cial-gravity generators. He made a quick computation on the
planetary calculator, fired the port steering rockets, and sent the
ship in a long arching course for Venusport. Then, unstrapping himself,
he turned to see how Mr. and Mrs. Hill had taken the blast-off.

The foreman and his wife were shaking their heads, still in acceleration
shock, and Tom helped them out of their cushions.

"Oh, my! Do you boys have to go through this all the time?" Mrs. Hill
asked. "It's a wonder to me how a human body can take it."

"I feel pretty much the same way," muttered George.

"A cup of hot tea will fix you up fine," Tom reassured them, and leaving
the ship on automatic control, he went into the small galley off the
control deck and brewed three cups of tea. In a few moments the elderly
couple felt better, and Tom told them of the Nationalists' base and
Connel's plan to wreck the radar station at noon the next day. Both Mr.
and Mrs. Hill were shocked at the scope of the Nationalists' plan.

"Well, they bit off more than they could chew when they decided to buck
the Solar Guard," asserted Tom. "When Commander Walters gets finished
with them, Sinclair and the rest won't have anything left but memories!"

"Tell me something, Tom," said George, looking at the control panel
thoughtfully. "Have you figured out how you're going to land this ship
alone and with no radar?"

"I'll have to use the seat of my pants." Tom smiled, and turned back to
his seat. George and his wife looked at each other and quickly strapped
themselves into their acceleration cushions.

A few moments later Tom began braking the ship with the nose rockets. It
made a slow-climbing arc over the spaceport and then settled slowly,
tailfirst. The stern teleceiver was out of order, and the young cadet
had to rely entirely on "feel," to get the _Polaris_ in safely. He had
calculated his rate of fall, the gravity of Venus, and the power of the
rockets, and was dropping at a predetermined rate. At the critical point
he increased power on the drive rockets, continuing to fall slowly until
he felt the jarring bump of the directional fins touching the ground.

"Touchdown!" he roared triumphantly.

He closed the master switch and turned to look at the smiling faces of
Mr. and Mrs. Hill.

"That was fine, Tom," said George, "but I don't want to do it again."

"Don't be a scaredy cat, George Hill!" taunted Mrs. Hill. "Tom handles
this ship as if he were born on it."

To