t your groundcar must have a diesel engine," Sanchez
interpreted to Jan. "Is that correct?"

"Why, yes, that's true."

"He says the fuel will not work then, _senor_. He says it is low-grade
fuel and the platform must have high octane gasoline."

Jan threw up his hands and went back into the dome.

"I should have known that," he said unhappily. "I would have known if I
had thought of it."

"What is to be done, then?" asked Sanchez.

"There's nothing that can be done," answered Jan. "They may as well put
the fuel back in my groundcar."

Sanchez called orders to the men at the platform. While they worked, Jan
stared out at the furiously spinning windmills that dotted Rathole.

"There's nothing that can be done," he repeated. "We can't make the trip
overland because of the chasm out there in Den Hoorn, and we can't fly
the platform because we have no power for it."

Windmills. Again Jan could imagine the flat land around them as his
native Holland, with the Zuider Zee sparkling to the west where here the
desert stretched under darkling clouds.

* * * * *

Jan looked at his watch. A little more than two hours before the
G-boat's blastoff time, and it couldn't wait for them. It was nearly
eight hours since he had left Oostpoort, and the afternoon was getting
noticeably darker.

Jan was sorry. He had done his best, but Venus had beaten him.

He looked around for Diego. The boy was not in the dome. He was outside,
crouched in the lee of the dome, playing with some sticks.

Diego must know of his ailment, and why he had to go to Oostpoort. If
Jan was any judge of character, Sanchez would have told him that.
Whether Diego knew it was a life-or-death matter for him to be aboard
the _Vanderdecken_ when it blasted off for Earth, Jan did not know. But
the boy was around eight years old and he was bright, and he must
realize the seriousness involved in a decision to send him all the way
to Earth.

Jan felt ashamed of the exuberant foolishness which had led him to spout
ancient history and claim descent from William of Orange. It had been a
hobby, and artificial topic for conversation that amused him and his
companions, a defense against the monotony of Venus that had begun to
affect his personality perhaps a bit more than he realized. He did not
dislike Spaniards; he had no reason to dislike them. They were all
humans--the Spanish, the Dutch, the Germans, the Americans, even the
Russia