Gerry shrugged without replying. That was a question that was bound to be in the minds of all members of this expedition, whether or not they put it in words. Travel between Earth and Mars had been commonplace for more than a generation now, but there had not yet been any communication with Venus--that cloud-veiled planet whose orbit lay nearer the sun than that of earth. Two years ago the exploring ship _Stardust_ had started for Venus. She had simply vanished into the cold of outer space--and never been heard from again. * * * * * Gerry Norton thought the _Viking_ would get through. Science had made some advances in these past two years. His ship would carry better rocket fuel than had the _Stardust_, and more efficient gravity plates. The new duralite hull had the strength to withstand a terrific impact. They would probably get through. If not--well--he had been taking chances all his life. You didn't go into the Interplanetary Service at all if you were afraid of danger. "There comes the ship from Mars now!" Steve Brent said, suddenly pointing upward. A streak of fire like a shooting star had appeared in the sky far above. It was the rocket blast of the incoming space liner. Yellow flames played about her bow as she turned on the reverse rockets to reduce the terrific speed. The roar of the discharge came down through the air like a faint rumble of distant surf. Then the rockets ceased, and the ship began to drop down as the helicopters were unfolded to take the weight and lower her easily through the atmosphere. "It won't be long now!" Steve said in his low, deep, quiet voice. "Aye, not long!" boomed a deep voice behind them, "but I'm thinking it will be a long day before we return to this braw planet of ours!" Angus McTavish, chief engineer of the _Viking_, was a giant of a man with a voice that could be heard above the roar of rocket motors when he chose to raise it. He had a pair of very bright blue eyes--and a luxuriant red beard. There were probably no more than a dozen full sets of whiskers worn in the earth in this day and age, and McTavish laid claim to the most imposing. "Fuel all aboard, Chief," he said, "The tender's cast off and we're ready to ride whenever you give the word." "Just as soon as these people come aboard." "Tell me, Mac," Steve Brent interposed, "Now that we're all about to jump off into the unknown--just why _do_ you sport that crop of whiskers?" "So I won't have to button my collar, ye feckless loon!" the big engineer replied instantly. "The Scots are a queer race." "Aye, lad--the salt o' the earth. We remain constant in a changing world. All the rest of you have forgotten race and breed and tradition, till ye've become as alike as peas in the same pod all over the Earth. We of Scotland take pride in being the exception." "And in talking like some wild and kilted highlander of the twentieth century! You're out of date, Angus!"