"Oh, no. Jacob still has the dream. Most of our men do. And in a man, it's even more wonderful than in a boy." Then her face became more serious. "Ben, you've got to decide soon. And it's got to be a _complete_ decision. You can have no doubt in your mind." He nodded. "On account of Simon, you mean." She motioned for him to come to the window in his room. He gazed outward, following the line of her finger as she pointed. He saw a man-sized mound of stones, dimly visible beneath the wind-whipped dust. A grave. "He was a man like you," Maggie said softly. "God knows Simon didn't _try_ to kill him. But he was escaping. He--he made the decision not to join us. Simon sensed it. There was a struggle. Simon's hands--well, he doesn't realize--" She didn't have to explain further. Ben knew what those mighty scaly paws could do. * * * * * The moments were now like bits of eternity cloaked in frozen fear. Somewhere in the blackness of interplanetary space, Jacob's rocket was streaking closer and closer to Venus. How far away was it? A million miles? Fifty thousand? Or was it now--right now--ripping through the murky Venusian atmosphere above the dome? A _complete_ decision, Maggie had said. Jacob didn't want a potential deserter in his group. And you couldn't _pretend_ that you were loyal to Jacob--not with monstrosities like Simple Simon about. Soon Jacob, not Ben, might have to make a decision--a decision that could result in a second cairn of stones on the wind-swept desert. Ben shivered. Before retiring, he wandered nervously into the supply room. Maggie was poised over the visi-radio. Simple Simon was intently scanning the night-shrouded terrain in the viewscreen. "Any news?" Ben asked Maggie. The girl grunted negatively without looking up. Ben's gaze fell upon the array of oxygen masks, windsuits, vita-rations. Then, on a littered shelf, he spied a small Venusian compass. Almost automatically, his hand closed over it. His brain stirred with a single thought: _A compass could keep a man traveling in a straight line._ Simple Simon restlessly shifted. He turned to Ben, blinking in the frighteningly alien equivalent of a suspicious scowl. Ben's hand tightened about the compass. He tried to relax, to force all thought of it from his mind. He stared at the viewscreen, concentrating on the ceaseless drift of dust. The Venusian's eyes studied him curiously, as if searching his mind for the illusive echo of a feeling that had given him alarm. "I think I'll turn in," yawned Ben. "'Night, Maggie." Simon frowned, apparently frustrated in his mental search. "Ben--not one of us. I--watch." * * * * * Without answering, Ben returned to his room, the compass hot and moist from the perspiration in his hand. He took a deep breath. Why had he taken the compass? He wasn't sure. Perhaps, he reflected, his decision had already been made, deep beneath the surface of consciousness.