Part 2

With a jerk Simms swung the wheel, throwing Halleck off balance and plummeting him into the water. The hydrocar roared out into the swamp like a runaway comet.

* * * * *

All night Simms drove, weaving through aisles of man-high rip grass, circling denser groves of blue priest trees and ardaleptic ferns.

At dawn he drew up at a small island, built a fire and cooked some of the food he found packed away in a rear compartment of the hydrocar. He rested half an hour, reentered the car and drove on at a more leisurely speed.

There remained now only to go to GHQ at BeTaba, give his report and hand over his message-cylinder. And when the tube was opened, he would be through on Venus. Dismissed from the Service for insubordination. Wherever he went, that report would follow him.

His lips compressed. There was a girl waiting for him back on Earth--waiting until he had completed his hitch in the Service and could graduate to the spaceways.

Abruptly his hand, reaching to his belt, stopped, and an electric shock ran through him.

His message cylinder was gone! He must have lost it when he rested at the little island.

For a moment he sat motionless, a cold numbness sweeping over him. He must have that cylinder when he reported at BeTaba. That part of the message pertaining to reenforcements for the garrison would be given orally, of course. But the section regarding himself was different. If he failed to deliver that letter, sooner or later he would be accused of throwing it away. It would mean another case of--insubordination.

Suddenly he threw over the wheel and sent the hydrocar racing back in the direction from which it had just come.

The Great Swamp faded out of his vision now. He drove with his thoughts. And then as familiar landmarks began to rise up before him, he realized what he was doing.

It was selfishness that had driven him along the back trail. He was returning for a kind of personal satisfaction. Deliberately taking chances when the stakes were higher than himself or his own feelings.

But the island lay just ahead. It would be mad to turn back now that he had come this far. He ran the hydrocar into a little inlet, switched off the motor and climbed out.

The coals of his campfire were still glowing. Carefully he began to search the trampled grass. A fern writhed in the sodden wind, and a glint of metal caught his eye. The official tube lay where it had fallen, close to the shore.

But as Simms strode forward, a footstep sounded behind him. He stiffened and turned. An Earth man stood there on the little beach, hands resting triumphantly on hips, watching him.

"Halleck!"

In the swamp back of the space-rat lay a long _akimla_ canoe, filled with Kamali tribesmen, drawn by three waterskippers, their ugly beetle-like bodies lashed with an intricate network of harness.

There was a mold gun in Halleck's hands, and he had it leveled before him.

Out of the corner of his eye the lieutenant was searching desperately for a way of escape. Above him his upraised hands touched the spreading branch of a priest tree, and he saw that its farther extremity hung within a foot of Halleck's gun hand.

Simms seized the branch and gave it a powerful downward jerk. And in the instant that the space-rat's weapon was pushed out of aim, he threw himself forward in a flying tackle.

He fought desperately, aware that he had seconds in which to act and no more. A heavy kick in the groin sent a wave of nausea surging through him. Then his hands closed about the mold gun. He tore it free and pounded a hard blow into the space-rat's jaw. Twice he stuck. Then as Halleck slumped backward, he stumbled erect and trained the weapon on the advancing Kamalis, finger tight on trigger.

"Back!" he snapped. "One move, and I fire. Get into that jitterbug chariot of yours and get going!"

* * * * *

Two days later a mud-stained, mold-encrusted hydrocar swung up to the jetty at BeTaba, Venusian Colonial Headquarters on the outer edge of Blue Swamp. Two haggard Earthmen climbed out, one still gripping a Kamali mold gun, the other, his hands bound behind him.

They paced down the catwalk, entered the lock, and a moment later stood before the Post Major. Simms saluted and began a graphic description of all that had occurred.

"Post One needs help sir," he concluded. "There were twelve cases of Mold Fever when I left, and the impentration walls are badly in need of repair. The Kamalis are on the verge of an intertribal war."

The Major looked the prisoner over and nodded. All the defiance was gone from Halleck now. He stood there, lips twisted in a sullen snarl, eyes mirroring defeat.

"The I.P. men have been after this rat for a long time," the Major said. "And now, Lieutenant, I'll have your official report."

Silently Simms handed the message cylinder across the desk.

The Major opened the cylinder and glanced at the scroll inside. A moment passed in silence as he read the message.

"Lieutenant," he said at length, looking up, "how long have you been at Post One?"

"Six weeks, sir."

The Major opened a humidor and took out a Martian cheroot. "It so happens your Commandante is a very shrewd person. Lieutenant, take a look at this letter."

Slowly Simms picked up the scroll and read:

... _and am sending this letter by Lieutenant Simms, a newcomer to Post One. The boy had the usual case of nerves brought about by the damnable solitude, the rain and the constant dangers here at the post, and I'm taking the usual method of curing it. Let him rest over at BeTaba for a month. Then send him back. He has the makings_ ...

And across the desk the Major puffed his Martian cheroot and smiled.