"I'll think it over," he said at length.
Three hours later Simms lay in one of the wall bunks, wide awake. The jetty room was in semi-darkness, lit only by the soft glow that filtered through the ports. From the bunks opposite came the regular breathing of Halleck and Sterns. Gately sat by the table, smoking a cigarette.
The situation was quite clear to Simms now. He was a prisoner. The slightest attempt on his part to escape would result in the space-rats taking action. For it was to their interest that his message did not get through. Post One had asked for reinforcements. Those reinforcements coming back through the swamp would interfere with their plans to get the rejuvenation salts.
On the other hand Halleck had spoken the truth when he said that Simms was heading straight into disaster. Delivery of that sealed message cylinder would mean his immediate dismissal from the Venusian Colonial Service.
His hands dug into the blankets. Suppose he did throw in with these three. Halleck would see that a tribal war of large proportion got under way among the Kamalis at once. That would mean every garrison in Blue Swamp would be in danger of complete annihilation. Post One with its flimsy impentration walls and its men weakened by Mold Fever would be wiped out.
All because of a few crystals. For two generations those Deleon Salts had been a mystery to Earthmen who colonized Venus. Chemists only knew that the Kamalis used the drug to rejuvenate their bodies and prolong life.
Once in ages past the Kamalis had been a great race with a high culture. Then through some great catastrophe their numbers had been decimated and made sterile. Gradually they had migrated into Blue Swamp, and it was here no doubt that they had developed their webbed feet and their elongated ears. Yet while the Deleon Salts served to rejuvenate their bodies, their minds had gradually atrophied. Only the ruling Oligarchs knew the secret of using the drug without harm to their mental powers.
Abruptly Simms tensed. Across the room Gately's head nodded in sleep. The Venusian Service man slid to his feet, stole noiselessly across to the three ports and closed them. From his pocket he took a small paralysis-fume pellet, lit it and tossed it under the table.
Back in his own bunk, he pulled on his dehydration mask and waited tensely. In sixty seconds a grey fog of vapor was swirling through the room. In sixty seconds more Gately's body had become rigid, his right arm suspended in space over the table.