He glanced up, and swore. One of the grapefruit-sized purple Venusian spiders was lowering itself stealthily from the overhead branches on thick, sticky strands of web. It hovered some eight feet above Blayne's face—the fat, grubby face that looked evil even in sleep.

Elliot felt perspiration bursting out on himself. It would be so easy just to let the spider descend, to crawl on Blayne's ugly face, to inject its venom—

No. He fought the temptation, and drew his blaster. A bright spurt of golden flame split the night, and the spider withered on its web.

Blayne was awake in an instant. "What was that?"

"I've just saved your worthless life," Elliot said tonelessly. "Spider. Came out of the tree. Go back to sleep; you're not on duty for another half-hour."

Blayne shuddered, rolled over—and went back to sleep.

During the day, Elliot drove. They moved further and further into the tangle of foliage that was the Venusian jungle, while the gray clump of buildings that was Venus City receded dimly behind them.

It was hot in the jungle, hot and moist. Elliot's hair plastered itself to his forehead, sweat trickled into his eyes, steam fogged the windshield. After a while, he brought the jeep to a halt.

Blayne wiped sweat from his wobbling chins and looked up. "What's going on?"

"You drive," Elliot said. "I'm bushed."

"No," Blayne said. "You're doing the driving in this outfit. That's your job—that's what I've hired you for. Get going. Now!"

Elliot started the jeep up again. He'd been in low straits before, but this was about the depth in degradation. He had never hated anyone quite so deeply as he did Blayne—and had never been in so poor a position to do anything about it.

Pressure began to build up in him. He was a trained rocket pilot, a man with skilled reflexes and an essential job. Somehow he'd slipped—and it had landed him smack under Blayne's thumb. It wasn't an easy pill to swallow. He would cheerfully have killed the fat man—except that he knew he'd never fly a spaceship again if he returned to Venus City without the Commissioner. Blayne had him tied up six ways from Sunday, and it would do no good to strain at the bonds.

On the evening of 

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