A huge, shabby old car carried us uptown, across the George Washington bridge, and up the river to a big, wooded estate. A uniformed butler let us into an immense old house, as shabby as the car. "My library." Guiding me back through the house, Crosno paused as if he wished me to look into the room. An intricate planetarium was suspended from the ceiling. Glass cases held models of things that I took to be experimental rockets. The big man silently pointed out shelves of books on explosives, gases, aerodynamic design, celestial mechanics, and astro-physics. Startled, I met Crosno's piercing eyes. "Yes, Horn," he told me. "You're to be the first rocketeer." "Eh?" I stared at him. "You don't mean--outer space?" I wondered at the shadow of bleak despair that had fallen across his cragged, dead-white features. "Come," he said. "Into the garden." * * * * * The night had a frosty brilliance. Moonlight spilled over the trees and neglected lawns; and Venus, westward, hung like a solitary drop of molten silver. I stopped with a gasp of wonderment. Weathered boards were stacked around the foundation of a dismantled building. Upon the massive concrete floor, shimmering under the moon, stood a tall bright cylinder. Bell-flared muzzles cast black shadows below. A frail ladder led up its shimmering side, sixty feet at least, to the tiny black circle of an entrance port. "That--" A queer, stunned feeling had seized me. "That--" "That is my rocket." The deep voice was ragged, choked. "The _Astronaut_." His face was bleak with agony. "I've given twenty years of my life to go, Horn. And now I must send another. An unsuspected weakness of my heart--couldn't survive the acceleration." The white lofty cylinder was suddenly a dreadful thing. There is a feeling that comes upon me, definite as a grasping hand and a whispered warning. Sometimes I have not heeded it, and always, in the end, found myself face to face with death. Now that feeling said, _There lies ghastly peril_. Slowly I turned to the tall pale man. "I'm an explorer, all right, Crosno," I said. "I've taken risks, and I'm willing to take more. But if you think I'm going to climb into that contraption, and be blown off to the moon--" The hurt on his gaunt bloodless face stopped my voice. "Not the moon, Horn." A gesture of his long arm carried my gaze from the mottled lunar disk, westward to the evening star. "To Venus," he said. "First." I caught my breath, staring in awe at the white planet. "The range of the _Astronaut_," he said, "should enable you to reach there, land, spend several months in exploration, and time your return to reach Earth safely at the next conjunction--if you are very lucky." His dark, magnetic eyes probed me. "What do you say, Horn?" "Give me a little while," I said. "Alone."