Part 2

Carl Keating stared vacantly out of the blister window watching the fleecy-white rim of the earth roll up toward them. The trip, less than one hour old, was already a hotbed of smoldering emotions. Worst of all, was the fact that things were almost sure to get worse before they got better. Under the best of conditions, space does strange things to individuals cramped together in the confines of a ship. Army records are crammed full of case histories where men, failing to adjust themselves to existing conditions, have reacted in ways which are probably best left in the files. But military men are schooled and conditioned for space, and while complete and mutual understanding seldom exists, there is usually, even as there was between Spero and himself, an unwritten live-and-let-live policy among crew members.

But they weren't in the army anymore, and no one seemed more aware of it than Paul Spero. Never a model officer, Spero in his new-found freedom, had become almost unbearably obnoxious. Nor could he expect any cooperation from Stewart Ferguson. He could handle him, he hoped. All of which brought him to the big question. What about Diane?

It was probably a paradox that while the more unsavory military case histories were due to men being without women, the proximity of a long-legged taffy-blonde in this case was a factor more conducive to mutiny than harmony.

And curiously enough, it was Diane Hamlin herself, who came up with at least part of the answer. She was smart--whether or not she'd been around was a question to ponder over while staring into the star-studded blackness beyond the blister ports. But one thing was certain: the girl had an almost uncanny knowledge of the working's of men's minds, an insight of psychology which she applied diplomatically if not ruthlessly to all aboard.

With just the right amount of good-natured tolerance she either ignored or subtly evaded the bluntly-pointed remarks of Stewart Ferguson and deftly sidestepped the impulsive hands of Paul Spero. On several occasions when a crisis seemed imminent, she disappeared--always good-naturedly and on a new logical pretense--into the small cubbyhole to which she'd been assigned. So tactfully was all this accomplished that they'd already passed the halfway mark before Carl realized that he hadn't spoken to her alone since during the preparations.

* * * * *

He was mildly surprised therefore, when while spelling Spero at the controls during the sleep period, he became suddenly aware of someone standing at his elbow. She was wearing a robins-egg-blue dressing robe, loose-fitting except around the curve of her breasts. She sat down in the co-pilot's seat next to him.

"Mind if I keep you company awhile? I can't seem to get to sleep."

"A pleasure," Carl said with genuine enthusiasm.... He stopped awkwardly, wondering what to say.... Impulsively, he ran his open hand across the width of the blister glass. "Want a hunk of space, baby. Say where to cut and I'll slice it for you."

She smiled a little. "You sound a little like Ferguson when you talk that way."

Carl pretended to check the dials.

"Carl?"

On his forearm he could feel Diane's fingers. He turned.

"What makes a man like that?"

He moved his shoulders. "I don't know, unless it's because he's always been able to buy anything he's ever wanted. As far as I know, there's only been one thing he hasn't been able to buy, and he's working on that."

"You mean immortality?"

Carl ignored the question. "Why ask me about Ferguson's mind anyhow?" he asked suddenly. "You're the psychologist of this expedition." He watched her nibble on her lower lip for a moment, then went on: "You don't have to admit it. I just want you to know you've been doing a good job. I don't know how long you can keep it up or what happens after we get to Venus, but up till now you've been doing all right. There's only one thing wrong with the setup as far as I can see, and that's that this arm's-length policy apparently applies to me as well as it does to everyone else. I know it's necessary to the plan, and I know it's a selfish argument, but it bothers me!"

She turned and faced him. For a moment it occurred to him she was angry, but when she spoke, her voice was soft, and deep, and lingering. "I'm sorry, Carl, but you can see why it has to be this way.... I mean--"

Carl leaned over suddenly and kissed her full on the lips. She didn't pull away. Neither did she respond the way he'd have liked her to. After a brief interval he felt the pressure of her hand against his shoulder.

"Please Carl, not now."

"When?"

She turned away. On the starboard port he could see the reflection of her finely-moulded face. She looked wistful, almost on the verge of tears.

