"Bloody fools. They raise herbs and _mola_. If they didn't come, Venus would be uninhabited except by natives in a few years. The North-Fever ... You'd better watch out for that, by the way. If you start feeling rocky, see a doctor. Not that it'll help. But you can be put under restraint till the fever passes." Vanning looked up. "I've heard of that. Just what--" "Nobody knows," Goodenow said, shrugging hopelessly. "A virus. A filterable virus, presumably. Scientists have been working on it ever since Venus was colonized. It hits the natives, too. Some get it, some don't. It works the same way with Earthmen. You feel like you're cracking up--and then, suddenly--you go North. Into the swamp. You never come back. That's the end of you." "Funny!" "Sure it is. But--ever heard of the lemmings? Little animals that used to make mass pilgrimages, millions of them. They'd head west till they reached the ocean, and then keep going. Nobody knew the cause of that, either." "What lies north?" "Swamp, I suppose. How should I know? We've got no facilities for finding out. We can't fly, and expeditions say there's nothing there but the usual Venusian hell. I wish--" * * * * * "Oh-oh!" Vanning sat up, peering into the projector. "Wait a minute, Goodenow. I think--" "Callahan? No!" "He's disguised, but ... Lucky this is a three-dimensional movie. Let's hear his voice." Vanning touched a button on the box. A low, musical voice said: "My name is Jerome Bentley, New York City, Earth. I'm an importer, and am on Venus to investigate the possibilities of buying a steady supply of herbs--" "Yeah," Vanning said tonelessly. "That's it. Jerome Bentley--nuts! That's Don Callahan! He's disguised so well his own mother wouldn't know him--best make-up artist in the System. But I've studied his records till I nearly went blind and deaf. I don't make mistakes about Callahan any more." Goodenow blinked. "I'll be blowed. I've seen the man a dozen times, and I'd have sworn ... well! If you're sure--" "I'm sure." Vanning referred to the records. "Staying at the Star Palace, eh? Okay, I'll be pushing off." "I'll go with you," the consul offered, and lifted his bulky body from behind the gleaming desk. Together the two men went out into the muggy Venusian day, which was now fading to a slow, blue dusk. Venus did not revolve; it librated. There was no such thing as sunrise and sunset. But there was a very regular thickening and fading of the eternal cloudbanks that writhed overhead, approximating day and night. Despite the continual frantic disturbance of the atmosphere, the clouds were so thick that it was never possible to see the Sun. Only the ragged, eye-straining movement of the grayness overhead, and the warm, humid wind that gusted against your sweating skin. And the sulphurous smells that drifted in from the jungle--odors of stagnant water and rottenness and things that grew unhealthily white.