ns--fighting a hostile planet together. He could not understand a
word Diego said when the boy spoke to him, but he liked Diego and wished
desperately he could do something.

Outside, the windmills of Rathole spun merrily.

There was power, the power that lighted and air-conditioned Rathole,
power in the air all around them. If he could only use it! But to turn
the platform on its side and let the wind spin the propellers was
pointless.

He turned to Sanchez.

"Ask the men if there are any spare parts for the platform," he said.
"Some of those legs it stands on, transmission belts, spare propellers."

Sanchez asked.

"Yes," he said. "Many spare parts, but no fuel."

Jan smiled a tight smile.

"Tell them to take the engines out," he said. "Since we have no fuel, we
may as well have no engines."

* * * * *

Pieter Heemskerk stood by the ramp to the stubby G-boat and checked his
watch. It was X minus fifteen--fifteen minutes before blastoff time.

Heemskerk wore a spacesuit. Everything was ready, except climbing
aboard, closing the airlock and pressing the firing pin.

What on Venus could have happened to Van Artevelde? The last radio
message they had received, more than an hour ago, had said he and the
patient took off successfully in an aircraft. What sort of aircraft
could he be flying that would require an hour to cover eighty
kilometers, with the wind?

Heemskerk could only draw the conclusion that the aircraft had been
wrecked somewhere in Den Hoorn. As a matter of fact, he knew that
preparations were being made now to send a couple of groundcars out to
search for it.

This, of course, would be too late to help the patient Van Artevelde was
bringing, but Heemskerk had no personal interest in the patient. His
worry was all for his friend. The two of them had enjoyed chess and good
beer together on his last three trips to Venus, and Heemskerk hoped very
sincerely that the big blond man wasn't hurt.

He glanced at his watch again. X minus twelve. In two minutes, it would
be time for him to walk up the ramp into the G-boat. In seven minutes
the backward count before blastoff would start over the area
loudspeakers.

Heemskerk shook his head sadly. And Van Artevelde had promised to come
back triumphant, with a broom at his masthead!

It was a high thin whine borne on the wind, carrying even through the
walls of his spacehelmet, that attracted Heemskerk's attention and
c