"I don't know, Carl," she said wearily. "Maybe after we're settled on Venus. Maybe after the migration starts."

Keating hacked up a laugh. "Just what makes you so sure there's going to be a migration, or for that matter any little men who never grow old as long as they have their daily diet of ammonia and chlorine?"

He watched her turn, felt her eyes bore into him. "You don't believe it, do you?"

"I'm not sure," Carl said carefully, "I want to believe it, only I've listened to so many bug yarns in my time it's probably warped my sense of values. The whole thing just sounds too fantastic."

"But the pictures?"

"The pictures were real enough," Carl admitted. "I'd vouch for that. It's just that if you'd ever caught a whiff of that stuff like I have, you'd know that no one could breathe it and stay alive for sixty seconds, much less forever."

"What do you think we'll find?"

Carl shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe the story's true. Sometimes I find myself wondering what it would be like to be immortal--I mean after all the willful-wishing's over with, and you get down to thinking about it in terms of 'what's-in-it-for-me.' Most of us think of immortality as being something we could have on our own terms. But suppose everyone were immortal, the way they'll be--or could be--after this so-called migration starts. How much will people have really changed. They'll have just as many problems--bigger ones in fact, 'cause they'll be living on what to me is just about the God-awfulest hunk of crud in the galaxy. And the only thing they're getting in the way of compensation is the knowledge that these same troubles are going to go on forever."

She was staring at him now--attentively with her lips slightly parted. "You feel this way, and you still agreed to come," she said evenly. "Why?"

Carl forced a smile. "Like I said, maybe I can have it on my own terms. It's a gamble, but if it pays off it'll be worth it."

Diane got up. "I'd best be getting back," she said.

He watched her till she disappeared around the corner of the companionway. Then he fixed his gaze on the marble-sized disc to the right of Polaris.

"Immortality, and thou," he murmured.

* * * * *

Carl Keating nosed the ship into a standard satellite maneuver, circling the planet twice before he cleaved into the unbroken ocean of ammonia clouds that shrouded the planet. Then they were falling--falling through a smoky whiteness that boiled against the portholes, settling in spots, and condensing into tiny rivulets that ran the length of the amber glass. The ship shuddered sharply three times as its powerful thrust engines reached out, challenging the herculean fingers of gravity; fighting them--fighting them to a draw. Then the misty ports cleared, and the ship settled with a gentle bump in the center of a broad meadow.

Not till after the controls had been checked, and the atomic reactor switch set to recharge, did he look at the passengers. They were standing in the companionway, their faces pressed against the ports. He crossed the control room and peered over the bony shoulder of Norman Hamlin.

Dismal-looking, even through the amber glass, the miserable panorama rolled away from them. A quarter-mile away, the meadow ended at the rim of a small ridge, beyond which a hill dipped down--down across the roof of a purple-brown saroo forest that merged with an abyss of swirling green fog that swallowed up the horizon. In the foreground, a few packing cases lay scattered about in front of a large white hemisphere topped by a radio antenna and American flag. It was all there, exactly the way it had been left by the military almost six months ago.

"That's a permanent building," Carl said to no one in particular. "Just before we evacuated, Colonel Brophy stocked it up with all our excess supplies, just on the chance someone might be crazy enough to come back here. We even left the separator running when we left. So take a good look at it, 'cause inside that bubble is the only breath of air on the whole planet."

"Very nice of the military," Ferguson commented dryly.

"Let's hope we won't have to use it long," Dr. Hamlin said.

Carl looked out the port. Rain, that doused the planet almost twenty hours a day, had started to fall, settling in small puddles at the base of the ship and drenching the broad-leafed saroo trees.

"I wouldn't bet on it," he said.

As if in a trance, Diane continued to stare at the melancholy landscape. "It's more that awful color than anything else," she said finally. "It makes everything seem so angry looking. How about the rest of the planet? Is it all like this?"

"No," Carl said, "it's not all like this. That's the trouble. This is one of the more livable spots. That's why it was chosen by the military. Roughly ten percent of the planet lies above water, but out of that, only five percent of the terrain is in the visual belt."

