He killed the bottle and threw it out into emptiness, watching yellow light glint on glass as it dropped. Well, he had his chance now. An expedition going into the Black Forest. But Garth was no longer the same husky giant who had fought his way through that deadly jungle. Five years on the skids had played havoc with him. Stamina was gone. And the Black Forest was as terrible, as powerful, as ever. Garth wished he had brought another bottle. II Jupiter is a ball of luminous clouded marble, gigantic in the sky of Ganymede. Its light is a queer, pale glow that lacks the warm brilliance of sunlight. When the titanic planet lifts over the horizon, gravity seems to shift, and the ground feels unstable beneath your feet. Jupiter was rising now. Oretown lay ugly and desolate in the strange dawn. Across the plain where the spaceship had landed a string of truck-cats, big silvery desert freighters, stood motionless, ready to start the trip. There were signs of activity. At the central port of the _Hunter_ stood a lanky, gray-haired man with a clipped, stiff Van Dyke. Behind him was Captain Brown. Garth, his medical kit strapped to his back, ploughed through the light film of snow that lay over the sand. He was shivering in his thin garments, wishing he had a drink. Neither Brown nor his companion saw Garth's approach. The gray-haired man was speaking. "--time to start. If this guide of yours doesn't show up, we'll have to wait till we find another." "He'll show up," Brown said. "I only gave him ten bucks." Garth reached the foot of the ramp leading up to the port-valve. "'Morning. Am I late?" There was no answer. He climbed the slope, slippery with snow despite the skid-treads, and stopped before the two men. Brown nodded at him. "Here's our guide, Commander Benson." Benson scowled incredulously under tufted brows. "What the devil! You--you're an Earthman!" "Sure," Garth said. "What about it?" The Commander glanced at Brown. "I expected a native. I didn't know--" He left the sentence hanging. "You can't wear those rags, man. Captain, break out some clothes for him." Without another look at Garth, Benson hurried down the ramp, shouting orders to someone below. Brown grinned at the other. "Come on inside," he urged, and, in a lower tone, "He's the big shot. You know enough to keep your mouth shut--eh?" Garth nodded. Brown peered at him sharply. "You need coffee. I'll lace it. Come along." He took Garth to the galley, and, presently, supplied food, drink, and clothing. He lit a cigaret, idly watching the smoke sucked into the air-conditioning grill. "Benson's a tough egg," he said at last. "If he had the slightest idea we were figuring on--what we're figuring on, there'd be trouble. The Commander never takes chances. We've got to give him the slip, somehow." Garth gulped coffee. "How many men do you have?" "Ten." "Not many."