"We regret that a landing is impossible at this moment. Our field is overcrowded, and your vessel is without priority. You must wait your turn." Captain Wiley stared forward at nothing. "Whoever you are," he whispered, "please understand that we have come a long way to reach your planet. Our trip...." "We do not wish to discuss your trip. You will be notified when landing space is available." Captain Wiley’s body shook. "Wait, tell us who you are. What do you look like? Tell us...." "Talking to you is quite difficult. We must form our thoughts so as to form word-patterns in your minds. You will be notified." "Wait a minute!" called Captain Wiley. No answer. Captain Wiley straightened in an effort to maintain dignity. They waited.... ———— It was night. The darkness was an impenetrable blanket, a solid thing, like thick black velvet glued over the ports. It was worse than the darkness of space. Captain Wiley sat before the control panel, slowly beating his fists against the arms of his chair, a human metronome ticking off the slow seconds. Parker stood before a porthole. "Hey, look, Captain! There’s a streak of red, like a meteor. And there’s another!" Captain Wiley rose, looked out. "They’re rockets. They’re going to land. These people are highly advanced." His face became grim. Below them lay a planet, an intelligent race hidden beneath clouds and darkness. What manner of creatures were they? How great was their civilization? What marvelous secrets had their scientists discovered? What was their food like, their women, their whiskey? The questions darted endlessly through his mind like teasing needle-points. All these wondrous things lay below them, and here they sat, like starving men, their hands tied, gazing upon a steaming but unobtainable dinner. So near and yet so far. He trembled. The emotion grew within him until it burst out as water bursts through the cracked wall of a dam. He became like Parker. "Why should we wait?" he yelled. "Why must we land in their field? Parker! Prepare to release flares! We’re going down! We’ll land anywhere—in a street, in the country. We don’t have to wait for orders!" Parker bounced off his couch. Someone called, "Brown, we’re going to land!" A scurrying of feet, the rush of taut-muscled bodies, the babble of excited voices. "We’re going down!" "_We’re going down!_" The grumble of the _Wanderer’s_ jets loudened, softened, spluttered, loudened again. Vibration filled the ship as it sank downward. Suddenly it lurched upward, like a child’s ball caught in a stream of rising water. The jolt staggered the men. They seized stanchions and bulkhead railings to keep their balance. "What the hell?" Abruptly, the strange movement ceased. The ship seemed motionless. There was no vibration. "Captain," said Lieutenant Gunderson. "There’s no change in altitude. We’re still at 35,000 feet, no more, no less."