"I'll play the straight man," Ferguson said. "Tell us, Captain, what is the visual belt?"

"The visual belt represents the altitude from approximately three to four thousand feet above sea level," Carl told him. "Below that you have the green ground haze you see over the tops of those trees, and above it is the ten-mile-thick layer of clouds that never lift. Both are so thick, that except around the fringe areas, you can't even count your own fingers."

"Nice place to take your girl for a walk," Ferguson said, looking at Diane pointedly.

"Is anyone interested in what I think?" Spero said suddenly.

"Think away," Carl said. "Who's there to stop you?"

"That's exactly what I'd like to talk about," Spero said grimly. "It seems to me that for a fellow who left his rank back at the separation center, you've certainly been assuming a lot of authority around here."

Carl felt a warm flush rising to his cheekbones. "We've been in space," he said. "The pilot of a ship is responsible for the actions of everyone aboard."

Spero jerked a thumb at the blister port. "I've got news for you, Keating," he said. "We're not IN space anymore, so you may consider yourself relieved of your authority. For five weeks now we've watched you swagger around the ship like the hero of a grade-B space-opera, and frankly I think we're all a little sick of it!"

"Aren't you dramatizing this a little heavy," Diane said suddenly.

"Shut up!" Spero said harshly.

Stewart Ferguson sat down, folding his hands in his lap. "My, my," he said. "A real live mutiny, just like one reads about. Tell me, when does Jack Jupiter come crashing through the lock-door?"

"I wasn't aware that anyone in particular was in command," Diane persisted, "but if you think we need someone, I'd suggest we take a vote."

Spero grinned. "No, honey. We all know who your money's riding on. That's why you can forget all those dreams about you and Keating settling down in a saroo covered cottage for the next three or four thousand years. You see, I've got different plans."

From the slash pocket of his tunic Spero suddenly whipped out a snub-nosed needle gun, waving it carelessly across the width of the cabin. He flicked a glance at Ferguson.

"Surprise," he said. "Jack Jupiter just crashed the lock-door. I'm Jack Jupiter!"

"You'll never get away with this," Carl said.

The smile on Spero's face broadened. "Oh, come Keating. How corny can you get? I have gotten away with it. Since I'm the only one who can lead you to immortality, what's more natural than for me to take command? My first official act will be to detail you, Ferguson, and Dr. Hamlin to go outside and activate the blister. You'll find space jumpers in the airlock. Diane and I will stay here and figure out a plan of action."

Carl took a step forward. "I'm afraid we can't go along with your plan," he said quietly.

Spero leveled the lethal end of the weapon against his chest. "You're acting stupidly, Keating. You know you can't stop me, just as you know I'll kill you if you try. You above all people should know that."

There was a stagnant silence, during which Carl held his ground. Violently he was aware of the beating of his own heart. The tapping got louder as he watched Spero's finger tighten on the trigger. Then suddenly he realized it wasn't his heart. SOMEONE WAS TAPPING ON THE THICK GLASS INSIDE THE CONTROL ROOM.

Spero heard it, too. For a confused moment, his trigger-finger relaxed as he tried to flick a quick glance toward the source of the sound.

Then the world exploded in his face.

IV

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.

Edgerton's grin faded. He turned to Carl. "You mean you don't know?"

Carl eyed the man, his lips set in an aggravating silence. Then: "Yes, I know. Or at least I think I know. Furthermore, Dr. Hamlin knows too. He's known all the time. Obviously, this girl is the only one who's still in the dark. I think it's about time someone told her."

"Wait!" Dr. Hamlin said.

"Say, what's this all about?" Edgerton said suddenly. "Where's Paul Spero anyhow? Rhind and Mitchell are waiting!"

Carl flicked a look at Diane, then turned back to her father. "Are you going to tell her? Or should I?"

"Tell me what?" Diane said. "How does he know about Paul Spero? Spero told us...."

V