ckets ceased, and the ship
began to drop down as the helicopters were unfolded to take the weight
and lower her easily through the atmosphere.

"It won't be long now!" Steve said in his low, deep, quiet voice.

"Aye, not long!" boomed a deep voice behind them, "but I'm thinking it
will be a long day before we return to this braw planet of ours!"

Angus McTavish, chief engineer of the _Viking_, was a giant of a man
with a voice that could be heard above the roar of rocket motors when he
chose to raise it. He had a pair of very bright blue eyes--and a
luxuriant red beard. There were probably no more than a dozen full sets
of whiskers worn in the earth in this day and age, and McTavish laid
claim to the most imposing.

"Fuel all aboard, Chief," he said, "The tender's cast off and we're
ready to ride whenever you give the word."

"Just as soon as these people come aboard."

"Tell me, Mac," Steve Brent interposed, "Now that we're all about to
jump off into the unknown--just why _do_ you sport that crop of
whiskers?"

"So I won't have to button my collar, ye feckless loon!" the big
engineer replied instantly.

"The Scots are a queer race."

"Aye, lad--the salt o' the earth. We remain constant in a changing
world. All the rest of you have forgotten race and breed and tradition,
till ye've become as alike as peas in the same pod all over the Earth.
We of Scotland take pride in being the exception."

"And in talking like some wild and kilted highlander of the twentieth
century! You're out of date, Angus!"

"If you two are going to argue about that all the way to Venus," Gerry
said grimly, "I'll toss you both out and let you drift around in space
forever."

"Speaking of the Twentieth Century," Steve said, "one of the ancient
folk who lived in that long ago and primitive time would be surprised if
they could see the New York of today. Why, they made more fuss about one
of their funny old winged air-ships flying the Atlantic than we do about
a voyage to Mars or the Moon."

The ship from Mars settled gently down on the concrete landing platform,
and her helicopters ceased to turn. From a hundred nozzles along the
edge of the platform came hissing streams of water, playing upon the
hull that had been heated by its swift passage through the outer layers
of the Earth's atmosphere. Then, as the hull cooled, the streams of
water died away and the doors opened. The passengers began to emerge.

A platoon of police, their