Carl left Spero lying on the floor where he dropped him. Stopping only
to scoop the gun off the floor, he ran to the control room. The tattoo
on the glass stopped when he entered. A face peered in at him--a face
curiously without emotion. It was a hairy-face, except around the eyes
and mouth, where three patches of yellow skin peeked through, giving
the appearance of three yellow bull's eyes.
Carl stared at the creature, fascinated. In his entire stay on Venus,
never had he observed a chowl at such close range. For perhaps five
seconds the chowl stared back at him, then quickly bounded off the ship
and disappeared toward the forest.
He turned. Diane, standing at the entrance to the control room was
regarding him curiously. "They look almost human, don't they?" she said.
"They are human," Carl told her. "Humanoid anyhow according to the
people who are supposed to know about these things. We don't know too
much about them really. They're so timid, it's a novelty to get within
half-a-mile of them."
"This one wasn't."
Carl scratched his head. "I know. It's the first time I've ever got
that close to one. I guess he didn't know what a spaceship was. You
notice he didn't wait very long after he saw us through the window."
"What are you going to do about Spero?" Diane asked suddenly.
Carl walked over to the gun cabinet where he poked around a moment,
then returned with the key. "I don't know," he admitted. He placed both
hands on the girl's shoulders. "Just how much does this immortality
really mean to you?"
Diane appeared to think about it a moment. "I'm not sure. I'm not sure
at all. Sometimes I find myself wondering if I'm not more interested in
finding out how it's accomplished than I am in applying it to myself.
Do you feel that way, too?"
Carl looked out the window.
"I've always felt that way," he said.
* * * * *
Spero, aided by Dr. Hamlin, was just beginning to stir when they
returned. He shook his head dazedly for a moment, then sat up massaging
his jaw.
Keating regarded him with a questioning stare. "What do you think we
should do with you?" he asked bluntly.
Spero patted his pockets and came up with a cigarette. After it had
been lighted, he blew the smoke in Carl's direction. "If you were
smart, you'd kill me," he said. "Only you're not smart. You know you
won't, and I know you won't. So suppose we all relax and stop trying to
build up suspense."
Carl dropped his hand inside his pocket, allowing his grip to tighten
around the butt of the needle gun. "What makes you so sure I won't kill
you?" he said. "I could, you know. The fact you know where Edgerton and
his cronies are wouldn't stop me. I could probably find them myself if
I wanted to. And I'm not even sure that I want to."
Spero took a drag on the cigarette and derricked himself to his feet.
"I wasn't thinking of that," he said quietly. "I just happen to know
that you haven't got it in you to kill a man in cold blood, Keating.
I could do it but not you. You got too many principles. The worst you
could bring yourself to do, Keating, would be to put it up to a vote.
And if it came to that, everyone here--probably you included--would
vote to let me off on the promise that I wouldn't do it again. Go
ahead, put it to a vote. See if I'm not right."
Keating let his eyes wander across the cabin.... To Stewart Ferguson,
white-looking, and curiously without comment.... To Diane, outraged
amazement on her face--but still a woman. And to Norman Hamlin,
wondering what made the man tick--but still a doctor. He looked back at
Spero, blowing small curls of smoke at the ceiling.
No, he didn't have to take a vote.
Impulsively, he waved the gun in the direction of the cubbyhole where
Diane had been sleeping. "Get in there," he said tightly.
Spero stubbed out the cigarette, swiveled a tight-lipped smile across
each member of the party, then shrugged his shoulders and shuffled into
the room.
Carl locked the door and stuck the key in his pocket along with the key
to the gun case. While neither of the locks were built for durability,
at least Spero would have to make a noise opening them.
To the others he said: "I'd suggest we make our future plans without
figuring on Spero's cooperation."
"But how can we," Dr. Hamlin said. "We'll have to find Edgerton,
Mitchell and Rhind first. They're the only ones who know the answer to
what we're after."
"The secret of immortality is nothing more than the secret of breathing
the air here," Carl said crisply. "Let's not kid ourselves about that."
"Well, what is the secret?" Hamlin said impatiently. "I'm sure I
haven't the slightest idea."
Carl studied the man intently.
"Haven't you?"
Diane shot him an odd look.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Hamlin said hotly.
Keating ignored the question and jerked a finger at the window.
"Suppose we leave Spero here and go over and activate the blister. It's
much more comfortable. It'll be a nice change after being cramped up
here for six weeks."
