted negatively without looking up.
Ben's gaze fell upon the array of oxygen masks, windsuits,
vita-rations. Then, on a littered shelf, he spied a small Venusian
compass.
Almost automatically, his hand closed over it. His brain stirred with
a single thought: _A compass could keep a man traveling in a straight
line._
Simple Simon restlessly shifted. He turned to Ben, blinking in the
frighteningly alien equivalent of a suspicious scowl.
Ben's hand tightened about the compass. He tried to relax, to force all
thought of it from his mind. He stared at the viewscreen, concentrating
on the ceaseless drift of dust.
The Venusian's eyes studied him curiously, as if searching his mind for
the illusive echo of a feeling that had given him alarm.
"I think I'll turn in," yawned Ben. "'Night, Maggie."
Simon frowned, apparently frustrated in his mental search. "Ben--not
one of us. I--watch."
* * * * *
Without answering, Ben returned to his room, the compass hot and moist
from the perspiration in his hand.
He took a deep breath.
Why had he taken the compass? He wasn't sure. Perhaps, he reflected,
his decision had already been made, deep beneath the surface of
consciousness.
He stood before the window, peering into the night. He knew that to
attempt to sleep was futile. Sleep, for the past few days an ever-ready
friend, had become a hostile stranger.
_God_, his brain cried, _what shall I do?_
Slowly, the dust outside the window settled. The scream of wind was no
longer audible. His startled eyes beheld dim, faraway lights--those of
Hoover City, he guessed.
It was as if, for the space of a few seconds, some cosmic power had
silenced the Venusian fury, had guided him toward making his decision.
He whipped up his compass. He barely had time to complete the
measurement.
"Sixty-eight degrees," he read. "Northeast by east."
Fresh wind descended onto the plain. Dancing dust erased the vision of
the lights.
"Sixty-eight, sixty-eight," he kept muttering.
But now there was nothing to do--except try to sleep and be ready.
Strong hands shook him out of restless sleep. He opened his eyes and
saw complete darkness. He thought at first that his eyesight had failed.
"Ben! Wake up!" Maggie's voice came to him, crisp, commanding. "The
rocket's coming. I've decoded the message. We only have a few minutes."
The girl snapped on a small bulkhead light. She left him alone to dress.
He slid out of bed, a drowsiness still in him. He reached for his
clothing. Abruptly, the full implication of what she had said struck
him.
Jacob's rocket was coming. This was the time for decision, yet within
his taut body there was only a jungle of conflicting impulses.
* * * * *
Maggie returned, her face hard, her eyes asking the silent question.
Ben stood frozen. The slow seconds beat against his brain like waves of
ice.
At last she said, "Ready, Ben?" She spoke evenly, but her searching
gaze belied the all-important significance of her words.
In the dim light, the photograph of Jacob was indistinguishable, but
Ben could still see the image of the dead man.
He thought, _I can't run away with Jacob like a selfish, cowardly kid!
No matter how bright the stars would be, that brightness couldn't
destroy the image of a dead man with staring eyes. No matter what Jacob
and Simon do to me, I've got to try to get back to Earth._
He suddenly felt clean inside. He was no longer ashamed to hold his
head high.
"Maggie," he said.
"Yes?"
"I've made my decision."
Outside the window, a waterfall of flame cascaded onto the desert,
pushing aside the dust and the darkness. The deep-throated sound of
rocket engines grumbled above the whining wind. The floor of the dome
vibrated.
"The rocket's here!" Maggie cried.
The flaming exhaust from the ship dissolved into the night. The rocket
thunder faded into the wind.
The alarm on the dome's inner airlock bulkhead rang. Maggie ran like a
happy child through the concrete corridor, Ben following. She bounded
into the supply room, pushed Simple Simon aside, stopped before a
control panel. Her fingers flew over switches and levers.
The airlock door slid open. A short, stubble-bearded man clad in
windsuit and transparalite helmet stomped in. He unscrewed the face
plate of his helmet. His ears were too big and he looked like a fat
doll.
"We're ready for you, Mrs. Pierce," he said.
Maggie nodded eagerly. She whirled back to Ben. "_Hurry!_ Get your
helmet and suit on!"
She spun back to the big-eared little man. "Cargo unloaded? All set for
the flight home?"
_Home_, Ben thought. _She calls a place she's never seen home._
"Cargo's unloaded."
"No trouble with the I. B. I.? No investigation?"
"Not yet. We're good for a few more hauls, I guess."
* * * * *
Ben slipped on his windsuit. He glanced at the control panel for the
airlock. Yes, he could manipulate it easily. He contemplated the heat
pistol at Simple Simon's hip. A tempting idea--but, no, he wanted no
more of violence.
Then he bit his lip. He cleared his mind of all thought.
Simple Simon evidently had not noted the impulse that flicked his
adrenals into pumping.
The big-eared man stared strangely at Maggie. "Mrs. Pierce, before we
go, I'd better tell you something."
"You can do that on the rocket."
Maggie stepped forward to seize her helmet. The man blocked her
movement.
"Mrs. Pierce, your husband--Jacob--was on the rocket."
"What?" The girl released a broken, unbelieving little laugh. "Why, he
wouldn't dare! That idiot, taking a chance like--" Alarm twisted her
features. "He--he wasn't captured--"
"No, he wasn't captured. And he took no chance, Mrs. Pierce."
A moment of silence. Then she sucked in her breath.
Ben understood. Words echoed in his mind: "Jacob and those like him can
never return to Earth, not even to Hoover City--except dead."
Maggie swayed. Ben and the big-eared little man jumped to her side,
guided her back into the compartment used as a kitchen. They helped her
to a chair. Ben turned on the fire beneath a coffee pot. Simple Simon
watched silently.