Joe climbed down from his hiding place, flexed his cramped muscles and stood erect. He faced the wall, the blank duralloy steel wall and stared as if his eyes could pierce the opaqueness and look out upon Venus. He stood there a long time, his hands clenched into hard fists at his side, bright-eyed and staring. "God!" he whispered. How did it look out there on Venus--on that planet when this first earth ship landed? Was it like Earth--friendly, familiar? Or inimical, alien? If he came out now, he could see it with his own wondering eyes--and die. If he stayed here, he might never see it. But his mission was not fulfilled. Somehow, quite clearly, he realized that. So Joe crawled back into his metal cave, into the darkness. The only sound in the quiet water compartment was a muffled sobbing. * * * * * Arden it was who closed the heavy door to the chamber. "That's it," he said, and his voice was a caress. "There's enough of it in that lead-lined vault to rid the world. It's up to you, John, to take us safely home." Some one of the men said: "How about Wilding?" A hush came to the room, a silence tight and somehow menacing. Arden's voice was harsh: "He can't hurt us now. We have the metal to cure us if he should contaminate us." Whitey Burnet said: "Why not cure him?" "No," said Arden. "I have the key to the vault. If one of us is infected, I'll open it and treat him. But Joe Wilding deserves to die. It wasn't his fault that we are still uninfected. He was willing to destroy the Earth in order to be here. That threat is gone now, but he must suffer." "Arlie," Bairn said softly. "Would Mary want you to let Joe Wilding die?" Arden spoke coldly: "Did Wilding care about Mary when he stowed away on this ship?" Bairn had no answer. * * * * * Joe Wilding was restless. Even the fiery fever that racked him could not quiet him. He paced the long water compartment, legs weary but restless. He couldn't stand it here much longer; he had to get out into the light, out where he could move and see and feel something besides the dampness dripping upon him, the quick mutter of the pumps as they drove the catalyst to the firing chambers. He walked to the cubbyhole, looked down into the power room. Whitey Burnet was there, alone. Impulsively, Joe Wilding climbed out of the cubbyhole and down the ladder. "Paul," he said softly. "I'm hungry." Paul Burnet turned slowly. "Hello, Joe." They stood there, the two of them. Whitey Burnet, immaculate in his white work clothes; Joe Wilding, a heavy growth of beard on his face, his tunic dirtied, his hair mussed. "I gave you your chance, Joe. Just as you gave me mine. We're even." Burnet turned to the communications phone, then turned back suddenly.