It was a dismal trip. The eternal drizzle soaked them to the skin; a few hardy jitbugs chewed at them. From time to time bloodsucking plant-animals along the muddy trail snaked out prehensile branches. Then there was much swearing and hacking with machetes until the white-faced victims freed themselves.
The skylarking with which the Incors had celebrated their departure from Venusport dwindled and died. In fact, it became evident as the day progressed that Beetlebrow, at least, was losing his nerve. He snarled curses on the journey; he buttonholed lagging companions and muttered about the advisability of returning to Venusport. He yelled like a frightened child when branches reached for him. Only when more hardy travellers threatened to kick him out of the group did he subside.
"That kid's a menace," Frank groaned at last; "he'll wreck the morale of all of us."
"I'll bet he's doing it deliberately." Sadie squashed a jitbug which had chewed its way through the mosquito netting draped from her helmet. "A Pumper. No doubt of it."
Things came to a head when camp was made for the night on a high and relatively uninfested ridge. There Beetlebrow grew suddenly brave and argued against Sadie's proposal that sentries be posted.
"There ain't no danger," he whined. "Scamours don't climb this high. We all ought to get a good night's sleep so we'll be on our toes when we get to Nirvana tomorrow."
When Sadie's counsel prevailed, the fellow picked up his blankets and stalked into the darkness to sleep by himself.
"I agree with you," said Frank when he and Sadie were rolled snugly in their waterproofs near a smudge. (It held off the humming army of jitbugs which had arrived with darkness.)
"Um." She wriggled into a more comfortable position on the sodden ground. "I told the sentries to keep an eye on him.