drove into the place. There were no streets, as such, but there were
avenues between lines of heavy chains strung to short iron posts,
evidently as handholds against the wind. The savage gale piled dust and
sand in drifts against the domes, then, shifting slightly, swept them
clean again.

There was no one moving abroad, but just inside the community Jan found
half a dozen men in a group, clinging to one of the chains and waving to
him. He pulled the groundcar to a stop beside them, stuck his pipe in a
pocket of his plastic venusuit, donned his helmet and got out.

The wind almost took him away before one of them grabbed him and he was
able to grasp the chain himself. They gathered around him. They were
swarthy, black-eyed men, with curly hair. One of them grasped his hand.

"_Bienvenido, senor_," said the man.

Jan recoiled and dropped the man's hand. All the Orangeman blood he
claimed protested in outrage.

Spaniards! All these men were Spaniards!

* * * * *

Jan recovered himself at once. He had been reading too much ancient
history during his leisure hours. The hot monotony of Venus was
beginning to affect his brain. It had been 500 years since the
Netherlands revolted against Spanish rule. A lot of water over the dam
since then.

A look at the men around him, the sound of their chatter, convinced him
that he need not try German or Hollandsch here. He fell back on the
international language.

"Do you speak English?" he asked. The man brightened but shook his head.

"_No hablo ingles_," he said, "_pero el medico lo habla. Venga
conmigo._"

He gestured for Jan to follow him and started off, pulling his way
against the wind along the chain. Jan followed, and the other men fell
in behind in single file. A hundred meters farther on, they turned,
descended some steps and entered one of the half-buried domes. A
gray-haired, bearded man was in the well-lighted room, apparently the
living room of a home, with a young woman.

"_El medico_," said the man who had greeted Jan, gesturing. "_El habla
ingles._"

He went out, shutting the airlock door behind him.

"You must be the man from Oostpoort," said the bearded man, holding out
his hand. "I am Doctor Sanchez. We are very grateful you have come."

"I thought for a while I wouldn't make it," said Jan ruefully, removing
his venushelmet.

"This is Mrs. Murillo," said Sanchez.

The woman was a Spanish blonde, full-lipped and bea