steel helmets gleaming in the glow of the
lights, cleared a path through the crowd for a small group that hurried
across to the waiting _Viking_. A few minutes later three newcomers came
aboard. All wore the blue and gold uniform of the Interplanetary Fleet.
The two men were Martians, thin and sharp featured, with the reddish
skin of their race. The other was an Earth woman. Olga Stark stood
nearly as tall as Gerry Norton's own six feet. She had a pale skin, and
a mass of dark hair that was coiled low on her neck.

"Pilot-Lieutenant Stark and Flight-Ensigns Tanda and Portok reporting
aboard, sir," she said quietly.

"You'll find the officers' quarters aft on B-deck. I'm calling a
conference in the chart room as soon as we get clear of the
stratosphere."

* * * * *

Gerry Norton stood on the little platform at the top of the control
room, under a curved dome of transparent duralite that gave him a clear
view along the whole length of the _Viking's_ super-structure. The last
member of the expedition was aboard, the airport attendants had all
stepped back. The time of departure had come at last!

"Close all ports!" he snapped.

"Close ports it is, sir," droned Chester Sand, the Safety Officer.
Warning bells rang throughout the ship. Tiny green lights came winking
into view on one of the many indicator panels.

"All ports closed, sir!" the Safety Officer sang out a minute later. For
a moment Gerry bent over the rail of the platform and himself glanced
down at the solid bank of green lights on the board.

"Start helicopters!" he ordered.

There was a low humming. The ship began to vibrate gently. From his
place in the dome, Gerry could see the _Viking's_ dozen big helicopters
begin to spin. Faster and faster they moved as Angus McTavish gave his
engines full power. Then the ship rose straight up into the air.

"Here we go, boys--Venus or bust!" Steve Brent muttered under his
breath, and a low chuckle swept across the control room.

The lighted surface of the airport fell swiftly away beneath them. The
myriad lights of New York were spread out like a jeweled carpet in the
night, dwindling and seeming to slide together as the drive of the
_Viking's_ powerful motors carried her steadily upward. At the three
thousand-foot level they passed a traffic balloon with its circle of
blue lights, and the signal blinker spelled out a hasty "Good Luck!"

* * * * *