"Wait till we check the air," said Cochrane absently.
"I've checked it," Holden told him indifferently. "I went in the port and sniffed at the cracked outer door. I didn't die, so I opened the door. There is a smell of stone. That's all. The air's perfectly breathable. The ocean's probably absorbed all soluble gases, and poisonous gases are soluble. If they weren't, they couldn't be poisonous."
"Mmmmmm," said Cochrane thoughtfully.
Jamison came over to him.
"We're not going to stay here, are we?" he asked. "I don't like to look at it. The moon's bad enough, but at least nothing could live there! Anything could live here. But it doesn't! I don't like it!"
"We'll stay here at least while Johnny has a nap. I do want Bell to take all the pictures he can, though. Probably not for broadcast, but for business reasons. I'll need pictures to back up a deal."
Jamison went away. Holden said without interest:
"You'll make no deals with this planet! This is one you can do what you like with! I don't want any part of it!"
Cochrane shrugged.
"Speaking of things you don't want any part of—what about Johnny Simms? Speaking as a psychiatrist, what effect will that business of being in the dark all night and nearly being pecked to death—what will it do to him? Are psychopaths the way they are because they can't face reality, or because they've never had to?"