"Guess they ... don't bother with ... small fry," he croaked, opening the can. After finishing its contents he loosened the hammock straps, dragged himself to the control board and cut the atomic drive. The pile could not be damped, and the fantastically high temperatures at which it operated safely in open space would vaporize the ship as soon as it struck atmosphere. Like it or not, he would have to jockey to a landing by means of a reserve tank of feeble hydrogen peroxide fuel. Twelve hours later, after circling Venus three times to cut down his speed, Frank knifed into the planet's opaque cloud blanket and settled, with hardly a jar, on the Venusport field. As he clambered to the soggy ground he caught sight of Sadie Thompson racing through the mists to be the first to greet him. "The same old Sadie," he chuckled when she was in his arms, alternately purring and biting like a kitten. "Still wearing just as few clothes as the law allows and still breaking regulations. Don't you know you shouldn't run out on the field like this? At least you've picked up a few pounds since the first time I came to Wildoatia." "Uh huh. Gottum dimples now." She exhibited a few. "Like?" "Like!" He proved it, until she had to draw away to catch her breath. "What did Great White Father in New Washington say?" She lit a damp cigarette after several tries and dangled it expertly from a scarlet upper lip. "Great White Father say keepum shirt on," he grinned a bit ruefully as he tried to match her mood. "I told you." She tossed back her red curls, hugged herself and did a dance step. "You just listen to your Sadie and you'll save yourself a lot of spacehopping." "Now look here! Is that the way to greet a returning prodigal? You keep a civil tongue in your head, my girl, or I'll take the flat of me hand to you." "Yah! Sorehead! You'll have to catch me first." And she was off across the field with Frank in pursuit. Venusport officials tore up their speeches of welcome and shook their heads in despair. * * * * * Sadie was in a much more subdued mood that night as they ate scamour steaks and drank sparkling traskette at Venusport's best cafe. She listened without a single wisecrack as he told how United Stars executives had insisted that no drastic action be taken against the Big Shots. But she leaned forward intently as he described the arrival of the mail packet at Moon Station. "Why, if what that captain said is true," she gasped, "it means somebody has invented a ship that can make interplanetary hops in three or four days." "It means more than that, my sweet. (Here. Have some more steak; you can still put on a pound or two.) It means a new fuel has been found which will permit trips to the outer planets, make Moon Station obsolete and open up untold trade possibilities." "Uh huh!" Her blue eyes opened wide and she reached across the table to grip his wrist. "It also may mean the end of all of us."