"Suppose you explain that statement first?" Hamlin said.
"There's jumpers in the airlock," Carl went on. "I'll explain after
we're settled over there. Who knows, maybe by that time I'll be ready
to apologize."
"I certainly hope so," Hamlin mumbled. "I can't understand what's got
into everyone all of a sudden."
"This way," Carl said.
Inside the lock, he helped each member of the party into a jumper and
adjusted the air valves. When everything was in order, he pressed a
switch, and the lock-door hissed open.
Another moment, and they were wading through the purple-brown,
ankle-deep slosh of Venus. The blister-building was only about three
hundred yards from the ship, but the rain--coming down in torrents
now--had turned the ground into a soft-slimy ooze that was sometimes
knee deep.
Carl led the way, shouting instructions through the speaker-unit
encased in his helmet. Once when Diane fell, he went back and helped
her to her feet. Through the helmet glass, he could see her face for
a moment. Then she jerked her arm free and plodded on. Behind him he
heard Stewart Ferguson swear.
It took a full twenty minutes to reach the building. It was big. Two
hundred feet in diameter at the base, it sloped out of the sea of mud
like a giant stemless mushroom. Carl led the party around the base to
the far side where the lock-door was situated. Then he stopped.
The rest of the party had caught up with him now. They stood in
a restless semi-circle in front of the great doors. From behind
mud-splattered face-plates, three pairs of eyes were regarding him
curiously. He didn't answer their solemn stare. Instead he continued to
stare at the great lock-doors.
They were open.
* * * * *
For a full minute he stared into the darkness, then he touched the
switch of his helmet lamp. The beam, seemingly thick enough to walk
on, stabbed into the cave-like interior. He went in. First, he'd have
to get the pumps working. Then, after the lethal gases had been pumped
out, start the separator motors. Even then, the place wouldn't be
livable for three weeks. He swore.
Abruptly, from behind him, he became aware of three flickering beams
of light. Diane and the two men were following him inside. He turned,
waving his arms backward. "Stay back!" he called. "Wait till I get the
lights working."
He watched them stop.
And then, the lights WERE working. They came on all at once,
illuminating the big structure with dazzling brilliancy. From behind
him, he was aware of the staccato crackle of a squawk-box being readied
for use. Then, like a bass drum in a brick tunnel, a voice boomed out
of the stillness:
"Welcome! Welcome to Venus!"
He stepped back, trying to peer over the row of packing cases. The
voice had originated from the control room at the far end of the
building. He flinched when something touched the sleeve of his jumper,
then relaxed when he saw Diane peering at him through a mud-stained
face-plate. The men had joined him, too, looking at him and shifting
from one foot to the other.
The squawk-box was silent now. Impulsively, Carl allowed his gloved
hand to brush against the butt of the needle pistol holstered in the
webbed-belt of his jumper.
"The gun won't be necessary, I assure you. I'm unarmed!"
The speaker stood at the far end of a corridor of wooden cases,
spotlighted in the glow of an overhead lamp. He was a young man,
with close-cropped sandy-blonde hair. He wore a blue spaceman's
uniform--obviously salvaged from one of the cases.
He remained motionless a moment, like a man waiting for the press
photographers to finish, then walked slowly toward them, his bare hand
extended in greeting.
"I'm Raymond Edgerton," the man said.
Awkwardly, Carl grasped the bare hand with the thick glove of his
jumper. "I know," he said. He was suddenly at a loss for words. What
DID one say at a time like this? Certainly not the time-worn Dr.
Livingston cliche.
Stewart Ferguson said it anyhow.
Carl studied the man carefully, watching the rise and fall of his
breathing. The man WAS breathing--breathing the lethal gases that
should kill him in thirty seconds.
"You find it hard to believe, don't you?" Edgerton said suddenly.
Carl nodded. "I have a nephew who collects stamps," he heard himself
saying. "He has one with your picture on it. It's a rarity now, 'cause
it's almost forty years old, but the picture on the stamp looks just
like you--just like you do NOW!"
"How is it done Mr. Edgerton?" Diane asked pointedly. "Why is it that
you can breathe this air when it kills everyone else?"
Edgerton's eyes narrowed when he heard the voice. Then he leaned
over and peered into the mud-stained face-plate. He smiled. "I'll be
damned," he said. "A woman. A real live woman! Pretty too."
"How is it done?" Diane persisted.