One Against the Stars

Earth's last hope against the vicious radio-plague. A gleaming ship racing to bring salvation back from Venus. And hidden on the ship a thirteenth man—a plague carrier whose touch brought screaming death.
This was it. Its slim bright shape was Earth's last hope.
What matter the sweat, the blood and the tears that had gone into each rivet, every plate? What matter the eyes blurred and dulled with plans, blueprints? What matter the cost.
This was it.
It was done.
They stood there—the riveters, the welders; the draughtsmen, the engineers; the mathematicians, the technicians—and there glowed in their eyes a living flame.
This was the ship of hope.
Its rockets flickered into blue flames. Their soft purr of power deepened. Abruptly, the earth was trembling to the throaty roar of rockets.
In its long steel-rollered cradle, the ship trembled.
One of the workers, his denim trousers grease-stained, bending down, scooped up a handful of the dust at his feet, flung it at the shining ship.
Just for luck, he said.
In the glass bulge atop the shining ship, John Bairn, the pilot, licked feverish lips. He brushed the black hair away from his gray eyes. His stubby fingers raced over the keys of the control panel before him.