The other man made a noise with his nose. "Just what did the military ever do for me, Keating?" he asked "Fifteen years I spent as a crewman on every flame-buggy from here to Titan and back, and after all that, I get pensioned off a miserable second lieutenant." "You'll have to admit," Carl said, "there were times when your conduct fell something short of exemplary." Spero tossed him a sloppy salute. "Yes, Major," he said with mock formality. Abruptly he strode over to where Carl was standing. "I don't think you quite get it yet, Keating," he said thickly. "Try using your imagination. Forget about the griping we did when we were stationed there. It's different now. Edgerton, Mitchell and Rhind have found a way to breathe, and the secret of breathing is also the secret of immortality. Suppose I'd been sucker enough to turn this information over to the high brass? Inside of half-an-hour, those men would have been interrogated. Inside of a week, the information would have been radioed back to Terra. And by now, every one on this earth and his great maiden aunt would be selling their soul to get passage to Venus. And where do you think all this would leave us Keating? I'll tell you where ... we'd be right here sweating out a priority list long enough to stretch from here to Pluto and back!" Carl studied the man's face. "I take it then you didn't talk to these men when you took the pictures?" Spero shook his head. "No," he said carefully. "At first I had all I could do to keep from running up to them, but then I figured that if they saw me, they'd know there was a spaceship on the planet. All kinds of things went through my head; one of them was that maybe they were sick of Venus and would try to make contact with the ship and spill their story. In the end, I just hid behind a clump of saroo trees and took the pictures." Carl let his gaze wander about the room. He had to think. Then, almost as if it had been prearranged, he found himself looking into a full-length mirror on the far wall. The reflection he saw wasn't old--the hair, while slightly lighter at the temples, was still for the most part dark-brown. He had a good build too, and except for a few creases radiating from the corners of his eyes, his skin had the smooth sort of thickness that many men in their middle-thirties would have envied. He'd kept himself well. It would probably be fifteen or twenty years yet before the almost invisible lines in his cheeks and forehead would begin to widen into deep grooves. But it would happen. It would.... And it didn't have to. He knew what the proposition was now. He turned to Dr. Hamlin. "Let's see if I have it figured," he said. "You want to go to Venus and look for this fountain of youth. Ferguson's financing the trip, and Spero is the Ponce de Leon who knows where to look. All you need is a pilot. Right?" "Think it over carefully, Mr. Keating," Hamlin said. "Don't be hasty in your answer."