"Tuesday," Blayne said. "And I'd better warn you, Elliot, that we must protect each other. If I don't come back from this trip, certain papers in my safe would make things very difficult for you. If we make it, however, you will be well paid."
"What does that mean?"
Blayne smiled. "I believe ten thousand credits will be sufficient. That is, of course, if we actually get the Dragonbird."
They started the next day from North Venus City, Blayne and Elliot. Sam followed them as far as the boundary line, then waved and turned back.
The first few days of the journey weren't too bad. The little jeep went over the mossy undergrowth almost as though a road had been built for it. It was, Elliot reflected, a hell of a lot better way to travel than slogging through the Venusian jungle on foot. In four days, they covered the same ground that had taken Elliot five weeks when he'd cracked up his ship several hundred miles to the south.
At night, the two men took shifts, one of them sleeping in the rear of the jeep and the other standing guard, keeping his eyes peeled for predators. Here Elliot encountered a temptation that was almost overpowering.
It happened the first night, while Blayne slept. Elliot paced slowly back and forth, on the lookout. Half an hour before his watch was due to end, he heard a faint chittering sound coming from one of the swaying whip-trees overhead.
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—