VENUS WAS NO LONGER a green point of light; it loomed ahead like some cottony ball whirling in space. The Patrol Cruiser circled it warily, Val Kenton’s fingers resting lightly on the control studs of the instrument panel. He whistled tunelessly, as he brought the ship in closer and closer.
He pressed a firing stud, and the rocket ship nosed down toward the clouds below. For the first time in hours, there was a sense of movement as the batts of clouds rushed up to meet the ship. Now there was something breath-taking in the way that the cruiser seemed to be dropping.
The first tendrils of hazy clouds whipped about the ship. The thrumming of the rockets rose to a higher crescendo, and the force-screen’s voltmeter leaped higher as the friction of the clouds tried to cremate the flashing shi
